shackles, and arise to truth. It may suggest some notions that can be carried out to valuable results. No man thinks in vain; and ungenerous wrong-thinking is better than slavishness of mind. I am inclined to think, too, that Conworth intended these pages as a kind of apology to those who once knew him. THE EDITOR.'

A LEAF FROM OUR NOTE-BOOK, wherein are recorded familiar thoughts, in a familiar way. It is proper to add, that whosoever will, may turn the leaf, and so escape the chances of an untried experiment.

ANIMAL BURLESQUE. - Did you never remark, reader, the exhibition of a species of burlesque, in the deportment of animals? Strong contrasts are often observable in the bearing of this 'portion of the community.' We could not resist a hearty laugh, recently, as we saw a pocket edition of a poodle, bedizzened with tinkling bells and red ribbon, following one of HARRINGTON's lordly St. Bernard mastiffs, and expressing its personal dislike of the canine giant,by a rapid series of fœtus barks, or barklets, as LAMB would have termed its small vociferations. With what indescribable contempt did the monster look down upon his little assailant, in the brief moment that he turned round his head, and then moved on, overshadowing the aspiring cur with his immense tail! Dignity was enthroned in his whole manner and aspect. A similar disparity is sometimes variously exhibited in a higher order of animals. The city reader will remember a menagerie incident, which occurred here some years since. A tiger, by some means or other, escaped from his cage, while the keeper was in the amphitheatre. He ran from side to side, 'seeking whom he might devour.' At length his fiery eye rested upon the keeper, who had taken up his position under the lee of a huge elephant, that had watched the motions of the enraged animal, from the beginning, with great gravity. The tiger sprang violently toward his master, but suddenly found himself encircled in the lithe proboscis of the elephant, and presently after, whirling in the air. Twice he returned to the charge, and twice he was sent half across the amphitheatre, the last time with a force that brought him to the ground, with exceeding emphasis, and in a state so disabled as to render his capture easy. The ponderous decorum with which the elephant conducted the affair, and the chagrin and discomfiture of his adversary, are said to have afforded a rich scene. It was a pitched battle, which the latter never forgot.

Apropos of elephants. A friend once described to us a laughable scene which he saw in Baltimore, wherein this 'half-reasoning parent of combs' (vide Dr. JOHNSON,) bore, as usual, a conspicuous and powerful part. Five or six men were 'being led' by the animal — they supposed they were leading him to the steamboat at the wharf, where he was to embark, with a menagerie, for Philadelphia. He clanked up, in chains, to the end of the pier, just as a sudden puff of steam escaped from the valve, preparatory to starting. The elephant looked indolently up at the white vapor, flapped his ears, and turned doggedly round, saying, as plainly as actions could speak, 'I do n't go in that boat! For the next twenty minutes, he was seen, by the passengers in waiting, slowly moving up the long street, in sullen dignity, while the attendants, uttering diverse soothing expostulations, pulled strenuously back upon the ropes and chains which lightly encumbered the resistless animal's legs. When the boat left the wharf, the party were still faintly discerned in the distance, continuing their toilsome and vexatious journey.

A CELESTIAL REVERIE.-There comes, to the thoughtful and contemplative man, a peculiar sense of serene majesty, when twilight falls upon the earth in the spring-time. The heart is then a devout worshipper in the great cathedral of nature. Low, deeptoned harmonies seem to vibrate in the still and solemn air; and faint, mellow beams, fading every moment, steal from the stained windows of the west, as one by one

the evening lights 'go up upon their watch.' But when twilight deepens into night, the wide o'erhanging firmament—that 'majestical roof, fretted with golden fires' —in its bright and countless hosts of worlds, overwhelms the rapt gazer with awe, at the power and majesty of the Great Architect. 'Are those bright orbs,' he exclaims, 'inhabitable worlds, like this of ours? Lo! even while we gaze, one falls far down the deep blue vault, and vanishes away. Was A WORLD, in the inscrutable providence of the SUPREME, then blotted from being? Is our universe but as a star, to the dwellers in those suspended spheres, and will it be seen, ages hence, from yon far-gleaming orbs, suddenly to fall and fade, like a transient meteor in the sky?' He alone knoweth, who spreadeth out the heavens like a curtain, and hangeth the earth upon nothing! Faint glimpses are indeed afforded to the searcher after the unseen- dim perceptions of Nature's sublime mysteries. We wonder and admire, when, at a moment for years foretold, one celestial system clips with its mighty shadow a fellow system, as far in space they sweep their awful cycles. We marvel when, commissioned by the All-powerful, a wan and misty orb, predicted for a century, 'streams its horrid hair' upon the midnight sky. But of even these phenomena, how limited is our knowledge! 'Our best philosophical system is none other than a dream-theorem; a net-quotient, confidently given out, where divisor and dividend are both unknown.'

'POOR MINO.'-'Good morning!' in a clear, sonorous voice, rang in our ears, the other day, as we stepped into the store of a bird-fancier, in Nassau-street. Seeing no one in the shop, we were pondering in our mind whence the courteous salutation could proceed, when a large, handsome bird, of glossy black, fixed his keen eye upon us, and cocking his head inquisitively, asked, 'What's your name?' Surprised beyond measure at the full and perfect pronunciation, and intonation of the voice, so unlike the mere parrot, we were actually on the point of answering the query, when the loquacious questioner, turning toward a door that opened into an adjoining apartment, called out, 'Uncle John! Uncle John! An elderly Quaker gentleman, of taciturn manners, entered, when the bird broke out into one of the most hearty, infectious laughs it was ever our good fortune to hear, ending in a suppressed double chuckle, as if rounding off, sotto voce, a guffaw at a capital joke, which he had enjoyed with the utmost gusto. Oh, that joyous laugh! It was the very music of childhood. The next moment, in tones as pathetic and melting as those of Sterne's starling, he faltered out, 'Poor Mino!' But all sympathy with his captivity was at an end, when he presently commenced whistling a lively tune, apparently with great glee. Mino is a rare East Indian bird —a wonder and a marvel. Only five hundred dollars are demanded for him; and considering that his 'conversational powers' are of the first order, (although his rôle may be rather limited,) the price is not unreasonable. Endowed with this bird's voice, how far removed from certain fashionable bipeds would be an active monkey? How many live on the trottoirs of Broadway, who could hail him as a familiar and a brother!

THE STEAM SHIPS. Since the advent of Noah's ark, that unique piece of naval architecture, there has probably not been more fervent curiosity excited by any water-craft, than has been awakened by the steam-ships that have recently come to, and gone from, us across the Atlantic. The whole town, 'populous, multifaced,' went on board of them. We confessed the general infection, and found no rest, until we stood where, 'extended long and large,' the 'GREAT WESTERN' lay at her moorings-nay, until we had wandered over her from stem to stern, high and low; admiring her stupendous scale, the appointments which render her spacious cabins luxurious drawing-rooms, and the might and majesty of her machinery. Her propelling force is embodied POWER. The moral sublime must be strikingly exemplified, when this immense structure, in mid ocean, 'walks the floods below, While they roar on the shore,

And the stormy tempests blow!'

a huge animal, that heeds not the Deep, when it uttereth its voice, but makes it 'boil

like a pot! Spurning wind and wave, she parts the seething foam, and paws her resistless way to the haven where she would be! What a comment upon the wisdom of those cui bono men, who shook their sage heads at ROBERT FULTON, and ridiculed the bold and adventurous range of thought which foresaw the power of steam! It is to be hoped that that Solomon yet survives, who said to FULTON, when his brow was covered with the thick dew of mental anxiety, at an accidental mechanical inefficiency in his first experiment on the Hudson, I told you so! 'Twon't do!-'t won't do? There was such a contemner of imagination, and its fruitful offspring, inventive genius.

'WHO IS BLENERHASSET?' - Who that promenades in Broadway, but has seen, at some time or other of the day, a youngish man, of medium stature, adust or saturnine complexion, and mumping visnomy, with his hand full of gingerbread-cakes, which he nibbles ever and anon as he goes musingly along? He is known as the 'Gingerbread Man.' An undecided species of faded pantaloons, 'laxatively pendulous,' button up his nether anatomy. His coat, once black, has assumed, in the back, a mottled gingerbread hue. It is as if the color of his daily food had oozed, in saffron distillations, through his epidermis, breaking out externally in spots 'of a very aggravated type.' In front, the garment is placed on 'a short allowance of buttons,' which are for the most part shelled out like beans. Buttoned to the throat, it yawns in the skirts, which -'goe flippe-flappe' beneath the pockets, wherein stores of the wearer's favorite cake are garnered. If you know this personage, reader, you can answer the memorable question of WIRT, 'Who is BlenerhassettT? Our hero is the only son of that distinguished man; and yet he seems but a stranger and a pilgrim in the metropolis:

And where he goes, or how he fares,
Nobody knows, and nobody cares.'

'THERE is something in sickness that breaks down the pride of manhood.' WASHINGTON IRVING says truly. The haughtiest and the richest will answer for him. Sickness,' says the good SIR THOMAS BROWNE,' is the mother of Modesty, and putteth us in mind of our mortality; and when we are in the full career of worldly pomp and jolity, she pulleth us by the ears, and makes us know ourselves.' But if they are 'broken down' in sickness, who have riches, and need of nothing, what is his condition, who in a mart crowded with men thankful for leave to toil, though but for a pittance relies upon the labor of his hands for his daily bread, and that of an innocent family? Let this picture, reader, painted by an 'old master,' (how time-honored is Want!) make answer: Laid on the bed of languishing, perhaps on the bed of death, he beholds his wife and children disconsolate around him. They can present to him none of the cordials and supports of sickness, for his interrupted labor deprives them of the staff of life. His distress and theirs are unknown to the ear of opulence. Those who employ him, recognise him only by the price of his labor. When fastened to a sick bed, which serves rather to augment than to alleviate his malady, he ceases to attend his work, he ceases also to be present to their minds. Another comes, occupies his place, receives the wages he used to earn, and the sick man is forgotten. Disease continues to prey upon his frame, until he expires! He is consigned to the grave, of difficult purchase, and to oblivion, or is remembered only by the beggary of his family, accounted importunate and troublesome. The midnight bell, that is booming over this great metropolis as these thoughts are recorded, sounds in the wakeful ear of many a family, made desolate like this!

A RARE place is a menagerie, both for exhibition of the animals observed, and the humans observing. Various are the drolleries in each, which pass before the keeper. 'Have you such an animal as a PROCK, in your mentangentry?' said a back-woods wag to the president of a western itinerating 'institute' of wild animals. No; never heerd of him; what sort of a critter is he?' 'He is a Wisconsin varmint, which it is difficult

sufficiently adequately for to describe. He is exceedingly fleet-in fact, very much so. He has four legs-two short ones on one side, and two long ones on the other. He always grazes on an inclined plane; and the way they catch him, is curious. They head him, make him turn round, and this brings his long legs on the up-hill-side; consequence of which, his short legs an't no account. He falls down, rolls over and over, and is mighty soon catched.' The apparently credulous president offered a handsome sum for a live specimen; and proceeded to hoax the naturalist in return, while he was deeply interested in a cage of playful foxes. 'Them animals,' said he, 'comes from Iceland, a cold country, north of Canada, a piece. They are very fond of crows' eggs, which they steal from the precipices, on the sea-side. They are cunning critters— very. When they come to a spot where they expect to find a batch of nests, they make a ring, and begin to wrestle, to see which is the strongest. When they find out, the stoutest goes to the edge of the precipice, takes his next neighbor's tail in his teeth, and he takes another, and so on, till the string is long enough to hang over and reach the eggs, which are then handed up from one to another, (our greedy listener forgot to ask how,) until they arrive in safety at the top!' The 'prock' fabulist retired, filled with amazement at the marvellous vulpine string.

GRIEVOUS and 'considerably unpleasant, if not more,' to hear, is the burthen of a new coat. A hat is bad enough - but a new coat, with a tight fit! What an amount of care and of personal solicitude it brings with it to say nothing of that indescribable feeling, which makes an unoccupied arm a decided superfluíty - a mere hanger-on; a sensation, faintly shadowed forth, when the wearer's 'measure' was taken, and he was told to hold up his head, like a man, and drop his hands, which dangled so strangely far below the termination of sleeves that had always seemed long enough until then. See yonder victim, dodging fellow pedestrians, as if he feared that contact would collapse him, like a soap-bubble. Hear him think aloud, in the language of 'one who knows,' as he threads his devious way: 'Oh to be the martyr of a few yards of cloth; to be the Helot of a tight fit; to be shackled by the ninth fraction of a man; to be made submissive to the sun, the dust, the rain, and the snow; to be panic-stricken by the chimney-sweep, scared by the dustman; to shudder at the advent of the baker; to give precedence to the scavenger; to concede the wall to a peripatetic conveyancer of eggs; to palpitate at the irregular sallies of a mercurial cart-horse; to look with awe at the apparition of a giggling servant girl, with a slop-pail reversed; to coast a gutter, with horrible anticipations of the consequences!' There is, however, one consolation. The evil will soon wear off, and the draper shall benevolently rejoice that it has been removed.

THE TREE OF LEGAL KNOWLEDGE.'-A very large engraving, thus entitled, has been shown us by the author. The ingenuity and research manifested in its construction, demand high praise. In this legal tree, the lawyer or the student will find spread out before him, as on a map, the various methodical divisions and subdivisions of his abstruse science. All the great principles of the common law, with the enlargements and curtailments by statute, clothed in the garb of material objects, may here be traced. The whole is to the law what an atlas is to the study of geography, and can scarcely fail to command an extensive circulation among the legal fraternity of the United States. It is ornamented with well-executed and appropriate vignettes, and dedicated to Hon. WILLIAM GASTON, of North Carolina. We can confidently commend this 'tree' as one which bids fair to be favorably known by its fruits.

C. G. THOMSON, THE ARTIST. We are glad to perceive the praise which is awarded to this young but gifted artist, in some of the public journals. He deserves it all; and we have not a little pleasure in finding that the justice of the encomiums with which we accompanied his first introduction to the lovers of art in this city, has been fully and substantially acknowledged by the public. The richness and fidelity of his coloring, the grace and ease of his drawing and positions, are themes of especial laud, particularly in his 'lady-portraits,' and likenesses of children. One of these latter has elicited the following lines from the pen of an esteemed correspondent:

STANZAS

SUGGESTED BY THE NURSERY SCENE,' A PICTURE BY C. G. THOMSON, REPRESENTING THE HEAD OF A BOY RESTING ON THE POSOM OF HIS SISTER.

How deep, beyond all utterance, is the joy
Which thou, fair sister of that gentle boy,
Dost feel, as on thy calm, untroubled breast,
He seeks his wonted welcome place of rest;
And in his warm and innocent caress,
His young eye beams with love and happiness.
How deep, and yet how tranquil, is its flow!
Who cannot read it in that living glow
Of pure affection, which thy heart hath sent
To thy fair brow, so mutely eloquent ?

And can it be, that when a few short years
Have swiftly fled, your hearts can be so changed
By the world's cares, its jealousies, and fears,
That ye unconsciously may be estranged
Your young hopes faded, your affections cold,
And hours like this forgotten? Can it be,
That if, in after time, ye should behold

This image of your joyous infancy,

Your hearts, unwarmed, unmelted by the view,
May doubt if e'er this pictured scene were true!

The thought is sad, where that young head may lie:
Perchance, when those few fleeting years have passed;
Beneath the burning heat of India's sky,

Or shivering in the northern tempests' blast:
And when the light shall leave that beaming eye,
Where it may sink, where it may lie, at last,
Perhaps o'er burdened with its weight of care,
It may sink down in sorrow to the dust;
Or, stung by shame, and tortured by despair,
Its weak and failing springs of life may burst:

Or, it may lie, in agony and pain,

On the rent battle-field or bloody deck;

Or mid the raging of the hurricane,

Go down in some storm-rent, night-foundered wreck,

To find its everlasting place of sleep

In the dark caverns of the boundless deep!

And when thy head, fair boy! is far away

From that loved pillow where it doth repose,

What unknown sorrows in that coming day,

Around that fond and gentle breast may close!

What gnawing cares to that warm heart may cling,

What baffled hope there ply its ceaseless sting;

What secret grief may then within it dwell,

What woes unspoken and unspeakable;

What life-consuming pangs that bosom bide,

Which, once, to shield from harm, thou wouldst have gladly died!

I love to gaze on your mute loveliness,

Forgetful of the magic work of art;

And while I feel the power which yo possess

To elevate and purify the heart,

I will not think what future years may bring
Of care, of sorrow, and of suffering:
No: still thus ever tranquil be that breast,
On which thy head, in innocence, doth rest,
Fair boy! no heavier burden may it bear,
But be thy gentle head for ever pillowed there!

A. G. G.