nary audacity. Indeed, I unhesitatingly admit, that I should have done so, had he not repeated this exhibition of literary profligacy at my expense, more than a dozen times since; judging from which fact, I confess, that I should feel inclined to attribute his whole power in weaving a certain species of doggerel that passes for poetry, to nothing more than a systematic course of highly successful plagiarism.

But although, Sir, I have been, I do not hesitate to affirm, and am still an ill-used man, my son, unfilially, does not at all hesitate to attribute the fact of my being so to my stupid modesty, and can not refrain from affirming, that had I at the commencement of the system of wholesale piracy and plagiarism to which I have been exposed, made only a few examples, the poets who have so persistently made use of my humble talents, in the endeavor to earn a name for themselves, would have allowed me to remain at peace.

This, I suppose, was not to be, and I have been compelled to submit to their treatment of me without doing any thing more than passively resenting it, up to the present time.

But, Sir, while there is as I may say, some slight degree of satisfaction in finding one's self plundered and maltreated by those individuals whose talents, marred though they in part are by their insolent ignorance of the great law of moral property, enable them in any way, or by any means to achieve that eminence in the eyes of the world, to which we all in some way or other incline our heads, imagine, if only for an instant, how strange a feeling of disgust must come across the soul, when it finds the moderate powers which have been accorded it by the Almighty, degraded or polluted by the unhallowed paws of those men whose names are, as it were, totally unknown. A modest feeling of self-valuation will be aroused within the unknown poet, when he finds his mind has lent materials to the pillaging fingers of a Morris, a Sigourney, a Whittier, or even of a Longfellow. But this feeling must be entirely quenched within him, when he discovers on examining the writings of others, that his mental pockets have been most indubitably and industriously picked by a John or a Jack Savage. Now, this, Sir, has been the case with me. As I have said, my mental pockets have been most indubitably and industriously picked by a person rejoicing in the name of John or Jack Savage. Who this individual may be, I confess I am in total ignorance of, although it does seem to my son that he remembers the circumstance of having seen his name at some period or the other, in the pages of your justly wellknown and highly esteemed Review,* which induces me to question you upon the point of the calling and standing in society, of the person possessed of this nomenclature. If you know him, I shall deeply regret it, although

*This we unhesitatingly tell the interesting child of Mr. T. J. Bowie must be an impossibility, as we are decidedly unacquainted with the individual in question.-ED. U. S. R.

We know nothing of this John or Jack Savage.—ED. U. S. R.

it is probable, that in other respects he may be a decent member of society; not on my own account, but on that of my son, who is a self-willed young man and stands, as I have previously mentioned, some six foot two inches in his pumps, considering himself for several years out of my leading-strings.* Might I beg you to inform me whether he is right or not in entertaining this supposition? But, be this as it may, or whoever or whatever this John or Jack Savage may be, Sir, read his "Lilla" through, from beginning to end, and then compare it with my "Billy":

Now, Sir, without further examining the right which this person calling himself John or Jack Savage, has had to take my careless verses and trans

*Without the slightest hesitation, we assure the highly respectable son of our amiable correspondent, that we are not in the very remotest degree acquainted with the person who has so justly and signally provoked his ire.--ED. U. §. R.

We beg leave to inform our correspondent and his amiable descendant once more, that we utterly deny and disown John or Jack Savage.-ED. U. S. R.

mute them into something which he thinks proper to put forth to the uncommonly mild and little critical public of the North of our glorious Union, you must allow me to ask what you really think of his poetical accomplishments, which I need scarcely say, my son and myself regard as having no claims upon the respect of any sagacious and clear-headed person.* Let me ask of you, what you may consider to be the meaning of the fifth and sixth lines of the first of these three stanzas? or rather permit me to put this question to the profound and learned critic, who reviewed the Life and Writings of the Author of the Declaration of Independence,† in your number issued for the month of July last. Then let me call your attention to the grammatical error which occurs in the sixth line of the last stanza-an error which it would be out of the range of possibility for the merest schoolboy to have committed, so long as he had the fear of justice and the birch before his eyes; a fear, which I regret to say, the fashion of modern times has almost entirely removed from the range of learning bestowed upon our youth. In my early days, Sir, I feel intensely proud to say, that the birch and the ferule were the main magistri morum. We were taught with and by the means of these instruments of discipline,‡ and committed no fault or transgression, saving under the wholesome dread of having it condignly scored into the memory of our nether end.

Let this John or Jack Savage now pass, Sir, for I trust that punishment is no longer far from him, as my boy has managed to get a trace of him through the individual who published his poems, a very worthy and excellent publisher (my son, I am sorry to say, stigmatizes him as a "remarkably slow coach," the slang of which observation you must pardon, as it is not mine,) named Redfield.

But, Sir, in the last number which was published of your inestimable Review, my attention was called to an exquisite little poem, by a J. T. Fields, entitled a Dirge for a Young Girl," (you must permit me here to intimate to you, that I accord most perfectly with your strictures upon the name of this poem,§) by your deservedly high and warm eulogium upon its merits. Candidly, Sir, I agree with that eulogium, and made some inquiries as to the possibility of getting the volume in which it was published, and from which

*We need scarcely say, that we are inclined to set the very lowest of rational values upon them.-ED. U. S. R.

Having been applied to, for the purpose of learning my opinion, by my friend, the Editor of the United States Review, I beg to state, that I am not in the habit of giving a critical opinion unless it is paid for.-REVIEWER OF THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF JEFFERSON.

We feel that these admirable instruments for the indoctrination of youth have very unwisely been laid aside. Let us hope that they may again be wielded for the good of rising generations, ere we are laid in the grave.--ED. U. S. R.

The more obliged are we to our correspondent for this approval of our objections as we have at present in our Balaam-box, four letters-one of them of three pages long, decidedly objecting to our observations upon this point.-EDITOR U. S. R.

it was quoted, of a worthy young friend of mine, (almost a boy, Sir,) who is connected in some slight degree with literature in New-York, and who is named Charles George Rosenberg, (can this be the same person, who has recently contributed several poems to the UNITED STATES REVIEW?*) a very worthy fellow, but one who is indifferently provided with the goods of this world. He was kind enough to send me a copy of the volume in question, which, as you mentioned, has not been printed for public circulation. I saw by the inscription on the blank page at the commencement, that this copy had been presented him by Mr. Fields. Judge, Sir, of my amazement at seeing in this volume, at page 18, some lines "On a Portrait of Cromwell," which have been most unworthily taken from a brief poem of mine own, entitled by me "A Monody on the Death of Turpin." As Mr. Rosenberg lent me the printed Poems, and I was unable to purchase them, I wrote to him to know whether I was at liberty to employ the knowledge I had obtained in so strange and unforeseen a manner. He, Sir, has neglected to do that which a gentleman should have done, and therefore, I conclude, may not at present be in New-York,† but confident that he will grant me his permission, I transmit you the two poems. Judge for yourself:

This name is so unusual a one amongst American and English writers, that we should most undoubtedly have claimed his acquaintance, this the more especially from the high eulogium passed upon him by our valued correspondent, (in which we presume that his son coïncides,) were it not that he has called him young. Now, our Mr. Rosenberg's beard is already gray, and in our opinion, he must be on the wrong side of forty-five.-ED. U. S. R.

This settles the question. He is in New-York-that is to say, our friend is. Consequently the two C. G. Rosenbergs can not be the same.-ED. U. S. R.

Simple justice he requested

At the artist's glowing hands,
'Simple justice !" from his ashes
Cries a voice that still commands.

And behold! the page of history,
Centuries dark with Cromwell's name,
Shines to-day with thrilling lustre

From the light of Cromwell's fame.

Simple justice, he requested
From the judge's earnest look,
"Simple justice!" to the scaffold,
Then, that precious rascal took.

And behold! the page of past time
Centuries lighting many a fame,
Shrinks to-day in darkening shadow
From the sound of Turpin's name.

I feel, Sir, that you may wonder at my chronicling the end of a foreign reprobate, when, as I feel proud in owning, we possess upon our own shores quite as many reprobates as any nation in the Old World. But this, my boy says, and I confess that I entirely and completely agree with him, is purely beyond the question, which is, whether you consider Mr. J. T. Fields justified in committing such an atrocious appropriation of one of the efforts of my very moderate (this I am willing to admit, though my friends all say that I am wrong in estimating my own talents so meagrely) genius. Besides, Sir, I would have you observe the quiet and modest craftiness with which he has hitherto managed to conceal his theft. This volume was not boldly and unhesitatingly published, from which circumstance I feel imperatively called upon to conclude, that at the very least, more than one half of the poems contained in its uncommonly well-gilt pages, consist of a similar series of unwarrantable malversations upon his part. Nay! I may point out to you that this poet also resides in Boston,* and say that I should not be in the least astonished if you were ultimately to discover the "Dirge on a Young Girl," which we have both of us felt to be so genuinely poetical, was neither more nor less than a somewhat more artfully concealed abstraction from another poet like myself, unknown, or perhaps as neglected as poor Poe, who, I am very sorry to intimate to you, deeply as I admired his wonderful talents, treated me on three or four separate occasions like a consummate rascal. His "Raven," Sir, and his "Annabel Lee," were both of them light-fingered appropriations from me, which I do not hesitate in stigmatizing as thefts of the most abominable and unprincipled description.

But, I can not avoid feeling, Sir, that I have been intruding too long upon your valuable time, important as it must be to the great Democratic cause, not alone in the city of New-York, but in the whole of our Union, and shall consequently allude but to one more of those many scandalous plagiarisms to which I have been so repeatedly subjected.

You, Sir, I feel certain, from your position, must be well acquainted with

*We confess that we literally know not what to say, and are obliged to leave Boston undefended.-ED. U. S. R.

Our correspondent has so strongly our interest in his communication, that we beg him not for a single instant to believe that we have felt its length as the slightest intrusion.-ED. U. S. R.