when the author was approaching the mountainous coast of Scotland, during a violent storm at sea, suggested no idea so forcibly, as that the 'low roll of the thunder was formed of the lowest sound in the musical scale.' The writer was at Hull, when the emigrants (principally priests, with their eyes sadly cast on their breviaries, and clad in their soiled monkish habits, which they had no time to throw aside,) from the Low Countries fled before the French into England; yet this sad spectacle was entirely merged in the melancholy reminiscence, that 'Hull was the most unmusical place he ever visited.' Let us pass, however, to our extracts, which we shall commence with an anecdote of a celebrated English chevalier :

'At one of the music-meetings, in St. Martin's church, for the benefit of the Leicester Infirmary, I noticed a tall, handsome man, in a scarlet coat, with a gold button-hole in a black collar, the fashion of the day, moving with a gentleman-like air. This person proved to be the notorious Barrington, the pickpocket. In going up the middle aisle, he was invited into the mayor's pew, and sat between Miss St. John and Mr. Ashby, of Quenby, our late Member of Parliament. One of the plates was held at the door by this lady and gentleman, and when Mr. Barrington laid his guinea upon the plate, he was kindly thanked by his new acquaintance, and passed on with a graceful bow. The gentry who held the plates retired into the vestry, to add their contributions, and when Mr. Ashby would have placed his ten guineas on the plate, to his utter astonishment, they had flown from his pocket. After considerable amazement, the mystery was explained by one of the company remarking that Miss St. John's pocket was turned inside out; and that the elegant gentleman who sat between them had helped himself to the subscription he had put on the plate, and something beside. It is said that Barrington facilitated his operations by instruments, which he had made for the purpose. I recollect a circumstance of this kind. He waited upon a surgical-instrument maker, and ordered a pair of scissors, of a curious form; a few days afterward, he called for them, liked them, and paid two guineas, which the maker charged. After he had left the shop, the cutler's wife said, 'My dear, as the gentleman seemed so pleased with the scissors, I wish we had asked him what use they were for- he might recommend us-do run after him!' The cutler scampered out of the shop, and, overtaking the gentleman, hoped he would excuse him, but would he tell him what use he intended to make of the scissors? Why, my friend,' said Barrington, catching him by the button of his coat, and staring him in the face, 'I don't know whether I can tell you it's a great secret.' O, pray do, Sir-it may be something in our way.' Upon which, Barrington pressing hard upon his shoulder, whispered in his ear, They are for picking of pockets! In the utmost consternation, the scissors-maker ran back, and the moment he got into the shop, 'My dear,' he cried, will you believe it?-they are for picking of pockets!! Yes, my dear,' cried the wife, 'but what is the matter with your clothes? The cutler looked, and presently discovered that the scissors had extracted the two guineas he had just received for them!"

The reader will remember GOLDSMITH'S account of a clerical dinner which he once attended in England, where he anticipated a rich intellectual banquet, from the attrition and conversation of some fifteen or twenty country 'lights of the church. Being ushered into the apartment, he was greatly surprised and scandalized, when, after a long pause, a prominent divine broke the expressive silence which had mused their praise, by observing, that 'a sow in his parish had recently had fifteen pigs at a litter!' We have always fancied that this scene was something of a caricature; but if such things as the following are seen 'in the green tree,' what may we not expect from 'the dry? Our author is at Cambridge, searching for a young clergyman, a fellow townsman of his. At length, says Mr. GARDINER:

'I found his rooms; the door was fast, but through the window I discovered his cap and gown, lying on the floor. In the dusk of the evening I went again, and seeing a disconsolate man pacing the dark cloisters of that monkish place, I gently stepped behind him, and asked if he could tell me where Mr. B was? Starting from his reverie, he replied, Yes, Sir; he is coaching it in the next quadrangle!' 'Prav, Sir, what is that?' I said. Why, don't you know what coaching is? He is dining out, Sir; follow me, and I will show you where he is.' As I mounted the stairs, I heard sounds of revelry. Surely, said I to myself, B cannot be here; the demure, sanctified B-? I had to pass through a dark room, and poked my way to the door, directed by bursts of laughter within. I rapped gently; a loud voice cried out, Tumble in! Opening the first door, I found myself between two. There was no retreating: on tapping at the second, the invitation was repeated louder than before, with some addition, Tumble in, and show your ugly face! I instantly found myself in the company of three fine fellows, who showed signs of having spent a glorious day. In the midst of my odd entanglement, a thundering voice shouted, Red or white, red or white ?' I stood amazed; still louder the demand was repeated, 'Red or white, Sir? I paused for a moment, and catching a portion of their sanctified humor, I stoutly answered, Red!' and sat me down. Not another word was spoken: fresh wine and clean glasses were brought; we drank round, and in silence I bowed to my new friends. After a short pause, I begged to express my good fortune in falling into such civilized company, as I had never dreamed of finishing the day so much to my mind. I told them I was wandering about in search of a townsman of mine, one John B-, of Leicester, whom I could not find, but had little to regret on that score, since my inquiries had brought me into the present party. Upon which one of my jovial friends got up, and pointing to the floor, cried out, "There he lies! there he lies, Sir! The Rev. John B, Bachelor of Arts, and like one of the profane! There he lay; the saint-liko B, dead as Bacchus, under the table!'

At a dinner at the London Coffee-House, our author met Mr. SAMUEL WESLEY, Who told him many anecdotes of his uncle John, the celebrated founder of the Methodists, and in the midst of their port and claret, called for a pen and ink, and wrote the following lines upon the death of WHITFIELD, which have never before been published:

Here is a passage or two of geology. The writer has been describing an interview with Mr. DAVID BOOTH, a Scottish literary friend :

'In his terse broad Scotch, my literary friend said, 'Are ye tied to Mooses's account of the creation? By no means,' said I. Then I'll show ye a very curious book upon China, in which the histories of that antique country go back more than six thousand years. As a proof of their authenticity, in every king's reign is set down the celestial phenomena, as they occurred, and which, upon tracing back, is found to be a correct account of the motions of the heavenly bodies, and demonstrates, to a certainty, the truth of these records. There can be no doubt of that nation being in a high state of civilization before the time from which Moses dates the creation of the world. They have, however, histories that run back more than thirty thousand years, but these are so mixed with fable that they cannot be depended upon.'

'In a conversation with Dr. Lardner, stating how much we were indebted to the discoveries in geology, demonstrating the antiquity of the earth, he replied, that we need not resort to geology to prove the fact: for, as it regards the creation of the heavenly bodies, it could be proved that the fixed stars are at such an immense distance, that, notwithstanding light moves at the rate of a hundred thousand miles per second, it would take three hundred thousand years for a ray of it to travel through space ere it reached the earth; so that the stars we now see must have been created more than three hundred thousand years ago.'

Mr. GARDINER would seem to have been rather raw, on his first visit to London; for being in the gallery of the House of Commons, listening to SHERIDAN, Pitt, and Fox, he became so excited by the oratory of the latter, that he vociferated an uproarious 'Bravo! to the great scandal of the house and the speaker, who despatched a sergeant-at-arms to bring the offender to the bar, for the gross breach of privilege of which he had been guilty. The Prince of Wales, whom the importance of the debate had brought into the house, commiserating the young man's situation, waved the officer away with his hand; but the gallery was cleared; and as the innocent cause of the summary movement passed through the crowd, he heard execrations, and mutterings not loud but deep, against the deep damnation of their violent 'taking off.' Many years after, he was shown into the traveller's room of an inn in the south of England, where a gentleman was inveighing against the rustic, whose folly in calling out 'bravo!' caused him to be turned out of the gallery of the House of Commons, on a remote occasion, while Fox was speaking. Our author kept his countenance, and joined in the laugh.

The subjoined presents a very striking sketch of the commencement and completion of a work of art, which will immortalize the name of the intrepid artist:

When I visited Sir R. Phillips, in Bridge-street, in 1821, every morning, when I rose, I was interested in viewing the habitation of Quaker Horner, at the top of St. Paul's. When the cross was taken down to be re-gilt and repaired, this enterprising young artist, through the influence of George the Fourth, obtained permission to build a small wooden house on the scaffold poles that 22

VOL. XIII.

rose above the site of the cross, for the purpose of sketching the panoramic view or London, now exhibited in the Colosseum. After a stormy night, it was with trepidation that I opened my bedroom shutters, lest the structure should have been blown away from its frightful elevation. When the weather was calm and bright, I had great pleasure, with a telescope, in watching some of their domestic operations. As we break fasted about the same time with our neighbors in the clouds, I was sure to see the contents of the slop-basin thrown out of the little sash window upon the dome below. The laborious toil of the artist in ascending the stair-cases and ladders to reach his aerial dwelling, and the attendant danger, so often repeated, would have damped the ardor of most men. 'On entering the cathedral at three in the morning, the stillness of the streets,' says Mr. Horner, 'contrasted with the mid-day bustle, was only surpassed by the sepulchral stillness of the cathedral. But not less impressive at this early hour, was the immense scene from this lofty summit. Without any indication of animated existence, it was interesting to mark the gradual symptoms of returning life, until the rising sun vivified the whole into activity, bustle, and business. The weather was frequently so boisterous, during the stormy summer of 1821, as to frustrate the contrivance for security, and it was difficult to obtain workmen, at a high remuneration, to repair the scaffolding and machinery. This will not appear surprising, when it is known that, during the high winds, it was impossible for a person to stand, without clinging to the frame-work. The creaking, whistling of the timbers, was like a ship laboring in a storm; during a squall, a great part of the heavy planks were carried away over the house-tops to a considerable distance. At this moment the observatory was torn from its fastening, and turned partly over the edge of the platform. The fury of the wind rendered the door impassable, and an outlet was obtained by forcing a passage on the opposite side.' Mr. Horner, with an unparalleled degree of courage, surmounted all these difficulties, and finished his sketch of the metropolis upon two hundred and eighty sheets of drawingpaper, comprising a surface of six hundred and eighty square feet, and as long as the Colosseum lasts, his name will be perpetuated.'

Dining one day with 'those two splendid fellows, CHERRY and CHARLES Matthews,' our author tells us, the former gave as a toast, after some political discussion, 'May men of principle be our principal men;' and the latter, May our future time be pastime.' It may be proper here, 'speaking of actors,' to mention a system of audience-packing, which would be a novelty, we think, in the theatres of this country. The operation of being 'screwed in,' is 'effected by placing the back of the person against a powerful engine, opposite one of the doors, which forces him into the pit, where, so close are the people wedged together, when the screw is in motion, that its action may be felt in the remotest part.' What an eligible situation for a DANIEL LAMBERT! - what a machine to pack a jury! The description of PAGANINI's first appearance in London is not without interest. There also might you see 'packing:'

I was present when Paganini made his first appearance in the Opera House, and the crowd that surrounded the doors at an early hour, consisted entirely of composers and musicians. The eagerness was much increased by two previous disappointments; Paganini not daring for some time to come before an English audience. I got in, at the hazard of my bones, and the house was filled in an instant; hundreds being left in the street. I stood next to Mr. Venua, of Cambridge, and a Scotchman, who had come from Edinburgh, and was more fortunate than Venua, who had made an unsuccessful journey the week before. We stood in breathless anxiety until the Signor made his appearance. As his gaunt figure glided from the side scenes to the front of the stage, involuntary shouts burst from all parts of the house; many rising from their seats to view the spectre. His appearance was more like a devotee about to suffer martyrdom, than one to delight you with his art; he was evidently in great trepidation, but gained confidence as the thunders of applause and cheering continued.'

Mr. GARDINER records, from Dr. PARR's own lips, that celebrated scholar's rebuke of Sir JAMES MACKINTOSH, who had said that O'CoIGHLY richly deserved his fate, since it was impossible to conceive of a greater scoundrel.' 'By no means, Jamie,' said the Doctor; it is very possible to conceive of a greater scoundrel. He was an Irishman; he might have been a Scotchman: he was a priest; he might have been a lawyer: he was a traitor; he might have been an apostate! The following is characteristic:

'The Doctor was very proud of his bells and his choir, and always encouraged them to sing a long hymn or an anthem before sermon, during which he used to steal into the vestry and get his pipe. When they had done, the clerk informed him, and, if the Doctor had not finished, he would say, John, tell them to sing the two last verses over again; my people love singing, and I love smoking. It mattered not what part of the service he was in, his colloquial style would now and then break out. A farming man, coming in rather late, the Doctor stopped short, and said, 'John, how many times am I to tell you not to stump up the aisle in those hob-nailed shoes?'"'

Our author seems not to have been altogether free from the 'ducks and nods which weak minds pay to rank,' yet he gives us a fearless and most pitiable picture of George the Third, in his saddle, reviewing the Oxford Blues at Windsor, in 1805: A more deplorable object surely never was seen. His countenance was imbecile, and his look

vacant. The ribbon with which the horse's main was plaited, immediately caught his attention, and he expressed his delight by saying, 'Pretty blue ribbons! - pretty blue ribbons! After indulging in the rocking motion of his horse for some time, he could scarcely be coaxed to move on in line, but stopped and chatted inanely with the common soldiers in the ranks. 'Look on that picture, and then on this,' the best and briefest we have yet encountered of the coronation of VICTORIA :

*

'At ten o'clock, the cannon announced that the Queen had stepped into her carriage at the palace, and at eleveu the cannon again informed us of her arrival at the abbey-door. The heralds, marshals, and men-at-arms, in their stiff coats of gold, flew to the entrance to form the procession. The excitement had been increasing from eight to eleven. Interesting aud beautiful, the Queen walked alone, followed by the maids of honor, dressed in white satin and brilliants, with circlets of roses mingled with green leaves upon their heads, holding, nearly breast high, the superb train she drew after her; then came the ladies of the bed-chamber, in rich dresses of cerulean blue, with bandeaus of diamonds, and ostrich feathers on their heads.' 'At the moment the Queen had arrived upon the platform, and was handed to a chair of state by her uncle, the Duke of Sussex, the sun showered down his beams upon her. It was a dramatic scene of pomp and grandeur, too lofty for language to represent. I looked steadfastly at her, when seated, and saw, by the tremulous glitter of diamonds upon her breast, that she was agitated, and nearly overcome with the splendor that surrounded her. The music was the service of the church, as performed in the cathedrals, solemn and grand, heightened in its effects by a band of one hundred and fifty instrumental performers, and nearly three hundred voices. The parts usually sung by a single voice, were performed by six of the most eminent English singers to each part. During the performance of Handel's anthem, describing the crowing of King Solomon, the Queen was conducted by her ladies behind the purple and goid tapestry, into Henry the Seventh's Chapel, where she was robed for her coronation. She soon returned, under a canopy of gold. It then wanted three minutes to two o'clock. A telegraphic communicaton was made from the floor through the roof, and a rocket announced that the crown was placed on her head. The cannon instantly thundered from the Park and the Tower, and the five hundred instruments and voices poured forth The Queen shall rejoice in her strength, for the Lord hath set a crown of pure gold on her head. At the same instant, like an electrical flash, four hundred peers and peeresses crowned themselves with the corouets they held in their hands. It was a burst of grandeur, of surpassing splendor, too mighty to be described.'

A better story of hypochondria than even 'The Turned Head' of the 'London Physician,' is that of a patient of a medical friend of the author's, who imagined he had a leg of mutton hanging to his nose, and walked nearly double, to prevent the dangling joint from hitting his knees. The cure was simple. He was taken into a dark room, where a person was stationed with the reality, and on cutting off just the tip of his nose, the mutton was let fall on the floor. On opening the window-shutters, the patient was convinced he had got rid of his load, and walked in an upright posture ever afterward. An anecdote, too, well worth recording, is that related of HAYDN, the great composer, who on one occasion went into a music-store, in Leicester, and after looking at a variety of his own pieces, said he wanted something better. 'Do you see they are by HAYDN?' asked the shop-keeper, a fervent admirer of that artist. Well, Sir, I do,' was the reply; 'but I wish for something better.' 'Better!' indignantly cried the enthusiastic amateur; 'a gentleman of your taste I am not anxious to serve;' and he was turning away, when the 'hard customer' made known that he was HAYDN himself.

The following is well authenticated of JOHN BUNYAN. While in Bedford jail, he was called upon by a Quaker, desirous of making a convert of him. 'Friend John,' said he, 'I ain come to thee with a message from the LORD; and after having searched for thee in half the prisons in England, I am glad I have found thee at last.' 'If the LORD had sent you,' returned BUNYAN, you need not have taken so much pains to find me out; for the LORD knows I have been here these twelve years.' As a marked and pleasant contrast of character, we will close this already too greatly extended 'Salmagundi' with a condensed passage in the history of SIR LUMLEY SKIFFINGTON, author of the 'Point of Honor,' and ci devant prime leader of the fashions with the whipped cream of the London beau-monde. He was once disturbed in the night by the information that the adjoining house was on fire; he voted the necessity of moving a 'very great bore,' and vowed with vows he would not stir; and when at last in the street, in his Turkish night-gown, and hair in papers, he greatly amused the by-standers and busy firemen, by calling out: What are these horrid creatures about, with so much filthy water, that I cannot step, without wetting my slippers!'

AMERICAN QUARTERLIES. We have the two prominent American reviews, for the January quarter, the 'New-York' and the 'North-American,' before us, but are compelled to 'speak them shortly.' They are both good numbers; at least, both contain three or four papers of unusual excellence. The first article in the last-named work we take from internal evidence to be from the competent pen of our consul at Rome, an old contributor to these pages, of whose literary qualities it were superfluous to speak. It is a review of MICALI on the ancient Italians, and describes their origin, the first steps toward civilization, the Pelasgi and Etruscans, with their science and literature, their arts of war and peace, agriculture, etc. The article is both entertaining and instructive, in all its details. The review of STEPHENS' 'Incidents of Travel in Egypt, Arabia Petræa,' etc., is said to be from the hand of Hon. LEWIS CASS; and of this we think there can be no doubt. It is a very cordial and elaborate notice of this excellent and most popular work, rendered doubly valuable from the fact, that the reviewer himself followed our author through most of the interesting scenes which he has not less happily than vividly described. Justice is done to, and a clear synopsis given of, the 'Life of Father Marquette,' which forms the tenth volume of 'SPARKS' Library of American Biography;' and high praise is awarded, in another article, to Duponceau's volume on the nature and character of the Chinese system of writing.' Those of our readers who remember the valuable and interesting papers upon the 'Chinese Nations and Languages,' contributed to the KNICKERBOCKER by the author of the work in question, will not be surprised to learn, that an adequate judge has pronounced it 'undoubtedly one of the most remarkable publications of the present day.' The remaining articles are, 'Nautical Discovery in the Northwest,' 'BowDITCH's translation of the 'Mécanique Céleste,' 'International Copyright,' and the usual series of brief critical notices.

THE NEW-YORK REVIEW is enriched with an article upon the poetry of WORDSWORTH, that well deserves the place of honor which it occupies. It is a consideration and analysis of the genius and productions of a gifted poet, who has but just began to enjoy that renown which will carry his name, full of honors, down to future ages. The comments upon the labors of WORDSWORTH evince a due appreciation of the bent of his mind, and the character of his inspirations; and were the paper of a more moderate length, this commentary, together with the extracts, which are made with good taste, would insure conviction to many a doubter, whom we fear will not now encounter a semi-dissertation and review, of such formidable extent. The second article is upon the 'Geological Survey of New-York,' and embodies a great variety of useful and interesting geological facts, and bares to the day the riches with which the earth teems, in the empire state. Passing a well written dissertation on 'Rituals,' another, displaying much research, and replete with valuable information, upon 'Steam Navigation of the Ocean,' and a review of an elementary treatise on sound, we come to an article on the writings of CARLYLE, which discriminates judiciously between the good and the blameworthy, in summing up the merits and characteristics of this remarkable writer. It has become fashionable, with many small littérateurs in this country, to prate of the 'invisible and non-existent,' which our author has evoked, and the 'mysteries of nature' which he 'spiritualizes into ideal forms,' what time he 'lulls the universe to sleep, that he may look at it,' and such like nonsense. These literary pauper-parvenus, incapable of the redeeming thought, seize the faults of CARLYLE's style, and having clothed their meagre conceptions in this stolen garb, fancy they have become Germanized into the 'inner soul' of Professor TEUFELSDRÖCK's best manner. A very sound and able criticism of COOPER's last works, concludes with a paragraph on that writer's style, in which the critic observes: 'Had we aimed at a literary criticism of these works, we should have had frequent occasion to point out verbal inaccuracies, such as the repeated use of understandingly, which does not belong to our language; of bluff, which is known only as a maritime word; of imperious, instead of imperative, and