take a stick in it for my stomjack-sake, so I told him to put it in, and he did, and de first ting I node, I did n't noe nuffin; and de nex ting I node, I found myself home in Anty CLAWSON's, wid de doctor on one side and a tin pan on the odder. I took an emitick and it wood n't stay on my stomjack, I was so bad. I am told dat I was found on a sellar-door fass asleep, and was carried home widout my hat, which was stolen from my wenerable hed, on a wheel-barrer.

Now I see how prone womankind and mankind am to gossip and slanderize; and I speck de fust ting I heah will be dat I was drunk, and dat I went on a spree; but de fust one in dis congregashun dat sez it, I'll find 'em two dollars, and take der cote till it's paid, and den I'll read him or her out ob dis community. It am yet to be shone wedder odder folks can't be Goughed as well as JOHN B.; derefore I warn you all not to luff your tongues run 'bout me. I'm determined to scrutinize my character at all hazzards, and I'll stick to myself like warm tar to a darkey's head. I don't feel in good trim to-night: my hed am as holler of idees as a dried bass-drum; but nex week, if I hab helf, you may look out for a lecture dat will be remembered.'

SAUNTERING leisurely northward, the other Sunday morning, on the shaded road that leads from Piermont along the graceful crescent-shore of the Tappaän-Zee, toward the pleasant village of Nyack-holding in our own the yielding hand of a voluble little girl of four years, (soft and throbbing, like a bird, that was worth two in a bush,'). we were overtaken by a carriage, fre

quented always by a 'good physician,' who was now going on his errand of mercy, toward the charming rus in urbe in the onward distance, whither our own idle steps were tending. At his kind and cordial invitation, we became his 'compagnon de buggy,' and journeyed pleasantly onward, until we arrived at 'the DOCTOR's' place of destination, the residence of Mr. T There was 'healing in the creak of his shoes,' as we walked up the portico of the mansion-delightfully situated upon a bank, commanding the lordly river for miles up and down, and surrounded by spacious gardens, full of 'all manner of fruits;' and his reception showed how well himself, and his skill in his noble science, were appreciated by the host to whom, and his family, he came, with so evidently heart-felt a welcome. How we tarried long; how we plucked the ears of corn, the rosy tomatoes, and pulled the 'long red beets,' and were loaded down with the same; how we listened to the sweettoned piano, from our host's own manufactory of that instrument; 'it boots not now to tell.' Some other time, may be. . . 'HARRY HARSON,'

by the author of 'The Attorney,' and by many readers considered superior to that very powerful and popular work, will soon be issued from the office of the KNICKERBOCKER, in a handsome volume. We have great pleasure in announcing, that a New Story, by the same author, will commence with our next number, and be regularly continued in each issue, until completed. Our readers may prepare for a work of rare and thrilling interest; nor will they be disappointed. OUR old friend and correspondent, PIPES, of Pipesville, sent us an admirable letter from the 'Eternal City,' but we cannot find 'hide nor hair' of it. There is a little fat baby-hand sometimes busy about our sanctum-table; but, being earnestly pressed to confess that he had taken it, he lacked words to express his indignation at the charge. Expect he took it, however. Apropos of this: will the author of 'Mr. Brown's Pigs' furnish us with another copy of his article? That, too, is either lost or mislaid. NOTICES of the 'PRESCOTT-HOUSE,' the NewYork 'Organ,' Metropolitan Drama and Opera, two pages of Literary Record of New Publications,' and some three pages of capital 'Children's Gossip and Characteristics,' although in type, await another number.

THERE is no carriage-road between Granada and Cordova, and we were obliged to perform the journey on horse-back. This is even a slower mode of travelling than by coach, for a muleteer's horses can scarcely be beaten into a faster gait than a walk. Twenty-five or thirty miles a day was the greatest speed we could make, although we started before daylight in the morning, and continued in the saddle until seven or eight o'clock at night, with the exception of an hour at noon, when we alighted by the road-side, to take our morning meal.

The Arriero from whom we hired our mules and horses, is known in Granada by the name of Napoleon, and a very honest fellow we found him.

Napoleon was quite a gentleman in his manners, and, as it appears, had a great sense of propriety; for the evening prior to our departure, he hinted to me that as there were some ladies of the party, in order to avoid any scandal, it would be better to start very early in the morning, and to send our horses outside of the gates of the city, where we could mount and depart unseen.

Taking Napoleon's advice, we left Granada the next morning, before the sun had removed the misty veil from the beautiful vega.

At about eight miles from the city, we passed El Puente de Pinos, a stone-bridge, which crosses a small stream. Tradition says that it was on this bridge that Columbus, hurrying in disgust from the delays and disappointments he had met with at the Court of Ferdinand, was stopped by a messenger from Isabella, saying she would espouse his plans of dis

covery.

Leaving the vega, our way lay through mountain defiles, and amid picturesque scenery, until we arrived at Alcala el Real, an old Moorish town, built upon the summit of a hill, where we passed the night. Our next day's journey brought us to Baena, likewise an ancient Moorish town, containing a population of ten thousand, built upon the slope of a hill, crowned by a picturesque castle.

From Baena, we passed through a wild, uncultivated country; and when evening stole upon us, we were still far distant from Cordova. Night closing in, the way became so obscure that we were obliged to trust to the instinct of our horses, to carry us in the right direction. As we advanced, the country became more broken and hilly, and the road so bad that our poor beasts, nearly exhausted with the long day's journey, went stumbling at every few steps. Finally Napoleon gave us the agreeable information that we had lost the way; and he got down from his horse and went on ahead to search for it. But his search was useless; and so we continued to stumble on, not knowing where we were going, and trusting entirely to our beasts, until after two or three hours of uncertainty we descried far away in a valley beneath us, the lights of Cordova. No port was ever hailed with more pleasure by the tempest-tossed mariner than were the lights of that city. But they were still distant, and the way appeared to lengthen as we advanced. Finally our course was intercepted by a river-the Guadalquiver!— and I hope I will not shock the poetical reader when I say we crossed it in a scow! Arrived on the other side, a short ride brought us to the city, and to the door of our hotel, where we were right glad to dismount, after having been fourteen hours in the saddle.

Cordova was a flourishing city under the Romans and Goths, but it reached its greatest splendor after the Moorish conquest. In 756, it threw off its allegiance to the Caliphate of Damascus, and under Abderahman it rose to be the capital of the Moorish Empire in Spain, and became the rival of Bagdad and Damascus. Its most flourishing period was about the year 1009, when it contained nearly a million inhabitants. Toward the middle of that century the power of the Caliphate began to diminish, and in the early part of the thirteenth century, internal discord had so weakened the government that in 1235, Ferdinand the Third, or Saint Ferdinand, made an easy conquest of Cordova and the whole kingdom. Cordova has sadly decayed under the Spaniards; and at the present day, the stranger finds little to interest him in roaming through its narrow, tortuous, and almost deserted streets. After he has walked around its picturesque Moorish walls, and visited the Cathedral, he is ready to shake the dust from his feet, and proceed on his journey.

It would have been thus with me but for one circumstance. Before leaving home, a particular friend put a letter of introduction into my hands, addressed to Cordova. 'You will doubtless visit that city in your tour through Spain,' said he, 'and if you do, I wish you particularly to deliver that letter.' Some years since, I passed a winter in that country, several months of which were spent in Cordova.

Finding poor accommodations at my hotel, I searched for quarters in a private family, and after many ineffectual efforts, at last found all I desired at the house of an old gentleman of decayed fortune, but of excellent family. I had lived for more than a week with Don Antonio, before I discovered he had a daughter. One evening, the Don and I were walking in the garden enjoying our cigars, when all at once the notes of a guitar broke upon our ears, and after a short prelude, a sweet voice sang one of those beautiful ballads of Spain.

'I placed my hand on the old man's arm, and we both paused until the strain was finished.

"What sweet voice is that, Don Antonio?' said I.

66

Why, it is my daughter's, the little Carmencita.'

Is it possible?' I replied; and you have never told me before that you had a daughter.'

"Ah, Señor, she is still very young and timid, and not accustomed to see strangers but come, you are in my house, and I will not make a stranger of you any longer. I will show you my Carmencita, my little jewel, all that is left in this world to gladden my heart amidst my poverty.'

"The old gentleman took my arm and led me into a small room, the windows of which looked upon the garden. As soon as we entered, a beautiful, bright-eyed girl ran forward to greet her papa with a kiss.

'Carmencita was shy at first; she did not appear to like the society of the stranger; but after a week or two, her shyness passed away, and she learned to consider me as one of the family. When I returned, after my daily rambles through the town and surrounding country, she always ran to greet me with her bright sunny smile; and when I spent the mornings or evenings at home, she would read to me some passage from the adventures of the Don, or some famous old ballad, or her fingers would stray over the cords of the guitar, and she would break forth in one of those touching Spanish melodies which thrill the very soul.

'Days and weeks flew by, and I put off my departure from Cordova, although I scarcely dared to acknowledge to myself that it was the magic spell which the child Carmencita had thrown around me, which caused my delay.

But Carmencita, although a child in years, was not a child in growth and feeling in this sunny clime, the plant is soon matured.

"Yet I do not believe that Carmencita had ever dreamed of such a thing as love. We had lived together like brother and sister, and as for myself, it was not until I was obliged to leave Cordova that I felt the power of the silken bands she had woven around me.

'At length the day of my departure arrived. I was to go to Malaga, thence to leave Spain, in all probability, for ever. The old gentleman was grieved at my departure. He pressed my hand and said, 'You must return soon.' Carmencita looked sad, and was silent. My horse was at the door, and my guide in readiness. I mounted hastily, with an almost bursting heart; and as I turned to take a last farewell, I saw the tears were streaming from Carmencita's eyes. This was too much for me; I felt I could not endure the agony I felt a moment longer, and putting spurs to my horse, I was soon far distant from Cordova."

'I have never returned to Spain since; nor have I ever heard from Don Antonio, or his lovely daughter; but if they are still living, I am sure they will be glad to hear from the stranger who spent so many days under their roof, and that they will receive you with the same kindness which they extended toward me.'

Hunting among a pile of letters of introduction, many of which were never fated to be delivered, I found the desired epistle, and immediately sallied forth in search of the address. In a gloomy, deserted street, I found the house of Don Antonio. I knocked at the door, and the venerable domestic that opened to me led me through a hall into a large apartment on the ground-floor, which opened to the garden. On enter

ing, I perceived a fine-looking old gentleman seated at the window, deeply engaged in a large volume opened before him. He rose to receive me; and as he glanced over the letter which I handed him, I saw his eyes sparkle with pleasure, and a benignant smile overspread his countenance. He immediately held out his hand and welcomed me most cordially, and then commenced asking numerous questions about my friend; but suddenly stopping in the midst of them, he called the old servant and sent him in search of Carmencita. A light foot was soon heard descending the stairs, and one of the most lovely beings I ever beheld stood before me. It was Carmencita, grown to a lovely woman, surrounded with all that grace and fascination which characterize her country-women.

During my stay at Cordova, my visits to Don Antonio's were of daily occurrence. Carmencita was always there, ready to tune her guitar and warble for me one of her beautiful ballads; and the old gentleman, who was learned in all the antiquities of the place, was always delighted to impart to me his knowledge.

In a few days I took leave of Don Antonio and his lovely daughter, carrying with me many kind messages for my friend. But alas! he never lived to receive them. When I returned home, I found the turf was green upon his grave.

The Cathedral of Cordova, which was formerly a mosque, was commenced by Abdunahman, in 786, and in splendor was second only to that of Mecca. Externally, it presents nothing attractive; in fact, its square towers and castellated appearance are rather forbidding than otherwise.

On entering the building the effect is most curious; one is, as it were, amid a forest of columns. There are nearly one thousand of these columns, no two of which are alike, some being of jasper, others of porphyry, and others of different colored marbles. The curious effect is heightened by the extreme lowness of the arched aisles, which are not more than twelve or fourteen feet in height, and the half day-light which pervades this vast edifice.

The most beautiful and best-preserved portion of the building is a chapel in which the Alcoran was placed. This is entered through an arched portal, of blue and gold mosaic, of most exquisite finish, and which, notwithstanding the flight of centuries, retains all its primitive freshness.

The chapel is an octagon of fifteen feet, the roof of which is in the form of a scollop, wrought out of one piece of marble. The pavement is likewise of marble, and around the wall is worn deeply by the multitudes of pilgrims who for centuries worshipped at this shrine.

Cordova, like all Spanish towns, has its beggars, which the stranger will find it almost impossible to shake off. They will frequently follow on his track for hours together; and although he may endeavor to get rid of them by all the kind Spanish words with which his memory is supplied, he will too frequently find them ineffectual. He will then probably try harsh terms; but these will have no better effect; and if his heart becomes touched, and his charitable spirit induces him to give alms, this only makes matters worse, for he will soon have all the beggars of the town at his heels. There are two magic phrases, however, which the beggar knows well, and which, in the mouth of a Spaniard, are always effectual; these are, Perdone von por Dios hermano - Pardon