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throws itself into the River of Delight.' Passing, however, as well-known and familiar, a scene and locale of which not a few delighted visitors have written faithful descriptions, it may suffice to say, that here it was that Mr. CRAYON first met the venerable historian, DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER: 'I sat with him by the spring, at the foot of the green bank, and listened to his heroic tales about the worthies of the olden time, the Paladins of New-Amsterdam. I accompanied him in his legendary researches about Tarrytown, and Sing-Sing, and explored with him the spellbound recesses of Sleepy Hollow. I was present at many of his conferences with the good old Dutch burghers and their wives, from whom he derived many of those marvellous facts not laid down in books or records, and which give such superior value and authenticity to his history, over all others that have been written concerning the New-Netherlands.' Omitting all the rest of this admirable Letter to the EDITOR, we cannot choose but present this short passage, so replete with truth and exquisite beauty of thought and language, which occurs towards its conclusion:

'HERE then, have I set up my rest, surrounded by the reeollections of earlier days, and the mementoes of the historian of the Manhattoes, with that glorious river before me, which flows with such majesty through his works, and which has ever been to me a river of delight.

'I thank GOD I was born on the banks of the Hudson! I think it an invaluable advantage to be born and brought up in the neighborhood of some grand and noble object in nature: a river, a lake, or a mountain. We make a friendship with it; we in a manner ally ourselves to it for life. It remains an object of our pride and affections, a rallying point, to call us home again after all our wanderings. The things which we have learned in our childhood,' says an old writer, 'grow up with our souls, and unite themselves to it.' So it is with the scenes among which we have passed our early days: they influence the whole course of our thoughts and feelings: and I fancy I can trace much of what is good and pleasant in my own heterogeneous compound, to my early companionship with this glorious river. In the warmth of my youthful enthusiasm, I used to clothe it with moral attributes, and almost to give it a soul. I admired its frank, bold, honest character; its noble sincerity and perfect truth. Here was no specious smiling surface, covering the dangerous sand-bar or perfidious rock; but a stream deep as it was broad, and bearing with honorable faith the bark that trusted to its waves. I gloried in its simple, quiet, majestic, epic flow: ever straight forward. Once indeed, it turns aside for a moment, forced from its course by opposing mountains, but it struggles bravely through them, and immediately resumes its straight-forward march, Behold,' thought I, an emblem of a good man's course through life : ever simple, open, and direct; or if, overpowered by adverse circumstances, he deviate into error, it is but momentary: he soon recovers his onward and honorable career, and continues it to the end of his pilgrimage.'

'Excuse this rhapsody, into which I have been betrayed by a revival of early feelings. The Hudson is, in a manner, my first and last love: and after all my wanderings, and seeming infidelities, I return to it with a heart-felt preference over all the other rivers in the world. I seem to catch new life as I bathe in its ample billows, and inhale the pure breezes of its hills. It is true, the romance of youth is past, that once spread illusions over every scene. I can no longer picture an Arcadia in every green valley; nor a fairy land among the distant mountains; nor a peerless beauty in every villa gleaming among the trees: but though the illusions of youth have faded

from the landscape, the recollections of departed years and departed pleasures shed over it the mellow charm of evening sunshine.'

This letter appeared in the number of the KNICKERBOCKER for March, 1839, more than a score of years ago: yet we remember as if it were but yesterday the pleasure with which we first read the proof-sheet which contained it, while a warm spring rain was pattering lullingly against the blinds of our pleasant town-sanctum : for here was a world-renowned correspondent, whose writings were ever 'fullest of matter with least verbosity,' which came to your heart like a neighbor or familiar: a writer, in short, whom (in common with thousands of his countrymen) we had literally 'loved from boyhood.'

From one IRVING to another is an easy transition: and it will be as well, perhaps, in this connection, to mention the name of JoHN T. IRVING, Esq., who was for many months a voluminous correspondent of this Magazine. Few of our readers will ever forget' The Quod Correspondence,' which embodied, in separate works, 'The Attorney' and 'Harry Harson.' We can certainly say of this first production, that beyond any thing which ever appeared in our pages, it was entitled to the appellation of 'THRILLING.' No matter where we might be, or however so much engaged, when the oblong pages of 'QUOD' came in manuscript, we sat down and read them at once. And it was so with every compositor in the office. When the 'copy' was handed out, the boys would swap their 'takes,' and read every line of the number, before they set up a type of it. DICKENS himself does not better understand, than does the author of 'The QUOD Correspondence,' the art of stimulating without satisfying curiosity, until the whole of his story is before his readers. The wiles of his head-devil, the infernal 'Attorney,' and the retribution at last visited upon him, are, in the way of graphic description, and stirring incident, wholly unsurpassed by any kindred work with which we are acquainted. The Attorney' was subsequently issued in a handsome volume, and four large editions of it were called for in less than eight months: and a fifth edition, even now, would 'go off like hot cakes.' 'Harry Harson,' also an excellent story, was re-published, and had a very large sale: but it did n't 'bite' like 'The Attorney.' To show the smoothness and dry humor of Mr. JoHN T. IRVING'S style, we make the subjoined extract from his opening chapter of "The QUOD Correspondence: '

'OPPOSITE me is a famous fire-engine, which is in an eternal state of preparation, to the great mystification of myself, and of several small boys, who daily collect on the side-walks, and look with profound curiosity into the dim recesses of the engine-room. Never had engine such devoted attendants. Long and profound consultations are held respecting the health of the 'machine,' by young men in pea-jackets: the wheels are greased three times a day, and about as often the object of their solicitude is gently conducted around the block, by way of exercise, while other young men, of the same company, in straight hats, with ringlets in front of their ears, solicitous for the welfare of the insurance companies, walk to the corners to see if they can discover a smoke in any direction. If none is to be seen, they walk moodily back, and form a knot in front of the engine-house. The last fire is then talked over, and the merits of each 'machine' is discussed. I am sorely afraid, from what I overhear, that our city is but

scurvily provided with the means of extinguishing fires, as it seems by their conversation that every machine' in the city, except their own, is utterly useless, and not a fire has taken place whose extinguishment is not owing to their superior merits of their engine, and the superior energy of its followers.

'I have no influence in high quarters, or I would certainly recommend this particular company to the peculiar notice of the corporation; for I really think that something ought to be done for these public benefactors; and I am somewhat surprised, after all the good they have done to the city, that nobody should make honorable mention of it except themselves.

'The evil repute of my dwelling is a sure protection against all intrusion; and from having lived here so long without injury, the neighbors begin to look at me askance, and seem to think that one who can remain unscathed amidst the terrors of the haunted house, is himself no better than he should be.

'For this reason, I have formed but two acquaintances. The first is with a small dog of the neighborhood, who seems to belong to nobody, and who, as a great favor, manages to drop in about meal times. I suspect him of being a mongrel, for he is a longbodied fellow, with a broad chest, remarkably short fore-legs, set wide apart, and slightly bowed outward; and as he sits in front of me, he is not unlike one of those oldfashioned andirons which we sometimes meet with in country kitchens. He has a remarkably long and solid tail, which he generally carries like a flag-staff, at right-angles to his body. He is a grave, solemn dog, with a melancholy cast of countenance; but notwithstanding, I strongly suspect that he is an arrant knave; and from my window I have frequently observed him engaged in acts of larceny, which give me but a poor opinion of his morals. However, a lonely old man like myself can pardon many things in one who seems to take pleasure in his society; though it sometimes does seem sus. picious that he should invariably drop in just as I am taking my meals. I am rather inclined to think that he has no better opinion of me than the rest of the neighbors; and being a dissolute fellow himself, has set me down for one of the same kidney.

'In making his visits, he always pauses at the door of the room, and throwing his head on one side, with one eye partly closed, seems engaged in calculating my height in feet and inches, after which he stalks solemnly across the room, and seats himself directly in front of me, waiting to be noticed.

'The other acquaintance of whom I spoke is a bright-faced little boy, about ten years of age, who, in spite of the terrors of the dwelling, breaks in upon my solitude, and during the short time that he remains here, the whole place assumes an air of cheerfulness. He is a glad-eyed little fellow, with a merry laugh that seems to gush out from the very bottom of his heart: he is full of curiosity, asking a thousand questions, and will sit by the hour listening to stories of my past life. The formation of this new acquaintance seemed at first to give great offence to the dog, who for the first few days after it, was particularly assiduous in his attentions; but finding that the boy did not drop in at the hour of meals, he has become reconciled to his company, and even permits him to pat him on the head; though notwithstanding all his deference, I doubt whether even I could venture to meddle with that tall upright mast which he calls his tail.'

We doubt whether it will be difficult to discover the true 'IRVING' stamp in this specimen which was especially remarked even by that meanest of all mean journals, the querulous London 'Asineum.'

GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.- -'Some there be,' saith old SHYLOCK, 'who like not when they see a gaping pig:' and when we see a pig, on a hot, 'sticky,' August noon-tide, come lazily yawning out of a mud-puddle, we 'like not that,' either: but the old Jew goes on to say, that other some there be, who 'cannot abide a harmless, necessary cat:' but that class of prejudiced persons we are by no means disposed to agree with: on the contrary, we like a cat: we think the cat an abused animal: we know him to be susceptible of affection: we have been welcomed, after long absence, by a good graceful gray Grimalkin, in a manner which would put to shame half the fashionable 'reception '-givers of this our good metropolis of Gotham: moreover, we have a 'wee lassie' that this cat loves: putting his soft velvet paws around her neck, caressing her, and taking food only at her hands. And it is because of this regard for the race, that we welcome this elegiac little 'bit' from a new correspondent, entitled 'The Lament of a Bachelor on the Loss of his Cat.'

'POOR 'STUFFLE' is dead! Cruel dogs did him slay the other night, leaving me catless and desolate. STUFFLE had recently attained that period in cat life, when nocturnal adventures were preferable to the quiet and security of my room. He was, therefore, constantly watching his opportunity to escape out of doors; and had succeeded, prior to the fatal night, in eluding my vigilance, and in thus passing two nights absent from me. Early in the morning after the first nocturnal adventure, he mounted the sill of my window from the piazza, and solicited admittance, which I readily granted. He entered, overflowing with excitement, having evidently 'seen sights' and heard noises both interesting and terrific. His caudal appendage was immense, and the hairy covering along the spine was particularly erect. It was a long time before his coat assumed the sleekiness appropriate to the quiet of a bachelor's apartment.

'Two nights thereafter he again escaped, but only into the hall and basement. There was no way to get out of doors. Not returning to me the next morning, I instituted a search, which for some hours proved unavailing, At about mid-day, I was led to look into an obscure closet in the basement, and there lay STUFFLE, very sleepy: but he was safe, and my solicitude at once ceased.

'My narrative has now reached to that last disastrous night, when STUFFLE's curiosity and love of adventure cost him his life. Opening the door of my room, which leads directly out upon the piazza, for a glass of water, kept there in a jug for coolness, STUFFLE slipped out, and would not be persuaded to return. I was anxious for his safety during the night, and got up twice, opened the door and whistled, but unavailingly, for his return. In the morning, STUFFLE not appearing, I became exceedingly apprehensive that some dire misfortune had befallen him. Not heeding the bell for breakfast, I sallied forth to learn the worst. Very soon I discovered STUFFLE in the area of a basement window, stretched out stiff and cold in death. There was no external wound, but a subsequent post-mortem examination revealed it to have been the work of a dog. Some miserable, indiscriminating, but zealous terrier, had seized him in the chest, just back of the fore-legs, and thus instantly stifled the life out of my poor STUFFLE. A great and dismal change had thus been suddenly, and by violence, wrought in my domestic arrangements. STUFFLE! once the life and joy of the room;

always meeting me on entering, at the threshold, and mounting in great enthusiasm to my shoulders, and thrusting his head under my whiskers, purring all the while sonorously; and in many other interesting and winning ways manifesting a degree of affection for me that made him very dear to my heart; STUFFLE is no more! He had also another habit which was very gratifying to me. It was to make me an early morning call. Jumping on my bed, he would advance cautiously to my pillow, and in the most gentle manner nestle himself closely to my head, not unfrequently placing the side of his face on my cheek and then such purring! Now, alas! how great the change! I enter my room without any friendly greeting or recognition. I awake in the morning to silence and desolation.

'It is fitting that I should, in conclusion, make the usual obituary Latin quotation: Rest-cat in pace.' 'P.'

Washington Heights, June, 1859.

Our correspondent was 'faulty.' He should not have permitted his cherished friend to leave him after night-fall. The faithful cat which sits at our feet on the cover of this Magazine has never left our side for a single moment during the last twenty years. He is eunique. ONE of the most unnatural mothers we ever heard of, is the mère 'Hip-um-pip-pip-um-o-pot-imus,' in the Jardin des Plantes, at Paris. Twice has she killed an infant son: nursing it with care, and lavishing upon it the 'most graceful tendernesses,' until it was about six months old, then gouging a piece out of its little body, and 'leaving it all alone for to die.' In the last case we are told:

'THE mother gave nourishment to the young one, and allowed it to lie on her back and neck, according to the habit of these amphibious animals. She also remained constantly in the water, instead of, as usual, frequently leaving it. At one time, for a space of about forty-three hours, the two animals never quitted the water. The little one had begun to walk in and out of the basin. It fed well, and was visibly growing. During the night, however, the mother was seized with a sudden fit of rage, and attacked it. The mother must have seized the young one by the stomach in her formidable jaws, as five deep marks of her teeth were visible, and she must also have attacked it with her tusk, which pierced the left breast into the lungs.'

This unnatural mother is again in a 'state of maternal solicitude;' and in fourteen months, we are informed, the 'redacteur-en-chef' of the 'Journal de Jardin des Plantes' will announce the result to the world. As it is now rendered certain

that the mother cannot be depended upon to nourish her offspring, 'care,' it is stated, must be taken immediately to remove the infant, and bring it up by artificial means.' But we have apprised, thus early, the PRESIDENT of the Jardin des Plantes, that artificial means will not 'agree' with the infant Hippopotamus: and in this connection we have offered 'for a consideration,' to that learned savant, services which, if accepted, will make us as famous in Europe as 'RAREY, the Horse-Tamer' himself. We have laid before the 'bureau' or 'secretary' of that great institution, proposals to Milk the Hippopotamus daily, and to feed its infant, until such time as it can be weaned from us: which, if our pay is good, we shall not cause to be done at so early a period as to endanger the 'child's present health or future prospects.' In our letter to the PRESIDENT, as affording a fair test of our