up with fresh, tender, rectifying life, those best feelings of our nature which business and the harsh contacts of the outer life are so apt to deaden. DEMPSTER is a moral benefactor. The beauty of his art is the twin sister of religion. It is the music of love, and of the heart: music for prayer, for our friends, and for our children.' OUR friend DAVENPORT, the actor, (and an actor of great power and grace he is, too, who throws into his personations that naturalness and abandon which makes him seem the character he depicts,) sends us a couple of poetry-bills by, a 'spoon' who called himself 'ADOLPH,' some years ago in Philadelphia — a kind of literary SHALES, whom the wags of the theatre made great sport of. He wanted to produce a play of his own, but there was one objectionable stage-scene in it, it was thought! A fair specimen of his verse is afforded in his 'Song on a Paper Kite,' in which we honor his choice of subject; for a boy's kite was always our specialité, and we suppose always will be:

'I Do admire a paper kite
As I do a lady:

It is to me a pleasing sight,
When she flies so sweetly:

"The sweet bobs of a paper kite,
Often gave me pleasure:

It is a beautiful sight,

For the boys to endure.

A kite may light upon a house,
Chance get fast to a tree:

The boy then trys his best and might,
And gains sweet liberty.

'He's pleased to find his kite not torn,
And takes another run!

The thread is drawn, his kite flies on,
Begone! consternation.'

The lines 'To Amanda H

are not without style, certainly; but we

think in force and rhythm the lines above quoted will generally be considered as bearing away the palm:

'OH! that smile upon thy rosy cheek,
Seemed to me so fair!

Dear girl, like thy graceful form, so neat,
I'd share my kisses there.

In Germantown township is thy home:
'Tis a good neighborhood:

Near a well of water, so well known,
With thee I one day stood.

'It was here I shar'd a fresh desire,
Near thy home, rejoicing:
The glass of water I did admire,
I drank all that was in it.'

'How hard it is to write good!' THE following Illustrated Epitaph has been sent to us by an old and cordial friend. It was copied, he states, from a tomb-stone near Williamsport, (Penn.) We have not the slightest doubt of it. No one can look upon that picture, without being convinced

that such a kick from such an animal must have proved fatal. There is som tautology in the epitaph, but the facts are interesting: for example, the circumstance of the deceased boy's being 'friendly to his father and his mother.' The expression is strong, certainly; but tomb-stones justify a little extravagance of language:

TAYLOR AND SHUCK.

TAYLOR AND SHUCK sculpsit! THE following specimen of the 'Elo quence of the Bar,' in a not-distant Western State, was actually delivered, as we know from a correspondent, as here reported in his notes. The case was the trial of a person on a writ of inquirendo lunatico. Which side the 'learned' and eloquent advocate was on, it is somewhat difficult to ascertain from his speech: 'The counsel on the other side, Sir, misapprehends the principle involved in this important case. Law, Sir, is very simple, if we understand its elementary principles. The principle of this case, Sir, is to be found in the horn-books of the profession. I hold in my hand, Sir, a volume of BLACKSTONE, Sir, the great author of the English law: yes, Sir, I hold in my hand, Sir, that glorious magnus chartus, the foundation and bulwark of English liberty, which was wrung by the illustrious King JOHN, suwoard in hand, from the bloody Barons on the banks of the pleasant Bonnymede, on that momentuous occasion! But, Sir, I did not intend to make a speech, Sir, and as I have not examined the question, Sir, I submit it to the Court with these few and incongruvial remarks.' MR. WRIGGLEWORTH (having just concluded his breakfast) breaks open a newly-arrived

letter, and reads: 'I hope, my dear boy, you haven't eaten any of the eggs my wife sent your'n, as by some unlucky mistake they prove to have been snakes' eggs which CHARLEY found in the barn!' Mr. WRIGGLEWORTH was 'not strong man to be angry-he was s-i-c-k!' WE E are sorry that we have not the conclusion of our esteemed correspondent's letter from Niagara Falls, begun in our May number. As the season is at hand when pleasure travellers will begin to move, we would say to those who are thinking which way they will go, by no means omit Niagara, and if possible stay a while at the MONTEAGLE HOUSE, at the Rail-way Suspension Bridge; itself one of the greatest works of man, spanning and commanding one of the most sublime works of GOD. The MONTEAGLE is kept—and who can doubt that it will be well kept?-by our old friend GEORGE W. VESEY, late of the Atlantic,' Newport, and the Pavilion,' Rockaway, and MARK H. WOOSTER, formerly of our 'HOWARD Hotel.' After sojourning in this locality a week or more, if your time will permit, go down Lake Ontario in one of those beautiful steamers, and down the St. LAWRENCE through the Thousand Islands, and over the Rapids: stop a day or two at COLMAN's in Montreal; then take a boat again to Quebec, where you can spend two or three days and enjoy a new pleasure every hour. Then go on board the boat for the Saguenay with Captain SIMARD, who will take you to where the mighty St. LAWRENCE becomes an arm of the sea; and then up that silent, grand, and solitary stream, whose banks will fill you with amazement and delight: then you may say you have seen the NE PLUS ULTRA of travel in that direction. If you will then return by Lake Champlain and Lake GEORGE, stopping at either of the two good houses of our friends SHERRILL and GALE, you will have made a tour that will be a 'memory of delight' to you while life shall last.

WE thought of these (at that moment awe-full) lines, when on the evening of the twenty-ninth day of March, we saw Mr. JAMES H. BENNOCH, at his residence in Piermont, draw his last breath. Almost day after day, we beheld his manly form and once beaming eye fading away before the insidious approaches of that 'Stern WARRIOR,' to whom every human being must at last surrender. Mr. BENNOCH was beloved by all who knew him well, and warmly esteemed by all who had only the pleasure of his acquaintance. His urbanity of manner, springing from a natural kindness of heart, made him many friends. As a husband and father,' says one who knew him well, 'he was always tender, indulgent, and kind; as a friend he was true, faithful, and sincere. Cut down by the Destroyer in the very zenith of his manhood, his memory will long remain fresh and green in the hearts of those who delighted in the enjoyment of his friendship.' Mr. BENNOCH was a near relative of Mr. FRANCIS BENNOCH, of London, the constant and generous friend of Miss MITFORD, to the day of her death; a man of fine literary tastes; and moreover a poet of no mean order. 'JAMES' sleeps with his little boy, in the plat he so

loved to ornament with his own hand, in the 'Rockland Cemetery:' and with him, as with the child, 'it is well! 'SECRETARY MARCY,' (said a certain Member of Congress who shall be nameless, to a certain correspondent of ours who is nameless,) is not only a distinguished statesman, but he loves humor, and is himself a wag of the first water. I had occasion to prefer a request to him for the appointment of a learned gentleman in some home or foreign office in his department. One after another the gentleman's credentials were opened: one setting forth his knowledge of Hebrew, another of Greek, a third of Latin, and so on, as letter after letter was examined, down to a perfect knowledge of all the modern languages. A most extra-or-dinary man!' said the Secretary, looking up from under his great shaggy, beetling eye-brows, and shoving up his spectacles upon his high, broad forehead: 'Why, Sir, that man must have graduated at the Tower of Babel!" That was an old linguist! WE recollect being asked, on one occasion, several months ago, the following question: 'I see in your last number a notice of N. Dodge's Anti-choking Arch Valve Pump-Boxes: Do you consider this a literary subject?' To which query, knowing how long and with how much patience this great and simple improvement had been wrought out, we replied: 'It may not be literary, but it is humane.' And now we see that it is so. Captains of the first ships that go out of our port testify to their perfect working: delivering, at all times, even in the most fearful gales, grain, chips, coal, dirt, etc., that would have choked any ordinary pump. Captains of our best ships, on voyages from New-York to Califernia, Callao, Liverpool, Calcutta, etc., and back, attest in the strongest terms the preeminent superiority of these pump-boxes. The New-York Board of Underwriters, by a unanimous resolution, express the same opin ion. The pumps gave out,' will be heard no more, in accounts of marine disasters, in any vessel in which N. DODGE's very powerful' Anti-choking Arch Valves' are employed. 'You asked recently,' says an

Orange county correspondent, whether, after all, Law was n't an exact science?' In order to show you that you are quite right, I vouch for the following: Some two or three years ago, a vagabond Indian was arrested and imprisoned, to await his trial for the murder of one of his companions. His case was brought up in the United States District Court at Detroit, and on the trial it was proved most distinctly, that the prisoner was guilty; but it was deemed doubtful whether the murder was committed within or over the border of the Reservation: whereupon the question arose: 'Which power had a right to try the prisoner? - the State, or the United States Court?' As the matter could not be satisfactorily determined, rather than try him in the wrong court, they liberated him : and for aught I know to the contrary, he is still free!' WHAT a rich harvest of goodness and worth has been gathered from our midst into the garner of DEATH since our last number was issued! JOSEPH MCKEEN and JOSEPH CURTIS, kindred in their devotion to the great cause of education, sleep in their honored graves. The tongue of the eloquent Ogden Hoffman is mute, and the eye whose glance could light up an assembly as by a flash, is dimmed for ever. ROBERT KELLY, the fine scholar, the accomplished gentleman, the benevolent

And

--

public benefactor — he too is no more. All of these, with the exception of the first named, we knew well. Who that heard it can forget the eulogy which Mr. KELLY pronounced before the 'Century' upon the late DANIEL SEYMOUR? They were kindred spirits in life; and now 'in death they are not divided.' Ah! reader: 'DEATH is continually walking the rounds of a great city, and sooner or later, stops at every man's door!' Is it not wise often to think on these things?' WE have received another admirable 'Letter from the Lake Shore,' from our charming correspondent, J. K. L.,' which was only just a little too late for our present number. It will appear in our next. Apropos of this gifted and accomplished lady: we desire to call the attention of such of our town-readers as may drop in to see us at our publication-office, APPLETON'S Building, to step up-stairs, 'first floor from the roof,' to Mr. JEROME THOMPSON'S studio, and examine an exquisite female head, which he has just completed. It is most gracefully-disposed, and the coloring is in Mr. THOMPSON'S very best manner. A little low-crowned, jaunty, 'love-of-a' gipsy straw-hat, from which flaunts a light waving plume, transparently shades the fair forehead, arched brows, and deep, darkblue (by our Lady, they might be hazel!) eyes, leaving the correspondinglybeautiful features below bathed in a subdued and pleasant light. It is a picture which, even as a fancy-sketch, would delight a Paris print-publisher. We have not said of whom it was a portrait, observe, for that might be a liberty; but we may say, that the picture is not less free and graceful than the writings of its fair subject. Now do you know?' We commend it to the attention of Mr. D'AVIGNON, the accomplished artist upon stone, as a most attractive picture to be added to his popular lithographs. He could not possibly do a better thing. WE find nothing to laugh at in the lines appended to a newspaper obituary notice of a little boy, sent us from Princeton, New-Jersey. The few errors of spelling are trivial; but the sad thought of the father, that he should 'hear no more upon the stairs' the 'tiny feet' of his little boy, nor the gentle rap of his small hand upon the door, is not a subject (we submit) to be made sport of. We have said as much once or twice heretofore. A YEAR or so ago, while the Olean Air-line, Wide-gauge Rail-road, was in contemplation, an old Dutch farmer, residing near Galleon, Ohio, visited Bucyrus, and driving up to the hotel where he usually got his 'beverages' when in town, he was saluted by the hotel-keeper with: 'Good morning, neighbor: what's the news?' 'Oh! goot newsh, goot newsh for Galleon yet!' said the old Dutchman. 'Ah? — what is it?' asked BONIFACE. 'Oh!' replied the old 'Deitscher,' 'we're a-goin' to hav der Julyaun Rail-rodt, Air-tight line, mit a six foot gouge!' Is the size of that gouge out of character for rail-roads generally?' Not for some of them it is n't, at any rate. 'Do you know,' writes

Meister KARL, 'who wrote that wild and wondrous 'Song of the Cholera,' beginning:

'BREATHLESS the course of the Pale White Horse,
Bearing the ghastly form,' etc?'

Apropos of the cho

We do not; yet we remember well the stirring lines. 1era: let us hope that, should it travel hitherward this summer, as is pre