plumbago, blue and green carbonates of copper, native copper, and an almost endless variety of auriferous quartz. Great mineral country this; great place, KNICK, for collecting specimens; can find any thing here from a bit of petrified pine-wood to a mountain of silver! Help you to make a collection? you bet you! I'm 'on it,' I am! Give you, 'for a starter,' a set of Ophir ores, that rare specimen of nodular alabaster, which you might at first sight take for a cluster of grapes, done in sugar-candy; that beautiful spotted lizard, (the fork-tailed one is such a rara avis I can't part with him,) one of my fattest and hairiest tarantulas, my most ferocious scorpion, and my horniest horned-toad we'll go at it in the morning. In a day or two, we will go over to the Steamboat Springs; there we will be able to get a snuff in advance of the odor of the 'lower regions; there we can stand on the brink of an immense crevice, and hear beneath the crust of lava on which we stand, the roar of the waves of a boiling-hot subterranean lake, as they break on the dark unknown shores, and resound through the mysterious caverns below; there we will hear the whiz of fiercely-heated gases, the roar of huge columns of escaping steam, and see jets of boiling water spouted into the air; we will walk over beds of crisp, squeaking sulphur, and the air we breathe will be heavily laden with the fumes of burning brimstone! I see 'Old KNICK's eyes glisten; he'll be in his element there!

'A very different country this from the rolling, flower-decked prairies of Iowa, where we three' last met! There the sedate and thrifty farmer jogs soberly along, the furrow turned by his sleek and trusty team, with his lowing herds grazing in his sight on the neighboring grassy swells; his blood flows calmly through his veins, there is naught to inflame his passions, naught to 'make him afraid.' Here the excitable searcher for 'mother earth's hidden jewels is rending her bowels with thunderous explosions, boring deep shafts toward the dark unknown regions of the earth's centre, and driving huge tunnels through the foundations of the 'everlasting hills;' or, with revolver in hand, is struggling to retain the glittering veins of gold his toil has laid bare. There, as the bright blade flashes through the golden grain, songs of thanksgiving arise. Here, in reaping the 'golden harvest,' revolvers flash and explode, and the gleaming knife descends- naught is heard of thanksgiving-'GOLD! gold or death!' is the fierce shout that rings in the air.

'Since we met in the prairied West, we have grown three years older. We have seen many changes. Our country, OUR BELOVED COUNTRY! but no, we will not speak of her; the subject is too sad for this occasion. We will speak of other changes; changes of scene, and, now that I think of it, changes of name. You, MACE, once ventured to suggest, that I must be 'a sad fellow,' for the reason that I so often changed my name. What, friend MACE, will you think of me when I tell you—I draw my sombrero over my face, to hide my shame when I tell you I have changed it again? I own my weakness, and beg you will overlook my silly whims — do n't turn from me now! You once spoke kind words to me, MACE; kind encouraging words! You may have forgotten them, forgotten me; but I have those same words here in my lone cabin in Washoe. I carried them across the Atlantic, across the Pacific; I had them when, as a hunter, I wandered for months among the wild, tangled, tub-lakes and swamps bordering the swift-flowing Sacramento; they were with me when threading the mazes of the mighty cañons of the northern mines; when gazing upon the towering pinacles of the mammoth trees; when looking down upon the wonders of the Yo Semite; in that wild region of towering granite-peaks, and eternal pines, where silvergleaming Lake Tenia is held aloft by the stormy Sierra's tallest peaks; and on the shores of that deadest of dead seas, Mono Lake. Three times have they crossed the snowy summit of the Sierra Nevada, and still to them remain 'many wanderings.'

1

Kind words are oftentimes more prized than gifts of gold or silver; all have it in their power to give KIND WORDS.

'You still are wondering who the fellow can be, 'MACE;' I may have altogether passed from your recollection, but I once was 'M. S. (MILTON SHAKSPEARE) DOBBS,' once 'PICAROON PAX,' once 'EBENEZER QUEERKUTT,' and once- but enough! I blush to look at this formidable list of aliases; it really does look suspicious, and might go far to convict the most innocent person that ever paced this mundane sphere, let alone one who has murdered both poetry and prose.

'Thank HEAVEN, I can look Old KNICK in the face! he knows nothing of ‘DOBBS,' or 'Pax,' or 'AITCH SEE KAY.'

'Now, as I have been firing away, à la abandon, for some time, saying less (as it appears to me) the further I go, I will to use a classic phrase 'dry up,' hoping that before the frost of fall shall have withered the corn-blades, or browned the prairies, I may meet you, 'KNICK,' and you, 'MACE,' in breezy Iowa; till then adios! 'Modestly, and with great respect, I write my latest name 'Silver City, N. T., April 23th.

DAN DE QUILLE.'

Verily, friend 'QUILLE,' as SOLOMON said unto HIRAM, 'thou art a brick!' Yea, a 'brick' among ten thousand, and SLOPER, who sitteth not afar off, inclines gratefully unto the same views, vowing that you have repaid all kind words a thousand-fold. Let us continue the service by singing the psalm of 'Jolly Robin :'

'FOR we are all jolly good fellows,
For we are all jolly good fellows,
For we are all jolly good fellows,
Which nobody can deny.'

'DE QUILLE,' a serious word in your ear. 'We do incline unto you, 'DE QUILLE,' and know you, O man of many names! for one who hath wit 'into' him, and a heart. Come again from foreign lands, O thou Master TROUGEMONE! to whom full seventy lands are known;' man who playest on coyotes,' and 'cañons,' and 'gulches,' and all the other musical instruments peculiar to California, and sing us thy songs. Dios vaya con rm. FOR well-nigh a century, the canzonet and madrigal, and many other kinds of merely musical poetry, have been out of favor. Yet they were pretty trifles in their time; like stray notes of wild birds, fragments of poetry, gleams of half-seen light. One of these days, some bold poet will revive them again. The following, by 'L. S. D. L.,' has much of the old-fashioned ring of these lyrics:

'Woo me prettily,

Woo me timidly

A Canzonet.

Place your hand all trembling in mine;

Let love-light shiver,

Like moon-beams on river,

Till fraught with love-glances, our hearts shall entwine.

'Redder than roses,

Which opening discloses

Hoards of sweets unrevealed to the rover;

So shall your lips, love,

Sweeter to sip, love,

Show me the pearls they so daintily cover.'

WINTER is upon us, but a delicate dream of Autumn is never misplaced; be it by fire-light or on those clear, cold days, when the American sky is brighter than that of any English spring. Therefore the following, by Miss ANNIE B. CHAMBERLAIN, shall be read by our lovers of sweet rhyme, and they will not deem it in truth out of season:

'Through silent forest-paths, their march hath been
In pastures sweet;

And by the winding brook are traces seen,
Of shining feet.

'Tell me, ye blossoms fair, what whispered they,
When, bending near,

They kissed your tender eyes to sleep? Ah! say,
What word so dear?

'What charm so wondrous sweet they know, to win
You glad away?

From softest cradles, in the mosses green,
Where shadows play?

'I watch the sun-bright host! How calmly on
Their breasts ye lie!.

I feel your breath of balm, on mild winds borne,
Your parting sigh!

'O calm, sweet days! I, too, with you would fain

Begone. I long

Ah! long-with you the heavenly slopes to gain;
To catch that song

'Which bursts from countless angel-choirs, within
The gates of gold!

Where dwelleth bloom not death itself can win,
And peace untold.

'But THOU, dear CHRIST, through winter's darkening days,
Dost bid me stay;

Oh! teach me patience, leaning on thy grace,

To wait Thy day!'

THIS war is bringing out our gold — separating the dross from the pure metal, and giving the true coin a lustre that the dust of years will not darken. These thoughts come to us as we review the recent course of our long-time friend and correspondent, GEORGE D. PRENTICE, of Kentucky. Almost alone, beset by innumerable foes, in hourly danger of his life, his own children in the ranks of his enemies - sustained only by a pure love for his country, for long months he has breasted such a torrent of opposition as would have borne down most men, and has triumphed at last. Singly and alone he has saved Kentucky. Hear what he says in allusion to his own children being in the ranks of treason, an allusion compelled by the comment of certain journals on the painful fact:

'THE sad picture is hardly over-drawn or over-colored. We have labored under every

disadvantage that could unnerve patriotism; we have been compelled to wrestle with the holiest instincts of nature, and we have seen our loved and cherished ones seduced by wily traitors from the paths of loyalty, and taught to believe that vows of allegiance are of as light regard as lovers' perjuries. Under these discouragements, with the rebel line of attack bulwarked by the breasts of our fathers, brothers, children, and friends, and with the certain knowledge that the more glorious our victory the more desolate will be our once happy homes, Kentucky has shown a Spartan devotedness and the firmness of a BRUTUS, for every beat of the martial drum reëchoes to her heart like the funeral muffled march, and every order to the charge lacerates as keenly as did the wave of the noble BRUTUS's hand which signalled the fall of the ax upon the neck of his traitor son. Manhood has been severely, terribly tested, and from the fiery furnace of affliction, thank GOD, Kentucky has come out with her garments of patriotism unsullied.'

OUR correspondent, Guy, being 'kindly mindful' of us, wrote us, many weeks since, from camp. But man proposeth and fate disposeth, and, in these times of war and moving, many a billet as well as bullet misses its aim; as you, dear lady-reader, may joyfully recal, when you look at that coat through which the ball went without hurting him. But better late than never. KNICK knew a New-Jersey farmer once, who had two dogs which went by the strange names of LATE and NEVER, and therefore finds a corner for a friend :

'Camp Scott, Va.

'Dear KnickerbOCKER: I've just thrown down your August but lively magazine, and you may, but I doubt if you can, appreciate the satisfaction of seeing such an old friend amid such stirring scenes. As I turned over its pages, I could not help contrasting my present with my former surroundings, when I began to read it 'stiddy.' For an arm-chair, a camp-stool; for a carpet, grass; for a cosy room, a tent; for clothes à la mode, blue and buttons; in fine, I've shed my former quiet life and become a hired assassin.

'Our division has had a battle, called by the papers variously the 'battle of Cannix Ferry,' of 'Carnifex Ferry,' etc., mainly because it happened about two miles from a point on Gauley river, called by the Aborigines 'Kyarnifax Ferry,' though 'why they call it so laws only knows.' I was behind, and did n't get into it. Of course not, just my luck. Consequently I have been bored by relations of deeds of valor and endurance calculated to distance MUNCHAUSEN, 'best three in five.' Why, even a little devil of a drummer-boy looks his superiority to me, and says in his broken German slang, 'Gabtain, te oter tays I takes a coon unt shoots a mans,' which he really did. The boys generally fought well, of course. Americans, with the mens conscia recti, do n't do any thing else. The Tenth Ohio Volunteers, gentlemen mainly with predilections for 'prathies agas poteen,' fought, as only Irish can, with a reckless, yelling, dare-devil action, excellent in open country but inefficient in bush-fighting. The Ohio boys 'to the manor born' fought with that coolness and steadiness that showed they knew their danger, and met it from duty. When men were hit as they lay in the brush, they would crawl to their officer and ask to go to the rear, instead of running and creating confusion. What a pity that these fellows were kept in the bush, generally within short-rifle range, begging to go ahead over the enemy's 'sticks and dirt,' while the already beaten enemy crossed the river with their wagons and equipage, and destroyed the bridge!

'Many of our men, apart from the wounded, are sick. Typhoid fever is playing with us, and every now and then knocks some poor fellow down. This country, mountainous and well-watered as it is, is far from healthy. A miasma arises here immediately after sunset, and is only dispelled by the morning sun. Some of our regiments are

wretchedly cared for, and consequently suffer from this. The Thirteenth Ohio, in active service since the first of July, have never been paid a red, have eaten salt junk and hard tack, and worn out their wickedly cheap clothes, without a murmur. I saw them on in. spection, when, as a proof of their want of clothing, a color-corporal, 'selected for neatness of dress and soldierly aspect,' wore an old felt hat, calico shirt and drawers, with his belts and musket; no shoes, socks, pantaloons, coat, or blanket! And this poor fellow came into this either because he loved the right or because he preferred giving his family a claim on his pay, (not realized in the matter of one cent since April,) to starving with them. Now, is this right? I ask you worthies who only find in the war a topic of conversation or an excuse for being extra-mean. For the officers, I say nothing. Few of us came into this save as a matter of inclination. We can, if desperate, sell our pay-rolls, and raise money; or we can resign and go home. But a poor devil in the ranks, mounting guard in this mountain country at night, shoeless, with halfcovered legs and body, has he not a right to say, that those for whose homes and sentiments he fights should give him clothing enough to keep him from dying of exposure? 'We are going to try for another fight. We follow the enemy in a day or two, and will have a chance, ere long, to display our talents at fighting or running. In case we have to retire, just order a little dinner at DELMONICO's, and invite the boys. I'll be there, with my legs worn off to the knees, within twenty four hours. If I were a cussed fool,' (as perhaps I am,) I'd get famous in one fight. A fool's luck will carry him farther in a fight than a trained soldier's judgment. Until I'm victorious or crippled, I am, yours martially,

เ

GUY.'

'NEW

Guy, never despair. 'There's glory enough for all of us.' Lamps for old ones! What ho!' All our good-natured readers are hereby notified that for any numbers of the KNICKERBOCKER for January, July, and August, 1861, we will give the forthcoming January number of either the KNICKERBOCKER or Continental Monthly. There now!' The fact being, reader and friend, that the demand for these special KNICKS has become 'pawistively startling.' Our late numbers are decidedly in demand. Finding this to be the case, we have printed enough since September to supply those who crave 'those political articles.' But of the three particularly requested, we have not three solitary copies. We pray ye, good people, turn over your old papers and do us a favor. THE reader who misses in this number of the KNICKERBOCKER the continuation of the articles entitled, 'Through the Cotton States,' is informed that he can find an article by the author of that series in the new 'Continental Monthly' for the current month. DIVERS and sundry merry bits of Gossip are unavoidably postponed, but will 'if this court know herself, and she think she do' be none the less acceptable in the next number of KNICK.' Anent which magazine, which we assert on its own authority to be a good paper,' we would declare that, during the coming year, no pains will be spared to make of it, what it has always been, a favorite, and one devoid of no attainable excellence, holding ever to its old friends, and ever winning new. Reader as we said before- a happy New Year to you and yours, this year and in all years hereafter.