solicited as above, and with the above, afford a good illustration of both 'STUBB and TWIST: '

'DEAR GOVERNOR: This will introduce to your most favorable notice, ANDREW JACKSON STUBBS, who is an applicant for some office; he don't care much what, if the emoluments are satisfactory. Mr. STUBBS has been long known in this part of the country as a thorough-going Democrat. He has inherited his Democracy regularly from a long line of Democratic ancestry. His father was a Democrat; his grand-father was a Democrat; and by certain traditions preserved in the family, we have every reason to believe that his great-great-grand-father was an unflinching Democrat in the days of Queen Anne. You will find him sound and intelligent upon all the great subjects of the day, such as Cuba, the Monroe doctrine, Gardiner claim, Division of Spoils, etc., etc. He has in his possession, and will show you, two small-sized bullets, which were picked up after the Battle of Buena Vista, and are supposed to have been shot at his uncle ALEXANDER, a drummer in the gallant Indiana regiment; and one, also, of a larger size, taken from the right calf of his uncle's leg immediately after that battle.

These curious relics of that hard-fought field, you will of course gaze upon with intense interest, remembering the gratitude and reward due to the descendants and relatives of our brave citizen-soldiers. Indeed, I can assure you, dear Governor, that Mr. STUBBS' principles are sound, his Democracy reliable, and his earnest desire to serve the present administration and his country in some lucrative office, most unquestionable.' On the same day Mr. TWIST also writes to the Secretary of State on behalf of Mr. THOMAS BENTON BUCHANAN, a co-worker with himself in the last Presidential election, and an applicant for some paying office.' His claims to preferment are embraced by an anecdote:

'PERHAPS a little incident of his early life would not be inappropriate, as indicating the sterling Democracy which commenced expanding even at the tender age of six. He had bought a penny-trumpet-something of a rarity in those days-and in the juvenile exuberance of youth, was blowing it through the streets. This attracted the attention of some Whig boys on the other side, who, approaching our hero, offered him sugarplums, etc., to become possessors of the great prize. Unflinching, uninfluenced by the prospect of gain, our sturdy young Democrat walks proudly away, declaring, if there was any blowing' to be done, it ought to be done for the benefit of the Democratic party. Thus you see at a glance the peculiar character of the man, and you will, no doubt, be willing and able to effect something in his behalf. Be assured, dear Governor, that any thing you do effect will be treasured by me as a personal favor, and that as a constituent, a friend and fellow-Democrat, I shall discharge the obligation.'

Doubtless sitting at the same desk, taking the next sheet of paper, and writing with the still undried ink of his last pen, Mr. TWIST again addresses his dear GOVERNOR' on behalf of another gentleman, who is ready at any moment to die for his country and a fat office:

'THE bearer, Mr. MARTIN VAN BUREN PHIPS, is an applicant for some easy office, and, I am happy to say, is an out-and-out Democrat. He voted for VAN BUREN in '40, for POLK in 244, and in '48, being somewhat puzzled with the claims of the contending factions, polled two votes, one for VAN BUREN and one for Mr. CASS, evincing a spirit of conciliation and a high-toned principle, which put to the blush all other compromise measures. Mr. PHIPS, I can truly say, is an active, energetic, and industrious Democrat, but is unable to discharge very many out-door duties, as he is suffering under a physical disability, having, some two years since, sprained his ankle badly. . . . The circumstances attending this physical disability may not be uninteresting, as illustrative of the sterling Democracy inherent in the man. They are these: He was engaged with some young Democrats raising a hickory-pole. They had accomplished their object, and young PHIPS determined to place the stars and stripes upon the top of the pole. For this purpose he commenced climbing, but, alas! having arrived at the dizzy height of ten feet, the pole gave way, and he was hurled miserably upon the earth, with a severe contusion upon the fleshy part of the leg, and with his left foot sprained terribly. Apparently not realizing the extent of the injury, he waved the tattered ensign over his contused frame, and gave three hearty cheers for JAMES K. POLK. Such Democracy ought not to go unrewarded; and I hope you will be able to place our unfortunate friend in some easy position where his physical disability will not be antagonistic to his progressive Democracy.'

AMONG the clever things contained in the still missing parcel, embracing proofs and manuscripts, mentioned in our last number, was the subjoined

'Rail-Road Adventure,' which the author has kindly re-written for us, at our request. He begins, it will be seen, in poetical prose, but is presently compelled to 'break cover' and come out into the open field of verse. Hear him: 'I took the cars at Albany, not many years ago, when every seat was occupied, and some walked to and fro along the passage-way; but hold! I find that in prose this story won't be told. There's a jingle in the subject, and a rhythm, so to say, which defies prosaic rules; so I'll let it have its way:

"THE car was full of passengers,

I can't recall the number,
For I had but just awakened from
An unrefreshing slumber,
When a lady, who sat facing me,
Directly met my eye,
But turned away immediately,

And smiled-I knew not why.

'When youthful folks who strangers are
Are seated face to face,

In the silence of a rail-road car,
A grave and formal place,

Their wandering eyes will sometimes meet
By some strange fascination,
And they cannot keep their faces straight,
Though dying with vexation.
'Simpletons there doubtless are,

Whose mouths are always stretching,
But the guileless mirth of maidens' eyes
And dimpled cheeks is catching:
First she laughed, and then I laughed -
I could n't say what at;
Then she looked grave, and I looked grave,
And then she laughed at that.

'She endeavored to repress her mirth,
But could n't hold it half in,

For with face concealed behind a book,
She almost died a-laughing.

She pouted when she found her lips
Determined on a smile,

But 't was very plain the pretty rogue
Was laughing all the while.

'Thus happily the moments flew
To me, at least, of course,
Though when she saw me smiling too,
It made the matter worse.
And when, at last, I left the car,

I caught her laughing eye,
And had one more good grin before
I tore myself away.

'Mine inn' I sought in saddened mood,
And with feelings of regret;
Those brilliant eyes, I felt assured,
I never could forget.

And when arrived, valise in hand,
I paused- I can't tell why-
Before a mirror on a stand,

And gazed with curious eye.

'My cravat was turned half round or more,
And shocked was I to find

That my hat was badly jammed before,
And the rim turned up behind!
Then while in haste my room I sought,
I swore along the stairs
That I would not again be caught
A-napping in the cars.'

The 'moral' which our correspondent educes from this is a very pregnant one: When you find yourself the special and unwonted object of female attention, don't get particularly excited until you have seen a lookingglass!' WE remember well the first time we ever saw the London Times' newspaper, with its crowded 'Supplement' of fine-type advertisements, in serried columns, what an impression it gave us of the Great Metropolis whence it issued. Few know, who have not lived in the country, what a view of the city is afforded by its papers. You take up the 'Courier and Enquirer,' the 'Journal of Commerce,' the 'Morning Express,' of the large folio sheets, or the double-sheets of the 'Tribune,' the 'Herald,' and the youngest of them all, the 'Times,' and what an idea does each convey of the business of New-York, and its dependencies in the immediate region roundabout! And yet this feature is as nothing compared with the labor and enterprise visible out of the business columns. News by steamers, ships, rail-roads, telegraphs, from three continents, are spread before you on a single morning; congressional, political, local and general domestic intelligence in all parts of your own country you find condensed to your hand; 'criminal information' you find lodged against all sorts of rogues in all sorts of places:

casualties every where are brought together under your eye; books are reviewed, to save you the trouble of judging for yourself in their selection; and your editors, in their own especial departments, think for you on the greatest variety of subjects, leaving you afterward to 'mark, learn, and inwardly digest' the same. Wonderful is the daily journal during the week: and when there comes no daily print, then is the advent of those industriously-edited and voluminously-supplied Sunday papers, each vieing with the other which shall reflect the most credit upon each. And these are representatives of the Great City, which unfold its magnitude to thousands who get their first impressions of its realities from their ample folds. lines by an enamored swain, commencing:

"THERE is a girl in Brooklyn,

She lives in the Southern part,'

- THE

lack something of the fervor of TENNYSON and the grace of MOORE. Two stanzas must 'do' this time:

"THOUGH Brooklyn can't boast one thing,

That is, our Croton water,

She's many a gallant son,

And many a charming daughter.

'She has a model dry-dock,

And a 'Yard' renowned, the 'Navy;'

Two hundred splendid churches,

And a girl that sets me crazy!'

The remainder of this effusion, it must be admitted, attests the fact acknowledged in the last line.

-- THE sketch entitled 'The Old Potters' Field' is not altogether new. We seldom pass through Washington-square, now rich in the full flush of June, without thinking of a very effective paper upon its old uses by CORNELIUS MATHEWS, Esq., which we remember to have commended many years ago in these pages. If we have not been able to say as much of that gentleman's humorous writings, we have had at least the pleasure of awarding our meed of praise to his well-written and pathetic sketches. Nor can we now omit to record our appreciation of the writer's labors in the 'Literary World' weekly journal, of which he is an industrious and discriminating editor; a vocation in which he appears to far better advantage, so far as our poor judgment goes, than in accomplishing more elaborate and continuous 'works.' WE commend to all dyspeptic, gouty, rheumatic, nervous, or bilious readers, the Bedford Mineral Water, for sale by its sole agents, Messrs. JONES AND KIP, Number Seventeen, Ann-street. It is undoubtedly superior to any other mineral water in the United States, for the complaints we have indicated. NEXT to the probable war be

tween Turkey and Russia, and the interference of other powers in Europe, and eclipsing altogether the UNCLE-TOMITUDES of the day in England, is the recent 'Fight between Harry Broome and Harry Orme, for Five Hundred Pounds and the Championship of England.' We never 'had the pleasure' to behold a prize-fight. It must be a sublime spectacle, 'without the gloves.' We had the good fortune once to survey the classic face of Mr. BENJAMIN CAUNT, then England's 'champion of the ring,' while he was engaged in

knocking a Mr. JEROLOMAN, of Brooklyn, head over heels, on the stage of the Bowery Theatre. The last-named gentleman, we remember, seemed somewhat 'astonished' when he arose and 'came to the scratch.' But to see a ring-fight—that, it would appear, from BELL'S 'Life in London,' is an event that congregates the élite of England. 'At no fight for many years has there been such a congregation of noblemen and gentlemen.' There these 'noblemen and gentlemen,' 'regular nobs and tip-top swells,' as a learned advocate of the 'sports of the ring' termed them, stood for three hours under a burning sun to hear the 'thuds' delivered upon BROOME's ribs; to gloat over the 'terrific upper-cuts' that 'doubled up' his antagonist; to see them 'get heavily home' on each others' 'peepers;' to catch each other on their 'ivory-boxes,' 'draw claret,' and loosen their 'head-rails,' each 'catching it on the conk;' a sneezer of a nose-ender' on their 'kissing-traps,' alternating with 'heavy' body-blows,' which 'make them wince like galled horses;' until at last the defeated victim is unable to 'come to time,' being quite blind, 'tremendously punished about the head,' 'insensible,' and finally is borne away a mangled, shapeless 'human,' with the additional regret of having lost his money and that of his 'backers' and friends. Really, on the whole, we cannot but regard the science of the prize-ring as inferior to that of astronomy:' but then 'Every body don't seem to think so.' Exactly: we know they don't: and after all, 'it takes all sorts of folks to make a world.' WE can

not choose but smile oftentimes at the receipt of notes from distant correspondents, kindred with the one from which the following passage is a veritable extract. We 'name no parties,' so that we violate no confidence in giving it publicity:

"THERE is a young man in this place, of more promise than ordinary as a writer, and gives symptoms of being distinguished. I suppose he has now on hand about three hundred pages in manuscript, poetry and prose, and could you come here and look over them, I think that he could be persuaded to part with them for a consideration, and you would be mutually pleased to become acquainted with one another,' etc., etc.

'Good 'Evings!' travel six or seven hundred miles to look over the мss. of a young man who 'gives symptoms' of being an acceptable writer! Why, dear Sir, we have more matériel, in prose and verse, awaiting insertion in the KNICKERBOCKER, than we can publish in fifteen months; and every month our embarrassment is, which to select from these abundant stores. We venture to say that there is not a literary Magazine in America, of any description, which receives one half the number of communications that are sent monthly to the KNICKERBOCKER. Of course we do not publish in course all that we receive, but blend the early and late together, as seems to us best, in making up a number. We have written this bit of 'confidence' as a hint, among other reasons, to recent once-contributors, who seem to fancy that we are waiting for more matter, and so send us articles that they have 'hastily dashed off' to supply our present necessities! It is not our wont to allude to kindred 'fabrications; ' but we can say, from the 'ocular proof,' that the 'Balm of Thousand Flowers,' a preparation for removing tan, pimples and freckles from the face; shaving, cleansing the teeth, curling the hair, removing grease-spots from clothes, carpets, etc., sold by our agents, FETRIDGE

AND COMPANY, Boston, is the best article of its kind we have ever encountered. It is, in reality, all that it purports to be. 'THE following lines,' writes a correspondent, were handed to me by a physician, who found them in a sick-chamber in one of his daily rounds. They were written by an inebriate, under the repentant feelings of his sober hours:'

'HARP of Zion! pure and holy,
Pride of eastern Judea's land,
May a child of guilt and folly

Touch thee with a faltering hand?
'May I to my bosom take thee,
Trembling from the PROPHET's touch,
And my throbbing heart awake thee
Te the strains I love so much?

I have loved thy thrilling numbers
Since my earliest childhood's day;
Since a mother soothed my slumbers
With the cadence of thy lay:

'Since a little blooming sister

Hung with transport round my knee,
And my glowing spirit blessed her
With a blessing caught from thee!
'Mother, sister, both are sleeping

Where no beating hearts respire;
Whilst the eve of life is creeping
Round the widowed spouse and sire.
'He and his, amidst their sorrow,
Find enjoyment in thy strain:
Harp of Zion! let me borrow
Comfort from thy strings again!'

As nearly as we can remember, after a somewhat hasty perusal, this was the story told us by the friend and correspondent who wrote us last month from the 'Planters' Hotel' at Saint-Louis. An old Methodist clergyman had alluded, at some length, in an extempore discourse, to the miracle of blowing down the walls of Jericho. After his sermon was ended, and he was walking homeward, a Mississippi boatman, with a companion, overtook him, and opened a conversation with him upon the subject of the miracle: 'You say,' said he, 'that seven men, with seven horns, walked seven times round the walls, and blowed seven blasts seven times, and then the walls fell in?' The clergyman said the miracle was properly stated. 'Looks reasonable, don't it?' asked the boatman of his companion, who shook his head doubtingly. 'You see,' he repeated, 'there was seven men, with seven horns, and they marched seven times round the walls, and blowed seven blasts seven times? Don't you think 't would fetch 'em?' 'Let's see,' said his companion; 'seven times seyen is forty-nine; seven times forty-nine is two hundred and forty-three,' etc.; and having followed up the figures, he said, yieldingly, W-e-ll, y-e-e-s, I guess 't would fetch 'em: it's a d-lof a purchase!' - 'Not long since,' writes one from 'up-river,' 'a lady called on a friend of my acquaintance to pass a few words of friendly greeting. I am sure the book of English synonymes must have been studied by her to little purpose, when she was finishing her education; for, upon being interrogated, after the usual formula, as to the state of her health, she blandly remarked, 'that she was very well, with the exception of a guitar in her head.' 'A what!' exclaimed the other lady, in a tone of hushed surprise. "A guitar in my head!' pertinaciously responded this newly-arrived musical character. Silence ensued for a few minutes; during which, I have no doubt, the struggling giggle was kept down by the sympathetic desire inwardly breathed, 'O PHŒBUS, son of LATONA, thou god of music and of medicine, put an interdict upon the melody of such 'guitars!' OF several tributes of affection, kindred in sentiment, we select the following for present insertion, because it is simple, and evidently the natural out-pouring of a devoted heart.