The Knickerbocker, or New-York Monthly Magazine, June 1844

T. Crawford, (Rome.)—Mr. Crawford gives us two full-length statues, in which the charm of the marble is strongly apparent. Mr. Crawford, we grieve to say, is evidently too impatient in the finish of his works to produce that correctness which is essential to a high effort of art.

J. F. Cropsey.—No. 68, ‘View in Orange County,’ is a careful representation of nature, and has the appearance to our eyes of having been painted on the spot; a practice very rarely to be found in young artists. A continuance in this course will place this artist in a prominent position as a landscape-painter. The sky is faulty in color, being too purple to meet our views of nature; and there is a lack of delicacy in the more receding portions of the work. But the fore-ground is carefully painted, and full of truth.

Cummings, N. A.—Mr. Cummings has but one picture. It possesses however the careful finish, gentlemanly character, and general truthfulness, so characteristic of this fine artist.

T. Cummings, Jr., a young artist. No. 149, ‘The Ball,’ is his best work. In thus attempting a subject of great difficulty of execution, he evinces promise of future ability. The picture has many pleasing points, marked however with some errors, which time and practice, let us hope, will correct.

C. Curtis.—Mr. Curtis has two pictures in the exhibition, and both of merit. No. 196 is among the best heads in the collection.

J. W. Dodge, A.—‘Miniature Portraits.’ Those of Henry Clay and Gen. Jackson are the most prominent. The likenesses are good, and the pictures carefully finished; a merit in works of this character frequently unattended to. There is, however, a want of dignity sometimes to be found in Mr. Dodge’s portraits, which we could wish to see remedied: it would give an elevation to his paintings which they at present lack.

Paul P. Duggan.—‘John the Baptist’ is a model in plaster, which displays greater knowledge of anatomy than we are in the habit of finding in the works of even older artists. In this respect it possesses great merit. We understand it is his first effort in modelling. As such, it is truly a work of the highest promise.

Durand, N. A.—Mr. Durand has contributed largely to the present exhibition, in every sense of the word. His most prominent production is No. 36, ‘The Solitary Oak.’ For an exhibition-picture, perhaps it is not so striking as some of his previous works; yet it will bear examination better. Without any effort at warmth of color, it has that glow of sunlight which it is so difficult to express. A veteran tree, standing alone upon a gentle eminence, stretching forth its giant arms, that have withstood the storms of centuries, is truly a noble subject for an artist of Mr. Durand’s reputation; and most truly has he depicted it. The distance is beautiful, and the introduction of cattle seeking their evening shelter gives an interest seldom to be found in works of this class. Should we attempt to find a fault, it would be the want of a little more warmth and clearness in the dark parts of the fore-ground. No. 134, another charming landscape; true to nature, of a silvery tone, and most exquisite sweetness of color and delicacy of touch. Nos. 181 and 258 are two careful studies from nature, wherein special care has been given to the trunks of trees, a feature in landscape-painting upon which sufficient attention is rarely bestowed. No. 244, ‘Emigrant Family,’ is full of interest. The travelling family are encamped under the shade of the trees, and the kettle hung over the fire shows that they are evidently preparing to refresh themselves for farther toil and journeying. The foliage of the trees is elaborately executed; the distance is well preserved; and the whole possesses great truth to nature; perhaps however, like all ‘green’ pictures, it is less attractive in an exhibition than works of a warmer color. No. 163, ‘Portrait of a Gentleman,’ has great force, and shows the artist’s versatility of genius.

F. W. Edmonds, N. A.—No. 105, ‘Beggar’s Petition,’ is a spirited and faithful representation of the cold indifference to the wants of others, displayed in the miser’s disposition. The figures are of life-size, and well drawn. The female supplicating in behalf of the distressed, is graceful in attitude, and admirably contrasted with the hoarding miser. No. 205, ‘The Image Pedler,’ is an effort of a higher order; for the artist has attempted, and successfully too, to elevate the class of works to which it belongs. In short, he has invested a humble subject with a moral dignity, which we hope our younger artists, who paint in this department, will not lose sight of. An independent farmer has his family around him, apparently immediately after dinner, and a strolling pedler appears among them, to dispose of his wares; and this gives interest to the whole group. The grandmother drops her peeling-knife, and the mother takes her infant from the cradle, to gaze at the sights in the pedler’s basket. The husband, who has been reading in the cool breeze of the window, turns to participate in the sport; while the grandfather takes a bust of Washington, places it on the table, and commences an earnest elucidation of the character of the, ‘Father of his Country’ to the little children around him. All the figures are intelligent, and the whole scene conveys to the mind a happy family. In color, light and shade, and composition, it is masterly; and we see in it that minuteness of detail and careful finish are not incompatible with a broad and luminous effect.

C. L. Elliott has five portraits in the exhibition. His ‘Full-length of Gov. Seward’ is a prominent one, although not his most agreeable picture. No. 61 is we think the best, and is a well-managed portrait, both in drawing and color.

G. W. Flagg, H.—No. 63, ‘Half-length of a Lady,’ has considerable merit. It is rich and mellow in color, and better we think than many of Mr. Flagg’s recent works. No. 208, ‘The Widow,’ is a popular picture; pleasing in expression, and possessing more refinement of character than is observable in many of his other portraits. No. 102, ‘Bianca Visconti,’ we do not admire.

G. Freeman.—Miniature portraits, generally large, and highly finished. This gentleman has lately arrived from Europe, and is we believe a popular artist; yet we do not like his productions.

J. Frothingham, N. A.—Nos. 32 and 35: portraits exhibiting Mr. Frothingham’s usual bold and free style in this department of art; remarkably fine likenesses; true in color, and of pleasing general effect.

H. P. Gray, N. A.—Mr. Gray exhibits a number of his works this season. He seems to us to sacrifice every thing to color; and his color is not such as is generally seen in nature, but rather what he has seen in pictures. This we think a mistake, and one which we must be permitted to hope he will rectify. In the pictures which he formerly painted, a much closer attention to nature is observable. Mr. Gray has all the feeling of an artist, with no ordinary talent; and we regret to find that he wanders from the direct path. We were among the first, if not the very first, to call public attention to his merits, and it is with reluctance that we perform the duty involved in these animadversions. ‘Comparisons,’ Dogberry tells us, ‘are odorous;’ we cannot help remarking, however, that Mr. Gray’s old fellow-student, Huntington, is (longa intervallo) in the advance. We prefer, of our artist’s present efforts, the picture of ‘His Wife.’ It has a pleasing effect, and is more finished than usual, and more natural in tone than his ‘Magdalen.’

J. T. Harris, A., has two pictures, and both portraits. No. 19 is the best. It exhibits a broad, free touch, and correct drawing, and is withal an excellent likeness. But we never look at Mr. Harris’ works without being impressed with the idea that they are not finished. They seem to us, to borrow an artistical expression, as if they were in a capital state for ‘glazing and toning up.’ Otherwise, they are above the ordinary run of portraits.

G. P. A. Healy, H.—Mr. Healy is a resident of Paris, but an American. He is a favorite at the French court, and has by this means a reputation to which his works generally do not entitle him. We are bound in justice to say of his present effort, however, that it is an exceedingly fine picture. It is boldly and masterly executed; forcibly drawn, honestly colored, and well expressed. There is too about it a freedom from all the usual tricks of the profession, such as a red chair, velvet collar, and fantastic back-ground, which we particularly recommend to the attention of young artists.

Thomas Hicks, A., has eight pictures in the collection, but none, excepting his portraits, which equal his former productions. No. 264, ‘The Mother’s Grave,’ is an oft-repeated subject, and should not be attempted unless the artist is able to treat it with entire originality. There are good points about it, but none sufficiently attractive to warrant particular notice.

Ingham, N. A., as usual has a fine collection of female portraits, all excellent for their careful drawing, lady-like expression, and high finish. The drapery and accessories of Mr. Ingham’s portraits are always wonderfully exact to nature; and this greatly enhances the value of portraits of this description; for aside from their merit as likenesses, they will always be valuable as pictures. His male portrait, No. 113, of T. S. Cummings, Esq., is a most admirable likeness, as well as a highly-wrought and masterly-painted picture. No. 239, ‘Portrait of a Lady,’ with a fan in her hand, is our favorite among his female heads. There is a sweetness and modesty in the expression, not only in the countenance but in the whole figure, which makes it peculiarly attractive.

H. Inman, N. A.—No. 62, ‘Portrait of the late Bishop Moore, of Virginia,’ is the admiration of all who behold it. In color it surpasses any thing of Mr. Inman’s we have seen in many a day. Clear and luminous, with great breadth of light, and a mild, pleasing expression. We of course mean this to apply to the head. The hand and part of the drapery are not, in our judgment, so well done. No. 104, ‘Lady with a Mask,’ we do not altogether like; yet it is remarkable for being foreshortened in every part, and possesses that singular charm of light and shadow, and accidental effect, which are the characteristics of our artist’s pencil. No. 314, a Landscape, although small, is delicately handled, and ‘touched in’ with great neatness and accuracy. In effect it is attractive, and in color pleasing. The figure in the fore-ground equals in care and minuteness of finish the manner of Wouvermans.

N. Jocelyn.—No. 57, ‘Portrait of Professor Silliman,’ a faithful likeness, and carefully-painted portrait of a distinguished individual. No. 2, ‘Portrait of a Child,’ is another finished picture by this artist; clear and pearly in color and infantile in expression.

Alfred Jones.—No. 301, an engraving from Mount’s picture of ‘Nooning,’ for the American Art-Union, is one of the largest line-engravings ever published in this country, and a work of high order. This style of engraving has heretofore received so little encouragement, that until the Art-Union started it, no one except Mr. Durand had ever before dared to attempt it. This effort of Mr. Jones does him great credit.

M. Livingstone, A., has several works in the exhibition, but we cannot rank them among the higher class of landscapes. They lack the poetry of landscape-painting; but as amateur productions, they are very good.

E. D. Marchant, A.—All portraits, but none of high merit. Mr. Marchant is a persevering artist, who paints good likenesses and pleasing pictures; and so far, is doubtless popular with those who employ him.

John Megarey has two portraits, and those far surpassing his former works. They are carefully painted, without an effort at any thing beyond the subject before the artist.

We shall resume and conclude our remarks upon the exhibition in our next number.

Gossip with Readers and Correspondents.—We are about to enter upon the TWENTY-FOURTH volume of the Knickerbocker, for the advertisement of which, please note the second and third pages of the cover of the present number. We have nothing farther to add, than that ‘what has been, is that which shall be,’ in our onward progress. This Magazine, much the oldest in the United States, has been established, by the ever-unabated favor of the public, upon a basis of unshaken permanence. Its subscription-list fluctuates only in advance; it has the affection of its readers, and all concerned in its production and promulgation, to a degree wholly unexampled; and it is designed not only to maintain, but continually to enhance, its just claims upon the liberal patronage of American readers. The arrangements for the next volume, if they do not ‘preclude competition,’ will be found, it is confidently believed, to preclude any thing like successful rivalry, on the part of any of our contemporaries. On this point, however, we choose as heretofore to be judged by the public. ••• We gave in a recent issue two or three extracts from a lecture on ‘The Inner Life of Man’ delivered by Mr. Charles Hoover, at Newark, New-Jersey. This admirable performance has since been repeated to a highly gratified audience in this city; and from it we derive the following beautiful passage, which we commend to the heart of every lover of his kind: ‘It is a maxim of patriotism never to despair of the republic. Let it be the motto of our philanthropy never to despair of our sinning, sorrowing brother, till his last lingering look upon life has been taken, and all avenues by which angels approach the stricken heart are closed and silent forever. And in such a crisis, let no counsel be taken of narrow, niggard sentiment. When in a sea-storm some human being is seen in the distant surf, clinging to a plank, that is sometimes driven nearer to the shore, and sometimes carried farther off; sometimes buried in the surge, and then rising again, as if itself struggling like the almost hopeless sufferer it supports, who looks sadly to the shore as he rises from every wave, and battling with the billow, mingles his cry for help with the wild, mournful scream of the sea-bird; nature in every bosom on the shore is instinct with anxious pity for his fate, and darts her sympathies to him over the laboring waters. The child drops his play-things, and old age grasps its crutch and hurries to the spot; and the hand that cannot fling a rope is lifted to heaven for help. What though the sufferer be a stranger, a foreigner, an enemy even? Nature in trouble, in consternation, shrieks ‘He is a man!’ and every heart and hand is prompt to the rescue.’ ‘To a high office and ministry, to a life of beneficence, pity and love, each man should deem himself called by a divine vocation, by the appointment of nature; and otherwise living, should judge himself to be an abortion, a mistake, without signification or use in a world like ours. And the beauty, the glory of such a life, is not to be reckoned among ideal things heard out of heaven but never encountered by the eye. This world has had its Christ, its Fenelons, its Howards, as well as its Caligulas and Neros. Love hath been at times a manifestation as well as a principle; and the train of its glory swept far below the stars, and its brightness has fallen in mitigated and mellowed rays from the faces of men. As the ambiguous stranger-star of Bethlehem had its interpreting angel-song to the herdsmen of the plains, so loving men in all ages have given glimpses and interpretations of the love of God, and of the pity that is felt for the miserable and the guilty in the palace and presence-chamber of Jehovah. What glory within the scope of human imitation and attainment is comparable to that of the beneficent, the sympathising lover of his race? What more elevated, pure, and beautiful is possible among the achievements of an endless progression in heaven itself? Milton represents the profoundest emotions of joy and wonder among the celestial hosts as occasioned by the first anticipative disclosures of divine pity toward sinning man; and a greater than Milton assures us that the transport and festival of angelic joy occurs when Pity lifts the penitent from his prostration and forgives his folly.’ ••• Embellishment would seem to be the literary order of the day, in more ways than one. It has come to be the mode to express the most simple thought in the most magniloquent phrase. This propensity to lingual Euphuism has given rise to sundry illustrations, in embellished maxims, which are particularly amusing. They are of the sort so finely satirized by ‘Ollapod,’ on one occasion, two or three examples of which we annex. The common phrase of ‘’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good’ was transformed into ‘That gale is truly diseased which puffeth benefactions to nonentity;’ ‘Let well enough alone,’ into ‘Suffer a healthy sufficiency to remain in solitude;’ and ‘What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,’ into ‘The culinary adornments which suffice for the female of the race Anser, maybe relished also with the masculine adult of the same species.’ Some London wag, in a kindred spirit, has illustrated the cockney song, ‘If I had a donkey as vouldn’t go, do you think I’d wallop him?’ etc., as follows: ‘The herbaceous boon and the bland recommendation to advance, are more operative on the ansinine quadruped than the stern imprecation and the oaken cudgel:

‘Had I an ass averse to speed,I ne’er would strike him; no indeed!I’d give him hay, and cry ‘Proceed,’And ‘Go on Edward!’’

The same species of satire is now and then visited upon the ‘Troubadour Songs,’ which have become so afflictingly common of late years. Some of these we have already given; and we find them on the increase in England. We have before us, from the London press of Tilt and Bogue, ‘Sir Whystleton Mugges, a Metrical Romaunte, in three Fyttes,’ with copious notes. A stanza or two will suffice as a specimen. The knightly hero, it needs only to premise, has been jilted by his fair ‘ladye-love,’ who retires to her boudoir, while the knight walks off in despair:

‘Hys herte beat high and quycke;Forth to his tygere he did call,‘Bring me my palfrey from his stall,For I moste cotte my stycke!’‘Ye stede was brought, ye knyghte jomped up,He woulde not even stay to sup,But swyft he rode away;Still groanynge as he went along,And vowing yet to come out stronge,Upon some future day.‘Alack for poore Syr Whystleton,In love and warre so bold!Ye Ladye Blanche hym browne hath done,He is completely solde!‘Completely solde alack he is,Alack and wel-a-day;Mort Dieu! a bitterre fate is hysWhose trewe love sayth him nay!’

Thus endeth ‘Fytte ye First.’ We learn from the preface that the ‘Rhime of the Manne whose Mothre did not Know he was Out,’ and ‘Ye Lodgemente of Maistre Fergisoune,’ are also in the editor’s possession, but owing to the imperfect state of the MSS., it is doubtful whether they will ever be published. They have however been submitted to the inspection of ‘The Percy Society!’ ••• We are well pleased to learn that Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer, the distinguished author, is soon to visit the United States. That he will be warmly welcomed and cordially received, we cannot doubt; but we have good reason to believe that in the present instance at least our admiration of true genius will be tempered by all proper self-respect. Mr. Bulwer has for many years entertained a desire to visit America. In one of his letters to the late Willis Gaylord Clark, now lying before us, he writes: ‘I have long felt a peculiar admiration for your great and rising country; and it gives me a pleasure far beyond that arising from a vulgar notoriety, to think that I am not unknown to its inhabitants. Some time or other I hope to visit you, and suffer my present prepossessions to be confirmed by actual experience.’ ••• We have received and perused with gratification the last report of the ‘New-York Asylum for Deaf Mutes.’ The institution is in the most flourishing condition, and its usefulness greatly increased. We are sorry to perceive, by the following ‘specimen of composition’ of a pupil in the eighth class, that the ‘Orphic Sayings’ of Mr. A. Bronson Alcott are taken as literary models by the deaf and dumb students. The ensuing is certainly much better, internally, than anything from the transcendental ‘seer;’ but the manner too nearly resembles his, for both to be original. There is the same didactic condensation, the same Orphic ‘oneness,’ which distinguishes all Alcottism proper. It is entitled ‘Story of Hog:’

‘I walked on the road. I stood near the water. I undressed my feet. I went in the water. I stood under the bridge. I sat on the log. I washed my feet with hands. I looked at large water came. I ran in the water. I ran out the water. The large water floated fast. I afraid. I wiped feet with stockings. I dressed my feet with stockings and shoes. I went on the ground. I stood on the ground. I seen at the hog ate grass. The hog seen at me. I went on the ground. I ran. The hog heard. The hog looked at me. It ran and jumped. The hog ran under the fence and got his head under the fence and want to ran out the fence! I caught ears its hog. The hog shout. I pulled the hog out the fence. I struck a hog with hand. I rided on the hog ran and jumped fast. The hog ran fell on near the water. I rided off a hog. I stood. I held one ear its hog. The hog slept lies on near the water. I waited. I leaved. I went from the hog. The hog awoke. It rose. It saw not me. It ran and jumped. The hog went from the water. The hog went in the mud and water. The hog wallowed in the mud and water became very dirty. It slept. I went. I went into the house.’

The Ekkalaeobion is the name given to an establishment opposite the Washington Hotel, in Broadway, where the formation of chickens, ab initio, is ‘practised to a great extent.’ And really, it is in some respects an awful exhibition, to a reflecting mind. It is as it were a visible exposition of the source of life. You see the pulse of existence throbbing in the yet unformed mass, which assumes, day after day, the image of its kind; until at length the little creature knocks for admittance into this breathing world; steps forth from the shell in which it had been so long ‘cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in;’ and straitway walks abroad, ‘regenerated, disenthralled,’ and ready for its ‘grub.’ By all means, reader, go and see this interesting and instructive exhibition. It is provocative of much reflection, aside from the mere contemplation of it as a matter of curiosity. ••• The correspondent who sends us the following, writes upon the envelope containing it: ‘I have endeavored to preserve the measure of the original, and at the same time to present a literal translation.’ It will be conceded, we think, that he has been successful in his endeavor. Perhaps in some lines (as in ‘Pertransivit gladius’) the translation is a little too literal:

STABAT MATERIStabat mater dolorosa,Juxta crucem lacrymosa,Dum pendebat filius:Cujus animam gementem,Contristantem et dolentem,Pertransivit gladius.INear the cross the Mother weepingStood, her watch in sorrow keepingWhile was hanging there her Son:Through her soul in anguish groaning,O most sad, His fate bemoaning,Through and through that sword was run.IIO quam tristis et afflictaFuit illa benedicta,Mater unigeniti:Quæ mœrebat, et dolebat,Et tremebat, cum videbatNati pœnas inclyti.IIOh how sad with woe oppressed,Was she then, the Mother blessed,Who the sole-begotten bore:As she saw his pain and anguish,She did tremble, she did languish,Weep her holy Son before.IIIQuis est homo qui non fleret,Christi matrem si videretIn tanto supplicio?Quis posset non contristari,Piam matrem contemplari,Dolentem cum filio?IIIWho is he his tears concealing,Could have seen such anguish stealingThrough the Saviour-mother’s breast?Who his deepest groans could smother,Had he seen the holy MotherBy her Son with grief oppressed!IVPro peccatis suæ gentisVidit Jesum in tormentis,Et flagellis subditum;Vidit suum dulcem natumMorientem, desolatum,Dum emisit spiritum.IVChrist for Israel’s transgressionSaw she suffer thus oppression,Torment, and the cruel blow:Saw Him desolate and dying;Him she loved, beheld Him sighingForth His soul in deepest woe.VEja mater, fons amoris,Me sentire vim dolorisFac, ut tecum lugeam.Fac ut ardeat cor meum,In amando Christum Deum,Ut sibi complaceam.VSource of love, thy grief, O Mother,Grant with thee to share another—Grant that I with thee may weep:May my heart with love be glowing,All on Christ my God bestowing,In His favor ever keep.VISaneta mater, istud agas,Crucifixi fige plagasCordi meo valide:Tui nati vulnerati,Jam dignati pro me pati,Pœnas mecum divide.VIThis, oh holy Mother! granting,In my heart the wounds implantingOf His cross, oh let me bear:Pangs with which thy Son when woundedDeigned for me to be surrounded,Grant, oh grant that I may share.VIIFac me vere tecum flere,Crucifixo condolere,Donec ego vixero:Juxta crucem tecum stare,Te libenter sociareIn planctu desidero.VIIBe my eyes with tears o’erflowing,For the crucified bestowing,Till my eyes shall close in death:Ever by that cross be standing,Willingly with thee demandingBut to share each mournful breath.VIIIVirgo virginum præclara,Mihi jam non sis amaraFac me tecum plangere;Fadut portem Christi mortem,Passionis ejus sortem,Et plagas recolere.VIIIThou of virgins blest forever,Oh deny I pray thee neverThat I may lament with thee:Be my soul His death enduring,And His passion—thus securingOf His pains the memory.IXFac me plagis vulnerari,Cruce hac inebriari,Ob amorem filii:Inflammatus et accensusPer te, virgo, sim defensusIn die judicii.IXWith those blows may I be smitten,In my heart that cross be written,For thy Son’s dear love alway:Glowing, burning with affection,Grant me, Virgin! thy protection,In the dreaded judgment-day.XFac me cruce custodiri,Morte Christi præmuniri,Confoveri gratia:Quando corpus morietur,Fac ut animæ doneturParadisi gloria.XMay that cross its aid extend me,May the death of Christ defend me,With its saving grace surround;And when life’s last link is riven,To my soul be glory given,That in Paradise is found. St. Paul’s College. G. H. H.

Our Pine-street correspondent, who addresses us upon the ‘Fashionable Society in New-York,’ writes from the promptings of an honest-hearted frankness, that is quite clear; but he has not yet acquired that sort of useful information which is conveyed by the term, ‘knowing the world.’ The ‘fashionable circles’ par excellence, whose breeding and bearing he impugns, are of the Beauvoir school; persons who ‘are of your gens de cotorie; your people of the real ‘caste’ and ‘tone;’ that is, your people who singly would be set down as nought in society, but who, as a ‘set,’ have managed to make their joint-stock impudence imposing.’ Our correspondent, we suspect, has one important lesson to learn in his intercourse with such persons; and it is a lesson which has been felicitously set forth by a late English essayist. There is a recipe in some old book, he says, ‘How to avoid being tossed by a bull;’ and the instruction is, ‘Toss him.’ Try the experiment upon the first coxcomb who fancies that you are his inferior; charge first, and give him to understand at once that he is yours. Be coldly supercilious with all ‘important’ catiffs, and most punctual be your attention to any matter in debate; but let no temptation prevail with you to touch on any earthly point beyond it. In the case alluded to, a pompous old baronet comes down stairs loaded to the very muzzle to repress ‘familiarity’ on the part of a young man, who from an estate of dependence has recently mounted by inheritance to a princely fortune; but the cool, quiet young gentleman finds the old baronet guilty of ‘familiarity’ himself, and makes him bear the penalty of it, before six sentences are exchanged between them. The secret of the whole thing was, a quiet look directly in the eye, and the preservation of a deliberate silence; the true way to dissolve your pompous gentleman or affected ‘fashionable’ lady. The baronet’s long pauses the young heir did not move to interrupt. His mere listening drew the old aristocrat gradually out; his auditor replied monosyllabically, and made him pull him all the way. It was pitiful to see the old buzzard, who thought himself high and mighty, compelled to communicate with one who would have no notion of any body’s being high and mighty at all; getting gradually out of patience at the obstinate formality he was compelled to encounter, which he was sure any direct overture toward intimacy on his part would remove; and at last, in the midst of his doubts whether he should be familiar with the young man, being struck with a stronger doubt whether such familiarity would be reciprocated; it was a rich scene altogether, and worthy of being remembered by our correspondent. ••• The May issue of the ‘Cultivator’ agricultural Magazine, which under the supervision of the late Willis Gaylord reached a circulation of between forty and fifty thousand copies, contains an elaborate notice of its lamented editor, in which we find (in a letter from H. S. Randall, Esq.,) the following passage: