Page images
PDF
EPUB

only accidental good ones. They don't know where they 're going when they walk down Broadway, and if they help a poor creater out of the gutter, there's no credit into it. They 're jest as likely to go and get into a dreadful scrape, and when they lie down at night they do n't reflect upon their principles. They got no principles. They got no platform to stand onto. Consequence is, they 're shifted about when the current blows east, or when the current blows west, jest as it happens. There's the rock that our friend the Chronicle' is going to split onto, and we give him this warning in p'int of time.

[ocr errors]

Not aware of having any principles in particular!' Was ever such an auricular confession as this ever made into any man's ears, since Noah's deluge? We trow not. We beg leave to whisper one little specimen into the lappet of our friend's cranium; namely, that those who have no principles at first will soon degenerate and subside into some principles that the police can get hold of, and this without a spark of intentional malice on our part. For us. we think that principles are as much to be attended to from the very first start as other things, not to say more so; we can't help it; and we should infuse them into a child of three years of age as quick as we would his pap, and before he puts on his pantaloons. Our very roller-boy has got principles, or else he would be discarded indignantly down the stairs of this office, at the rate of three steps to a time, to pick up his bread where he could do it without principles. Is n't nature full of 'em? There is the principles of air, and the principles of water, and the principles of fire, also of the very earth we tread on every time we go into our office. There is the principles of honesty, and the principles of dishonor; the principles of discord and the principles of examination; the principles of right and wrong; the principles of beauty, and so on. The states'-prison is the only place where there is no principles; and there, if we carried it out, we would find ourselves mistaken, for there is the principles of strength in stone blocks and iron bolts, and that in plenty. Not aware of having any principles in particular!' We think we've disposed of that p'int for the present.

[ocr errors]

We are now going to call the attention of the reader to the fallacy of an algebraic process or diagram in the Prospectus, which may excite the risible muscles of those mathematically disposed or otherwise, who have no talents to see into its absurdity. The passage is this: When in the course of human or inhuman events it becomes necessary for any man or any body of men to detach themselves from the quiet circle of private life, etc., etc., to increase from the moral value of 0 to that of Censor Morum + yyy yy, (ad. inf.,) etc., etc.' We must confess that our knowledge of Anglo-Saxon English is at a loss for verbiage to demolish stuff similar to the foregoing above. We utterly despise the man who will say what may be misunderstood under a formula which nobody can understand. It is n't so much that a weak man will do it, as that weaker men will do it over again. This we see daily, while the good taste of juniors is corrupted and turned into ridicule by their follies. We like to see a strong-headed, lion-hearted, bushy-headed individual, with a chin like a nose sticking out like a promontory into the great ocean of air,

say somethin' or 'nother just as nobody else can say it; we like to see a subjeck in the pulpit or in the desk made so plain that it sticks right out. In the meantime, save us from those who do n't know what they 're going to say, and yet have the audacity to say it. We knowed a man once't who did it, and think we've discovered his ditto. But his ditto will be much mistaken if because he has got the same audacity, and even more brazen, he reckons he can say that nothing as well as our friend could do it. For if you have n't got nothing to say, it is well to say it well; so that there is n't nine persons out of ten but what will think that something has been said, and will fish with a line and pole in their poor shallow brains for ten days to pull it up, but no bite. There is a friend of mine will say nothing; a positively emphatic and inflectioned nothing; pause, look you right in the countenance with a jocose smile, and bring his meaning home to you by thrusting the fore-finger of his right hand into the pit of your stomach. This man will bring out of the stables of his intellect the greatest cavalcade of richly-caparisoned and well-looking words harnessed to a little bit of a meaning I ever seen. In the middle of a dinner he will hit you in this way, making the beef-steak almost fly out of your mouth; till I told him out and out in toto I could n't digest his meaning, and to meddle with my other digestion was beyond his province. After that I always thought he played a little shy. The fact is, he was afraid of me.

We trust the 'Chronicle' will not mistake our meaning in any thing we have said. We go upon a fixed set of standard, basis PRINCIPLES, and will never sheer one iota, so help us the Constitution of the United'n States'n, from the platform inscribed at the head of this paper! And another thing; we will never consent to be brow-beaten while we sit in this office and are intrenched with this editorial pen, by a man who, by his own confession, has notoriously set out without no principles. Are the community to acknowledge such a leader, much more such a leader as was contained in the last editorial of the 'Bunkumville Chronicle? If there is any blush of shame remaining in the cheeks of the public, we trow not. Mr. Thomas thinks we have reduced the gentleman to a grease-spot; but we have only to say, in conclusion, that if he is a grease-spot, his blood be upon his own head!

Our Visit to the City.

We don't know when we were more sucked in and indignant than on a visit which we paid on the tip-toe of expectation to 'Colonel Fremont's Woolly Horse from the Rocky Mountains.' If they call this a lusus naturæ, then we don't know what a lusus naturæ is. We don't believe that the Colonel ever saw the animal which we now allude to, but that it is an altogether humbug, for which twenty-five cents are literally extorted directly out of the hard-working pockets of community. Seeing a great deal said about it, and our curiosity on the key-veeve, as they call it in France, and attention called to it by placards and advertisements, as we were walking up Broadway arm

in-arm with a warm-hearted friend, we paid down our twenty-five cents and walked in, expecting to see something. We appeal to any equestrian in existence if there did n't stand a mere ordinary horse with a bald tail; which is something unusual, it is certain, but not worth twenty-five cents to see the hairs off; though if we owned a horse we would give four times that quantity to have them on. We had n't patience to examine the wool on his back, for there was so little of it, and artificially curled with Rowland's Macassar oil. He had a pretty head and a meek eye, indicating a good family; but in other respects a clumsy creater, expressly prepared for market; and we think it had been more judicious to keep him out of view. The poor creater seemed to be the greatest wonder to himself that he should be such a show; some combing out his locks, except his fetlocks, of which he had none, others speculating on the pitiable want of his tail of hairs, which attracted all eyes and not a little sympathy, while they all went out of the room looking sheepish enough about their own part and lot in this woolly horse; and, as most judicious, under all circumstances of the case, silent as death. The hostler could hardly keep his own countenance, while to lose it would be to expose the whole joke. We thought that a manger would be appropriate for him in Mr. Barnum's second story, with his head out of the window.

We throw out these remarks for the benefit of any citizen of Bunkum who would wish to save his twenty-five cents; and for ourselves, we never made such an ass of ourself as in going to see the foregoing horse!"

The Aerial Machine.

HERE is another horse, of a different nature, which we went to see, and came away well pleased, because it did n't cost nothing but our time, and that we give cheerfully for the sake of science, the exhibition being free gratis. This projeck we heartily wish may be established on a successful footing, as every friend of flying will wish them GOD-speed, and that's fast enough. We often get tired of walking on the flat ground, with our noses not six feet at the most above snakes. Genius always will desire to fly, and never rest easy, we think probable, until it has acquired that great desideratum. When a man is in a foreign country his thoughts fly home. When a lover is away from his mistress he is ready to fly at her at a moment's warning. Poets are bound to fly, and this winged horse, which we looked at in perfect amazement, we should think was the very thing for them, carrying them to the star-light of Orion and Pleiades, and more too. To give our readers a little idea of the machine, let them imagine a long room called 'The Coliseum,' resembling we suppose in its minor details that pompous structure which Ramsbottom and other travellers have visited by moonlight in Rome. But the present structure was illuminated and lit up by gas; a good substitute for moonshine when moonshine is scarce, which for the sake of high water we hope it will not be altogether, as commerce has enough already to contend with.

The first thing that attracted our notice was what we can give the reader no more graphic idea of imagining and bringing home to his own heart than by supposing a segar in a state of dropsy or inflation, suspended by the mere force of gas within three feet of the ceiling, and hanging apparently with no effort of its own. We immediately said to our warm-hearted friend: This of itself is a triumph; the whole thing is hanging;' to which he assented. The next feature which attracted our notice was the tail of this machine, of a rather better model, we are free to remark, than the tail of Fremont's horse, if we may be permitted again to allude to that deception. Then we come to a sweet little steam-engine suspended under the belly of the Ærial Machine with a little twine, which was puffing away as if it would split its little bosom with the asthma, and so keeping its wings agoing, while the star-spangled banner waved in triumph a little this side the tail, which steered it admirable, while the engineer led it carefully all round the room with a long string, to prevent it hitting its nose against the pillars; and all the people said it was good. It was altogether a most enthusiastic thing. Success to it, say we.

Musical Criticism.

THE PUFFINGTON FAMILY' completed an engagement at Bunkum last week. We were quite pleased to see the success they met with, being greeted by full benches, who seemed delighted with their powers. Every seat was taken up, and it was difficult to get a stool. The room was very warm, owing to too much fire being kindled; a defect which we hope to see remedied hereafter. We can assure our readers that there was nothing theatrical about the entertainment. If there was a drop-curting, or the least thing which looked like a dialogue, or a opera, or a farce, we would be the last person to recommend it, as we have daughters of our own. But we do say that music has charms to tame a savage, to sooth a rock and split a cabbage.' Little Miss PUFFINGTON sang her music charmingly. The base singer has a splendid organ, of powerful timber, but a little unsteady; perhaps we should say, not entirely confident of grip in some of the upper notes. The tenor sang like a dozen angels. He shows depth, tone, penetration, a succinct method, discrimination, perfect freedom in alt, but no practice. The other singer has a plump style, a little exaggerated occasionally in expostulatory passages, owing to too sudden shifting of his crescendo from sideways to upside down. Let him look to this. There are several celebrities now on the way to Bunkum, of which we shall give notice in due point of time. The taste for music we think has received an impetuosity from the onset of the PUFFINGTONS. The family are going South. We bespeak them a bumper.

New Books.

MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND. New-York: HARPER AND BROTHERS.

WE have just risen from the perusal of this work, which is sweetly written. We think it is a little in favor of monarchy, but that may be accounted for from the fact that the author is an Englishman; and being a native of the soil, he would not of course go about to soil the natives. Let the republican therefore be careful; for his works take such a hold on the mind that it is necessary to mind your hold. His style is pleasing, except to a very few, who can leap over that to the subjeck-matter. Charm he will, for he has the will to charm you. In all that MACAULAY has ever touched, so far as his fame as a writer goes, there is very little which can touch MACAULAY. His admirers are many, and his imitators more; because those who ad

mire most have not the ability to imitate, while those who imitate have not the sense to admire. It is far from us to offend any by these remarks, although those who would be offended are far from us. Justice to all, though all may not do us justice. In all the gorgeous chapter of England's History MACAULAY paints the scene as if in the daguerreotype the scene had been its own painter. His men are living, and his living is men. We hear them talk, and we almost talk to them while we hear. There they walk down the corridors of history, each one dressed in his own apparel, and apparelled in his own dress. Passing by other features in the book, we must say we don't like the features under the title. Can that be MACAULAY's likeness, and can those underneath be the arms of England? We speak of the twenty-five cents edition; for as that is the one which the publisher has sent us, although we don't much notice twenty-five cents, we are making out a twenty-five cents' notice. In any case, we must say we never saw such arms to a lion or such lions to the English We see the spelling is not exactly what it had ought to be; and as some have sent over to England to get a copy after recovering from a dangerous fit of illness from meeting pic-nic' spelt pick-nick, or vice versa, we believe it was Mr. MACAULAY himself has written the following letter to the publisher:

arms.

[ocr errors]

'MY DEAR SIR: I am very sorry to hear of the illness of those gentlemen, but I hope the arrival of the English edition will put an end to their sickness, if their sickness does not put an end to them. With reference to the change of spelling, it was rather cool of your printingoffice to do it; but printing-offices must be cool when the weather is oppressive. I do not so much mind the change of spelling provided we are all right about the spelling of change. I sent you my history in black ink, and if you had published it in red I would not quarrel, so long as it was read after it was written, although it was not written to be red. I don't care a single the fourth letter in the alphabet about the spelling; if your Yankees are pleased with it rest assured it will be pleased with your Yankees.

[blocks in formation]

After this curtous epistle we suppose we shall hear no more of so insignificant a matter as whether words are spelt right or rong. A hundred years ago there was no right or rong about it, and it's only a new invention, the excitement being got up principally by NOAH WEBSTER to make his book sell. For ourselves, we don't care three straws about it; and we're democrat enough to claim that small privilege of spelling our own words as we please. If we relinquish this, the next thing they will object to our choice of words. However, verbum saphead enough on that head. We heartily recommend MACAULAY's history, such as it is. He is not the MACAULAY who used to live in Bunkum a few years ago. We recollect reading his reviews once't, and summed up our opinion thus: What MILTON is to SHAKSPEARE, and SHAKSPEARE to the Greek dramatists, such is MACAULAY to literature in general.' We recommend the volums to our readers, as there are some very pretty things in them.

THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. In a good many volumes. By Sir WALTER SCOTT BART.

MR. BART has done a good service to the cause of letters by these volumes, which have now been published some years. It does us good to review the work. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE was a man of talents, which subsequent events prove. We recollect that a school-mate of ours once wrote the following lines to his memory:

'IN St. Helena's isle, in the midst of the ocean,
There sleeps the remains of the noble and the brave,
The wild winds howl around him in savage commotion,
And dash the white surf onto NAPOLEON's grave.'

A beautiful tribute, and well deserved. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, we think, will yet find his level, and posterity may live to thank us for what we have here said. We have one bone to pick with him, however, which we should have done if we had met him among the Simplons or the Twoillerries. He had not ought, on the score of congugial affection, for to have divorced his wife, if she was a colored woman; and if we had a-met her before he done the deed, we would have said to her: JOSEPHINE, stand to your rights! While we 're about it, we may as well say we've another bone to pick with Mr. BART. He do n't do justice to that poor creater shut up on

[ocr errors]
« PreviousContinue »