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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 'Ofice-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 hills. 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 doron 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 better, and that should 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 ea88 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 VOL. XLII.

7

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 Adoenture,' 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,

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,
Directly met my eye,,

* 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 ít 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.

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.

THE lines by an enamored swain, commencing:

"THERE is a girl in Brooklyn,

She lives in the Southern part,' 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 Kıp, 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 between 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 do n'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 cannot 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.

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"Good 'Evings!' travel six or seven hundred miles to look over the mss. 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

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