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find them so satisfactory as on former occasions. Number Three Hundred and Twentyfour, The Second Beach from Newport, Rhode Island,' comprises, to our conception, more of his peculiar excellences than any other. He is always felicitous in representations of far-reaching views; the wide-extended plain, and the perspective accuracy of every object depicted, both aêrial and linear, are here well given. Mr. CROPSEY sends eleven landscapes; but in all of them we think we discern a desire to excel in mere mechanism -- in dexterity of touch, and what artists sometimes call ‘slap-dash effects.' These are beautiful in subjection, but when too apparent, are suggestive of theatrical scene-painting. Notwithstanding these defects, however, we regard Mr. CropSEY as one among our best landscape-painters, for he possesses a soul that breathes on all his canvas.

Durand has seven landscapes this year, all marked by his peculiar excellences. In Number Thirty-one, ‘Progress,' we observe a higher degree of perfection than this fine artist has ever previously attained. It is purely AMERICAN. It tells an American story out of American facts, portrayed with true American feeling, by a devoted and earnest student of Nature. DURAND is always peaceful, quiet, picturesque, and beautiful. No one artist among us has done more for true art than DURAND. He woos us, by their gentleness and repose, to love his pictures, rather than by attempting to 'astonish'us, and to enforce our admiration. Long may it be before he falls into the position of his own matchless representations of the sere, the yellow leaf!'

ELLIOTT sends eleven portraits this year. We say he sends; but it is not always inferable that an artist sends, of his own choice, a great number of pictures to the same exhibition. The subjects, or their friends, have often a voice in the matter, and their wishes are not to be disregarded. The number, however, has insured a good variety. Manhood in its prime; “frosty but kindly' old age; womanly beauty; childhood, 'in its innocent age cut off,' all live here in such expression and color as ELLIOTT only presents. Of the male beads, we are the most forcibly impressed with Number Four Hundred and Thirty-three, which is in the artist's best manner. But it requires not our praise. As a likeness and as a work of art, it'speaks for itself' literally. The same praise may justly be awarded to Number Twenty-eight, another characteristic head. The portrait of a lady, Number Three Hundred and Seventy-two, is a fine picture of an excellent subject - womanly beauty in its prime. Number Three Hundred and Twelve is a beautiful portrait of a lovely child, a copy in 'little’ of the portrait above-mentioned. It is pronounced perfect in expression and color by the parents of the subject.

Gifford has five pictures, all showing that uninterrupted approach to excellence which we have remarked for the last two or three years. Macte virtute !

The only landscape by that favorite and genial artist, Gignoux, is ‘A Snow-Scene,' but it is one of the very best in its kind. One thing, however, seems somewhat amiss. The race-way, or 'flume,' wants a little 'fixing,' it strikes us. As it is now, it appears to better calculated to supply the pond than the pond to supply the 'flume' with water.

Hicks has but three pictures; but he required no more, to give us a satisfying 'touch of his quality.' His portrait of a Quaker lady is a most admirable production. It is painted with honest paint, as solid as marble; and as to the likeness, one could swear, in a court of justice, to have seen the original, although he may never have ‘set eyes' on the calm, dignified, real features in his life. We have heard one of the male portraits, by the same artist, placed before it; but we say no: it is very fine, doubtless, but this is every way masterly. It is the very best portrait in the exhibition.

Mr. INNES contributes five landscapes. By a careful comparison with the pictures painted before he went abroad, it must be admitted that he has made very decided improvement. This is not always the case with our travelled artists.' A compromise between world-renowned pictures and Nature cannot be successfully accomplished without insensibly weaning the painter away from the latter. Number Thirty-seven,

Land-Storm,' we regard as one among the best pictures in the exhibition. There is no timidity, either in the mind or the hand of the artist. It is bold, grand, effective. It is something more than merely a 'pretty' picture. Those old gnarled, deep-rooted

forest-giants fairly 'fight their battles with the storm.' In the other pictures from Mr. INNES' hand, he seems to have sacrificed effect to his great love of mere tone. In this respect he will find that TIME, a greater toner than he, will entirely obliterate them. They are too much like the 'old masters' for a young master.' Kept up a little higher, they would go down' much better.

We have but three pictures from KENSETT, albeit he occupies about his usual space of wall-room, Number Forty-nine, 'Landscape,' being of unusual size. We always love to look upon KENSETT's pictures. There is always a strong affinity between them and the scenes in nature that touch us most: the wild, tangled, briery effect, with the broken sheen of light that sparkles like stars on the sea,' illuminating the otherwise cool, quiet, refreshing scene. Number Forty-nine gives us a bold, broken fore-ground, with magnificently-painted rocks on the left, and a high palisade on the right, which leave in the opening above a distant view of mountain, water, and sky. There is a bad fault, to our eye, in the stunted appearance of the principal tree. We think it would have been more effective had it been raised higher upon the face of the rock on which it now seems embedded for want of relief, causing a confusion in the forms. This, however, may very easily be remedied. The sky and clouds, also, do not, to our thinking, come quite up to Mr. KENSETT's standard of excellence, showing carelessness in making the farthest distance, cloud and sky, 'one and the same thing.' But still there is beauty enough in the fore-ground, beside the features indicated, to neutralize the faulty points of half a dozen pictures. We have so often encountered, in a wild-wood hunt, just such places, accompanied by torn garments and scratched limbs, that we cannot but feel that this is a true transcript from Nature herself. We congratulate the possessor of this noble picture, and the profession which names its author among her gifted sons.

We have eight pictures from Mr. T. ADDISON RICHARDS, and in the works of no exhibitor do we remark a more constant improvement. His color is growing deeper and richer, his distances more clearly defined, and his representations of nature more truthful and impressive. Mr. RICHARDS is destined to take a high rank among our landscapeartists.

In our “last leaves' we had spoken of the lovely full-length by Louis Lang, the most charming picture we have ever seen from his pencil; of William S. Mount's Who let down the Bars ?' so full of his characteristic excellences; of the great improvement of his brother in portrait-painting; of Peele's exquisite ‘Children and Game; 'of works by EDMONDS, TALBOT, CAFFERTY, DARLEY, TERRY, and four or five others; but our other matter has so usurped our space, that we are compelled here to draw this desultory and imperfect notice to a close.

LORD JOHN RUSSELL'S MEMOIRS, JOURNAL, ETC., OF THOMAS MOORE. — Messrs. APPLETON AND COMPANY continue, in numbers, this work. With much that is interesting, and mainly new, there is intermingled, as far as we have had an opportunity of observing, in the progress of the work, a great deal that it seems to us a judicious editor would have omitted. Moore's Journal' is a record of a thousand unimportant things, which tend only to show the great company' he was in the habit of keeping, and the indifferent things which are said over‘rich men's feasts.' It seems almost impossible not to regard MOORE, judging from his own exposition, as frequently the veriest trifler, and by no means always sincere or ingenuous. Reading him piecemeal, however, without knowing as yet how one act may possibly eventually justify another, his reader may be led, at this early stage of the work under notice, to do its illustrious subject injustice. We shall take occasion to review the volumes at large when they shall have been completed. The numbers, even as far as completed, have furnished much, both of extract and comment, for the English journals, and public opinion seems much divided upon the character of some of its revelations. The typographical execution is such as might be expected of the well-established press whence they proceed.

GossIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. 'The Saint Nicholas' (a name most pleasant to our ear) is the title of a not over-corpulent but

well-knit' monthly magazine, published at Owego, on the banks of the beautiful Susquehanna, in this State, the third number of which is before us. It has many clever things in its pages: among them a series of chapters from the pen of an eminent jurist of Tioga, entitled 'Gleanings from the Indian and Pioneer History of the Susquehanna,' which will not only be well-written, but promises to possess, as it advances, many historical attractions. The writer's love of his theme, and his original sources of information, assure us of this consummation. We shall keep an eye upon these sketches, and shall doubtless have occasion to refer to them more particularly hereafter. 'Izaak Walton Redivivus,' originally written for and published in the KNICKERBOCKER, next appears under the title of 'The Complete Susquehanna Angler.' A reference to this circumstance, it strikes us, would not have been amiss. There is somewhat of the playfully-satirical in the paper entitled 'Official Returns,' disclosing, as they do, certain chapters in the art and mystery of 'Office-Seeking.' We make an extract from a letter of Mr. ANDREW J. STUBBS to his friend TIMOTHY Twist, himself an office-holder, asking a letter to Governor Marcy (whom he himself only knows historically ') on his behalf:

You know my claims; in fact, I may say, the whole country knows them, namely, long and patient services in the ranks - always have had a natural turn for public business and other people's affairs, to the neglect, really, of my own. As to private affairs. the necessities of my family, etc. — but I forbear: the subject is too painful. If this is disputed, I will furnish you with a large-sized pigeon-hole full of unmistakable vouchers on this point in the shape of unpaid bills. In fact, I have no effects of any sort, unless you count what the party owes me; but such claims are a little too contingent for any commercial purpose. If the solemn promises made to me last fall by the various candidates, from the Governor down, were good for ten cents on the dollar, I should be in clover, and the harmony of the party preserved. Credulous country-gentlemen that we were, we relied upon the promises, fought hard, and get no dividend! There will be a break, Mr. Twist, depend upon it, if these abuses are suffered to come to a head.

'I will respectfully urge, farther, that I have held but few offices — none to speak of. I have an interesting family of nine children, from a helpless girl of sixteen down to the pledge at the breast, in a gradual descending scale as uniform as a flight of stairs. But I need n't speak of my children. You know as much about them as I do, particularly the youngest, TIMOTHY TWIST STUBBS, named in honor of yourself. He is so much like you as to make almost any one jealous, except the husband of dear Mrs. STUBBS. I am supporting, also, two maiden-aunts; at least, they will look to me for aid when they get so they can't help themselves. 'I don't wish to joke, for the subject is too serious; but in view of this, you can safely say that my aunty-cedents are unexceptionable in all matters pertaining to party usage, time-honored principles, etc.' . .. 'It is true, it was my ambition to take a cabinet-position or a foreign mission; but if we fail there, I will drop down, to secure the harmony of the party, to a mail-agency, or up, and become keeper of one of our most important ocean light-houses. The latter position, I may say, has been urged upon me by numerous friends. If I cannot do

ould be the only position I can serve my country in, why, I must content myself to shine where my friends think proper to place me. 'I throw myself trustingly into their arms. Yours affectionately, and pro bono publico,

'ANDREW J. STUBBS. *N. B. · A light-house with a garden-spot attached, of moderate size, would be preferred: no man can be said to be truly independent unless he has at command a plenty of sass of his own raising. *N. B., 2d. Don't forget the bullet extracted from my uncle ALEXANDER's calf.'

This modest letter is followed by copies of three others, kindly furnished by Governor Marcy from his files. Our first extract is from the epistle



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, & 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 PAIPS, 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 '44, 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 Puips 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:

Directly met my eyeistels.

* The car was full of passengers,

! She pouted when she found her lips I can't recall the number,

Determined on a smile, For I had but just awakened from

But 't was very plain the pretty rogue An unrefreshing slumber,

Was laughing all the while. When a lady, who sat facing me,

Thus happily the moments flew But turned away immediately,

To me, at least, of course, And smiled — I knew not why.

Though when she saw me smiling too,

It made the matter worse. When youthful folks who strangers are And when, at last, I left the car, Are seated face to face,

I caught her laughing eye, In the silence of a rail-road car,

And had one more good grin before
A grave and formal place,

I tore myself away.
Their wandering eyes will sometimes meet
By some strange fascination,

* Mine inn' I sought in saddened mood, And they cannot keep their faces straight, And with feelings of regret; Though dying with vexation.

Those brilliant eyes, I felt assured,

I never could forget. 'Simpletons there doubtless are,

And when arrived, valise in hand,
Whose mouths are always stretching, I paused — I can't tell why-
But the guileless mirth of maidens' eyes Before a mirror on a stand,
And dimpled cheeks is catching:

And gazed with curious eye.
First she laughed, and then I laughed -
I could n't say what at;

My cravat was turned half round or more, Then she looked grave, and I looked grave,

And shocked was I to find And then she laughed at that.

That my hat was badly jammed before,

And the rim turned up behind! "She endeavored to repress her mirth, Then while in haste my room I sought, But could n't hold it half in,

I swore along the stairs
For with face concealed behind a book, That I would not again be caught
She almost died a-laughing.

I 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 Foungest 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 :

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