Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

20 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,