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Life's sweetest dream, life's fleetest dream;
Oh! what can e'er the spirit move With joy - when from its depths goes out
Life's only light — the dream of Love?
*I lived — though sad yet not despairing,
Till in the rush of life was riven From out my heart its last, last hope;
I lost at length the dream of Heaven,
'I wept at first o'er Fame's poor loss,
It was not worth the sigh it cost; Then wept for Friendship; now it seems
A bubble, beside what I've lost.
• Love's loss was sad enough, God knows !
The saddest loss but one ere given ;
Now that I've lost my dream of Heaven.
• Good God! how sad are these lost dreams!
Have pity, Father - Mother -- give
At last - some dream that I may live.'
We might say much more on these 'Lost Dreams,' gentle reader. Have we not by us the original manuscript of a poem on a lost and forgotten dream, by JUSTINUS KERNER, which, as we were assured, was never published, and which, according to one ‘MEISTER KARL,' his way of thinking, is his best? Some day you shall have both original and a fair version thereof in the pages of KNICK.
The annexed anecdote from a ‘hawk-eye — oway' man gives a 'powerful' Malaprop :
· Fort Madison, Iowa. DEAR KNICK : My plodding career has not infrequently been flecked with light emitted from the pages of your Magazine. Pray let me gratefully send to you a crumb, which whether or not suitable for the Table,' will mayhap for a moment amuse you. When, many years ago, I was residing as an attorney-at-law in a Hudson River town of your glorious State, I was an assiduous attendant upon the political meetings of my county. In our party was a zealous old orator, a perfect Barkis at stump-speaking, and most successful in always satisfying his own most sanguine expectations, and withal a perfectly unconscious NAPOLEON in mangling and murdering the Queen's English, or rather that of King WILLIAM. I recollect, that on one occasion his patriotism was more ebullient than usual as he inveighed against the rascally Literary Cuts of the Democracy of New-York.' I was perplexed. I had not lived long in the State. “Literary cuts !' quoth I inwardly. 'Have not the Whigs sent them as good cuts as they have given ?' But as the orator advanced, light gradually dawned upon my mind. The old man was battering our adversaries for having ordered the construction of so many costly Lateral Cuts from the Erie Canal.
D.' •D.' must cut’ and come again.
The 'pint' of the following story, be it observed, is its strict ‘ter-ruth!' We are gifted with the art of reading character in handwriting, and observe much veracity in the 'hair lines' of our correspondent, while his J's indicate great correctitude.' Listen, therefore, to the ‘Legend of Levi Lapp, or The Heading to an Advertisement:'
'A FEW years since, the writer of the following sketch was one of the editors and proprietors of a daily and weekly newspaper, published in one of the large towns of Western New-York. Among the numerous patrons of the paper was a man whom I shall describe as LEVI LAPP, a carpenter by trade, and a very şlever man in his way, but as the sequel shows, entirely unacquainted with the art which claims as its shining lights the names of GUTTEMBERG and Faust.
• Having considerable Yankee adaptedness to one thing or the other, in the useful as well as ornamental line, Mr. LAPP had recently purchased the right to manufacture a patent pump, which he was very desirous of introducing to the public, through the columns of our paper. In other words, he wanted to advertise it, and in the course of conversation about the price and other details, mentioned to me that he would like a cut of his new pump inserted as a heading to the advertisement. I replied, “Very well,' and immediately asked, 'Have you the cut here?' He replied: ‘No, but I have got one at my house, and will fetch it in.'
' In a day or two Mr. Lapp came into the office with a hand-bill, which he unfolded, and which contained a fac simile of the pump he was manufacturing.
• He said to me: “Now you can get in my cut, and do so at once, for I wish to see it in print in your paper.'
"Where is your cut ?' I asked.
"I then told him that it would require a block of wood cut by an engraver in the shape and likeness of the pump; that this was called a cut or engraving, and that it would have to be used in the press, in connection with the types, to make up such an advertisement as he desired. I further told him who could do the job, and the probable expense some fifteen or twenty dollars.
• A bright idea appeared to influence Mr. LAPP, and he informed me that he thought he could do the job himself, and save just so much outlay. I told him if he could it would suit me equally as well ; but I thought he would find it a trifle difficult.
"We separated, and I saw no more of Levi LAPP for several weeks. In fact, I had forgotten all about the matter. One morning, bright and early, as I was busy at the desk, in came Mr. Lapp in a great hurry and bluster. He quickly explained himself, and said he had his cut finished, and had brought it as a heading to his advertisement.
' I said: “Very well. Where is it?' "He answered : Down-stairs.'
"Without giving the matter a moment's thought, I said to him: 'Bring it up.' And he instantly left the room for that purpose.
• His back was hardly turned, however, before the thought struck me that he had rather a huge engraving for a paper of limited size like ours. And calling to the foreman to see if I was not correct in my opinion, I turned again to the desk.
The foreman was back in an instant, and I was soon aware that LEVI LAPP's bright idea had grown into giant proportions, and that the engraving or cut he had brought for our press was no less than a veritable wood-pump of full size, even to the pump-log, chain, crank and water-spout.
* LAPP was proceeding to bring his extended cut' into our establishment, but at that very moment was deterred from executing his plan by the shouts and laughter of the entire printing-office force, ineluding the devil himself, who stood at the windows making merry at his expense.
"The true condition of affairs slowly dawned upon Mr. LAPP's vision ; and when informed that he had made a much larger cut than the present condition of the art preservative would justify, he hurriedly replaced his engraving' on the wagon that brought it to our door and drove off, evidently making a greater impression’ in this way than the pump could, by any possibility, have made in our limited establishment.'
But do n't larf,' reader. Have we not known a married and 'wealthyish' woman; yes, one who had been to skule,' who inquired of us 'if all the pictures in books were drawn with pen an' ink, or how ?! Non omnes omnia possumus — which, as we happen to know, signifies 'we can't all catch 'possums,'' and it is not given unto every one to be “a graver man.' January Gossip we gave a musical little canzonet well adapted to song. In the same style is the following by Anna M. ANDERSON, of Bellevert,' Kentucky:
Through the leaves of the areca sigh,
And the yucca's white plume waves high,
Mounts up to the tropical sky;
Bloomed a beautiful child
• With a spirit as free as her own blithe air,
Now dancing o'er lily-crowned lea,
Joy-wild in the rapture of glee;
Or by the white-sanded sea,
We place the following as an awful warning to all grim, sulky, disoblig. ing janitors.' Doubtless there are many among our readers who suffer from such Cerberuses, for, be it made known to the reader who dwelleth not 'in chambers,' or has not an orifice' in some 'buildings,' that all janitors are not of the model kind described in 'Cecil Dreeme.' Observe that we print this under the solemn assurance of a credible witness, that the event described literally took place, and - as we have elsewhere observed — is strictly true :
Our Janitor. * FRONTING the Old Cemetery' in our half-rural city, stood, many years ago, & large, ghostly-looking building known as the Medical College. It was not like your metropolitan institutions, thronged by large numbers of Galen's children, but the patient professors read their well-thumbed lectures to a score or two of the matriculated yearly, and every spring a baker's dozen or so emerged from its balls, titled and sheepskinned.
• I have often wandered through the Anatomical Museum, gazing at the dirty plaster casts' that were ranged above the cases, each labeled with the name of some notorious individual, whose only epitaph was a line of six linear feet.
'It was a perfect Golgotha, that museum, full of bones and preparations and hideous monsters done up' in alcohol, and stowed away in glass jars ; then there were a few plates, illustrative of morbid anatomy; the melancholy remains of a horse ; some stuffed birds, the work of an amateur taxidermist, and a pair of ugly-looking jaws, once the property of a formidable fish. But the rheumatic, palsied old janitor, Captain C was, after all, the greatest curiosity that met the stranger's eye as he entered that cheerless building. People wondered why the faculty permitted him to remain ; visitors were treated with marked discourtesy by the flaxen-haired, dirty, snarling old fellow, and his remarks to the professors were disrespectful, nay, ofttimes insulting. Yet he seemed to be a morbid growth, the extirpation of which would be attended with much danger to that body corporate, and so they waited, hoping that death might soon effect a spontaneous cure.
* Class after class graduated, but still the janitor hobbled about, smoking his little black pipe, cursing his increasing infirmities, and snubbing his superiors. Among the students he had few friends; those who were wealthy purchased his favor by frequent bribes, until tired of his exactions, they either left the institution in disgust, or coolly submitted to the thousand petty annoyances that their disgrace gave rise to.
• The winter of 18 - came, and still the old janitor held bis position, more sour, more disagreeable, more taciturn than ever before. He shunned the dissecting-room, a place he had always before loved; and his unsteady step and blood-shot eyes gave evidence of a fearful increase in his fiery potations. December twelfth, I remember it well! The night that ushered it in was freezing cold; the wind swept down heavy drifts of clouds from the north, and the pedestrian was blinded by the fierce, dry snow that was mercilessly hurled in his face. What a night in the college! The doors opened and shut heavily; a thousand iron hoofs seemed to clatter across the floor; loud shrieks were heard in the dissecting room, and fitful flashes of light fell from the win. dows upon the ground below; then for a moment the museum was supernaturally illumi. nated, and all was still. The next morning search was made for the janitor. A keen, bright scalpel lay upon one of the tables in the professor's dissecting-room; long locks of flaxen hair were scattered about the floor; jars were upset, specimens spoiled, and all around us were evidences of a direful struggle. 'Foul play, I fear,' said the professor of anatomy. “Do you, gentlemen, know any thing of this affair ?' He was answered by a peal of demoniacal laughter that chilled our blood. Where did it come from where ? Every secret hiding-place was searched, but in vain. Again that laugh rang in our ears. "We must look further,' said the professor uneasily. 'Mr. C lead the way to the museum.' We entered, and there, astride the skeleton-horse, was the skeleton of our janitor. He seemed to leer at us as we stood aghast at the spectacle ; the old black pipe dropped from between his teeth, and we thought he attempted to dismount. Again that horrid peal of laughter, and we fled the room.
* Years have since passed. The mystery is yet unsolved, but strange voices make the rooms of that old building vocal upon every anniversary of this tragedy; and it is said that the Captain appears upon that night in desperate struggle with a dusky-looking figure, who holds in one hand a keen scalpel and in the other a bond, upon which is inscribed in scrawling letters the name of our janitor. Witness thereunto I, R. , N.'
‘R. M. N,' that is an 'orful' narrative, and one fit to make the hairs stand "uprighteously,' like 'pills upon the pretful quorkupine,' as-SHAKSPEARE, we believe — tried to observe. Howbeit, we thank you ; 'dank Ihnen,' as our small stock of German enables to say in thanks, and 'desire better acquaintance of you.' - He who sends "The Dutchman's Hen' to dear Old KNICK,' is .ow're careful' to disclaim credit for the invention of the story part thereof, giving to one Master Gough, famed in Temperance, the glory. But we have a corner for you, notwithstanding, 'Don QUONDAM.'
The Dutchman's Ven:
Once with an bonest Dutchman walking,