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has made him rub it clean out and begin over
again.”
From the omission of Punch’s usual report of
the State of the Funny Maiket, we infer that the
recent events in Fiance have had the unhappy
effect of closing all operations in that line.
A Proper Echo.
We have often been amused at the rhetorical
flourish of orators, and of writers too, who make
Echo answer very much out of her role, as in the
following question:—“The noble spirits of’76—
Where are they ? and Echo answers—‘Where?’”
We venture to assert, that Echo never in her life
made any such answer to such a question. Had
the orator said, The spirts of ’76—they are where?
then she would have replied, very properly—
“ Where V* Speaking of Echo, by the way, there
is a very sensible answer of that lady’s reported
recently ; she was asked, “What shall the United
States do to Spain, if she unjustly condemns Mr.
Thrasher?” and she instantly replied, with peculiar
emphasis, “Thrash her !”
Kossuth’s Pocket Piece.
Our exchanges state that a heavy “six-pounder”
was cast a few days since, at the Hudson machine
shop, which is designed as a present to M. Kos
suth. We do not know what he will do with it,
and unless the donors take upon themselves the
care and cost of its transportation into the safe
keeping of some Hungary fastness, we should
fancy he will decline the gift. He can scarcely
put it into his pocket, though we recollect to have
seen on Dover heights, a very formidable piece
of artillery, which was called “Queen Anne’s
Pocket Piece.” It bore the inscription—
“ Wash me well and sponge me clean,
I’ll carry a ball to Calais Green.”
With this illustrious precedent, we may call the
six-pounder of the Hudson machine shop, “Kos
suth’s Pocket Piece.”
Seven Million Types.
The recent stoppage of the steam presses in the
printing office of Messrs. Walker & James, oc
casioned an immense accumulation of what the
printers call “live matter,” that is, of forms ready
for the press. From a calculation made a few
days since, it appeared that there were over two
millions of ems, or speaking more intelligibly to
the general reader, about seven millions of letters
in composition, an aggregate which nearly ex
hausted the founts of the extensive office—or, to
say the least, made some of them exhibit “a beg
garly account of empty boxes.” The weight of
the type thus in form, could be very little less
than three tons!
Waiting for the Governor.
Our last week’s number was ready for the press
some days before it was printed, and even after
steam had been made in the new engine, a further
delay in its issue occurred. It puzzled some of
the many friends who came to enquire into the
matter, to be told that the Gazette could not be
worked “ until the Governor came” It may puz
zle our readers no less, until we explain that it
was that important piece of apparatus, called the
“governor” of a steam engine, the presence of
which was necessary to the proper performance of
the press-work of the Gazette in its new form,
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
requiring to be worked with points. The legisla
tors of our State can make a Governor in a sin
gle day, but no such facility seems to be possessed
by our machinists, if we may judge from the many
days consumed by one of them in making the
governor of a steam engine !
Richmond and Kossuth.
The Richmond “fathers” would not ask Kossuth,
To visit them for patriotic labours;
Not that they love good dinners less —forsooth,
Rut are less Hung'ry than their Northern neighbours.
Adam’s Premises.
In a very excellent discourse, to which we lis
tened recently in one of our city temples, the
preacher discoursing about the respective occupa
tion of Cain and Abel, very quaintly said—“ They
were both workers. Adam had no room on his
premises for gentlemen of leisure !”
Jenny Lind’s Departure.
A card has appeared in the New-York papers,
in which it is announced that in consequence of
the death of her mother, Mile. Lind will not give
her proposed Farewell Concerts in that city. The
sad event will hasten her departure from the shores
of the New World, and the bewitching music of
her matchless voice will be heard no more amongst
us. Her career has been here, as in Europe, un
parallelled in the annals of song. She has left
sweet echoes in the public ear, and sweeter memo
ries in the public heart. May favouring gales and
genial skies attend the ship which bears her across
the sea !
Kossuth and the Hungry ’uns,
It may not be generally known to our readers,
that while the great Magyar was in New-York,
the treasurer of one of the charity soup societies
waited upon him as the special representative of
the Hungry ’uns in Gotham. It is no less true,
that the treasurer offered the illustrious hero a
free “ticket for soup,” for the season, and trans
ferable.
The American Art Union and Abolition.
We hope our readers will attach no credit
whatever to the insinuations of the New-York
Herald against the American Art Union. We be
lieve them to be utterly and wantonly false ; and,
if necessary, shall refer to the matter more fully
hereafter.
Our First Supplement.
The stoppage of our steam-presses not only
delayed the appearance of our first number, but
also prevented the issue of our first supplement
in connection with it. It is now ready, and will
reach our subscribers with this number of the Ga
zette. We cannot help thinking that they will
be greatly pleased with the story of “The Gol
den Christmas,” which is begun in it, and which
will be finished in the next, or, at the outside, the
third supplement.
Approbation.
We have received testimonials enough already,
in congratulations from old friends, and in acces
sions of new ones to our subscription list, to leave
us in no soit of doubt that the change of form we
have made is a judicious one. We are cheered
very much in our labours, by such tokens of
friendly approbation from those in whose favour
alone is our hope of success.
Lola Montes.
The second appearance of this notorious woman
upon the New-York stage, was witnessed by a
very small audience. Curiosity was sated the fi, st
night—for, as a danseuse, she has, probably, l ess
merit than three-fourths of the women of the bal
let who have visited our shores.
Oiir |iooli Table.
Adrian ; or the Clouds of the Mind, a Romance by
G. P.*R. James and Maunsell B. Fields, Esqs. From
the press of D. Appleton & Cos., New-York.
This book attracts attention—first, by its novel
character as the joint production of two different
minds, affording an almost singular instance of
intellectual co-partnership. The preface tells us
that the conversation of the two authors turning
one day on the literary partnerships of Beaumont
& Fletcher, one proposed to the other a joint
work of prose fiction. An agreement was at once
made to that end, and of their mutual labours this
book is the first fruits. It is rumoured that it may
have successors, should this meet with the public
favour.
The reader’s sagacity is challenged to detect
in the pages of the book the* characteristics of the
different authors. As we are utterly unacquainted
with the style of Mr. Fields, and we may, perhaps,
say equally acquainted with that of Mr. James—
the task is narrowed in our case to the discovery
of the sign manual of the latter upon the story.
We beg the reader to believe us, when we say
that the task is easy. If we mistake not, the
very first passage of the book is a birth-mark
quite familiar to us. It opens thus—
“ There are odd shaped old houses all over the
w'orld, and it is very extraordinary what different
expressions they put on, although their general
features may be very much the same. There is
something on the face of an old house very much
like the face of a human being. One cannot get
it out of one’s head, that the windows are eyes,
and the door a mouth, and the overhanging eaves
the beetle brows,” &c.
If that is Mr. Fields’ “old house,” he ought to
try his hand on “Rejected Addresses,” and serve
up Bulwer, Dickens, Cooper, and Simms, with
equal felicity.
But, to the story itself, for story it is, and ro
mantic at that, notwithstanding the metaphysical
promise of its secondary title. It is an American
story, with a basis of actual and not unchronicled
event. The scene is laid near the sea-coast in
New-England, shifting thence to the vicinity oi
Charleston, where the authors tread with the care
and hesitation of men moving in the dark. The
plot of the tale indicates, no less than frequent
passages, the manner of Mr. James. Much of
his well tried and efficient machinery is employed
in it—a piratcal excursion—an isolated and
rambling old house—concealed treasure —a sur
prising facility in producing fortunate meetings
despite of all obstacles, and the like.
We read the book with attention, not more tor
its story than for its decided excellence oi stylo.
It has an elaborate finish about it not common in
the books of Mr. James. There are few lapses
of style, and much truly eloquent writing —many
passages which might properly be quoted as
“beauties.” The moral which the story point-'.
[Jan. IQ,