Liberal.—Duval, of The Phœnix, Camden, Ala., offers to exchange his Weekly with the Daily of the Boston Post, provided Green will publish his prospectus six times. If Green declines that offer he don’t deserve his name. Duval has a fair hit at the catch-penny affairs which offer to give an exchange and an “engraving,” (? wood-cut) as a premium to those who publish a two-column prospectus and get up a club.
It is about time the country press took this matter in hand. We send “Graham” to whom we please, and if noticed—well, if not—weller. We shall not die out from exhaustion if an editor with whom we exchange fails to say that Graham is, or is not, “himself again”.
Welcome Brother.—We welcome to the corps editorial of the Magazine fraternity, John Sartain, Esq., who, with all the blushing honors thick upon him as an artist of the first ability, comes like another Alexander to conquer in a new field. We have confidence in Mr. Sartain’s tact and taste, and look for a very fresh, sparkling and original periodical. Mr. S. is a disciple of the doctrine of progress—“onward!” is his motto—though all the fiends oppose. He is a revolutionizer, and has commenced cutting the heads off in style. We don’t want to take off any thing in Sartain, but if he can “keep it up” long, he must get a new bat-man for his Puck’s port-folio—not even a Puck could stand that.
Wont Do It.—The State Guard of Wetumpka, Ala., “hopes George R. will forgive it, for lending “Graham” to six young ladies.” The sin is unpardonable. Look you—Messrs. Hardy and Stephens! what right have you to be making love to half a dozen pretty girls? Where are their beaux, that each of them has not a “Graham” of her own? Inquire into this business, and report at the next meeting. No young lady has a right to read “Graham” unless her beau pays the damage.
Godey will find it impossible to get the Mote out of his own eye, when he contrasts “Sweet Sixteen” in this number with his Americanized Fashion plates, Our own have a beam of pleasure in them, as we gaze upon its surpassing loveliness. The original must be a beauty. We have never seen her—indeed, should never have had this copy, were it not for a heart in the business, loading us to brave all dangers to conquer.
Robert Morris, of the Inquirer, is a friend that never wavers, but in sunshine or in storm, his benignant countenance and cheering words are never wanting Morris must have a rich treasury in the memory of good deeds done—of kindly words spoken in dark hours to the sad and desolate—a wealth of remembrance of generous hours, worth all the gold of misers.