Rolfe.I'll bless the art
Of writing, while I live!
Nom. And when I've learnt it,
If I have something that I fain would say,
And yet not wish to speak it, then I'll make
The leaf speak for me.
Poc. Ay, and think, dear sister,
How sweet, when one is absent far from those
One loves, to send a speaking leaf like this,
And bid it say, we live and love them still!
Rolfe. In many lands, beyond the Great Salt Lake,
These speaking messengers are daily sent,
Folded and fastened, so that he who bears them
Knows not their contents. Thus, far distant tribes
Speak to each other.
Poc.Strange!
Rolfe.The deeds of warriors
Are noted down upon these speaking leaves;
Which never die, nor spoil by being kept:
And thus their children and their children's children
Hear what has happened thousand snows before.
Foreign Correspondence.—A kind friend, a man of education and refinement, and an acute observer, now in England, has addressed us the first of a series of familiar letters, from which we hope often to quote, for the pleasure or benefit of our readers. His journeyings abroad will be greatly diversified, and out of the beaten track, both as to countries, and portions of countries, which he will traverse. The initiatory epistle, now before us, though necessarily limited in incident, contains a passage or two, which we shall venture to present, since they certainly, in more than one sense, are good 'evidence of things hoped for.' Speaking of the Thames, he says: 'On the morning of the last day of our voyage, the exceedingly turbid state of the water informed me that we were in the vast estuary of the Thames. To me, it seems strange, that Watts and other poets should have so often attached the epithet 'silver' to this river. From London to its very mouth it is both muddy and yellow.' * * * 'Our sails and spars are housed below, and 'booms' disposed of; a 'mud-pilot' is on board, and we are now what is technically called 'threading the needle.' The pilot roars through his speaking-trumpet, 'starboard!' 'larboard!' 'port!—port hard!' as we glide through forests of shipping—(you must be on the bosom of 'Father Tems,' to realize the truth of this common simile,) and are passed, up and down, by innumerable small steam-boats, one of which exhibited no smoke, being propelled by the agency of quicksilver. The river is some fifteen hundred feet wide, yet our ship frequently turns up the mud from the bottom. By law, three hundred feet are left in mid-channel, for ingress and egress. At length, we are ushered through an enormous lock into the celebrated St. Catherine's Docks, a vast reservoir, enclosed by immense warehouses, in the formation of which, several thousand families were removed, and their houses pulled down.' * * * 'I shall send you, in a few days, some interesting articles for your Magazine, which will serve to diversify the pages so admirably filled—I mean no flattery—by your numerous American contributors. They are from the pen of a lady, of distinguished talents, author of 'The Bride of Sicily,' and other poems, and for some late years a popular writer in the 'Foreign Quarterly,' 'British Magazine,' and 'Frazer's Magazine,' to which latter periodical she recently contributed those clever papers, 'Remembrances of a Monthly Nurse,' 'April Fools,' 'Mary Magdalene,' etc. You shall hear from me again, at no distant period.'
In connection with this fragment of correspondence, we annex an extract from a letter written from London by another friend, some months ago, but which has probably 'been i' the Indies twice,' since it passed from the hands of the writer, as it has but just reached us. We fear some portions of it may seem to smack of undue self-laudation; but we beg the reader to bear in mind, that we quote from a source wholly disinterested; and to believe, that what may appear calculated to induce a satisfied vanity, is but a 'spur to prick the sides of our intent:'
'A knowledge of, and respect for, American Literature, appear to be gaining ground in England; but still, very few of our writers can boast much foreign fame; and many a name, and many a book, familiar to us, have scarcely been heard of, in the land of Shakspeare. There are some bright exceptions, however. It is superfluous to say, that I often heard Irving and his writings spoken of with enthusiasm; and the early novels, especially, of Cooper, stand as high in popular favor throughout Europe, as they ever did at home. But the English are disposed, it would seem, to claim these two writers as their own; many, at least, never allude to them as American. The essays of Dr. Channing have attained a wide celebrity in Great Britain. I have seen no less than three rival editions. Add to these three names those of Washington and Franklin, and you can scarcely mention another American name which enjoys a thorough European reputation. A number of our books have been re-published, it is true, and are known, to some extent. I saw English editions of one or more of the works of Miss Sedgwick, Paulding, Simms, Flint, Fay, and Dr. Bird. Our poets they are but little acquainted with. Mr. Irving, you know, endorsed a London edition of Bryant, and Barry Cornwall conferred the same honor on Willis; and his prose sketches I have heard highly praised. He has certainly written himself into considerable notoriety. Percival's poems were printed in England several years since. Some of Halleck's, and others, are well known through the various specimens of American poets. The classical text-books on oriental and biblical literature, from Andover, Cambridge, etc., are re-printed, and considered high authority by English scholars and critics. Several American books, of a useful and practical character, such as Abbott's 'Young Christian,' Mrs. Child's 'Frugal Housewife,' etc., have had an immense sale in England and Scotland. At least twenty thousand copies of each of the two mentioned have been sold in the kingdom. The sneering question of the Quarterly, 'Who reads an American book?' is no longer asked; but English prejudice is yet slow to admit that 'any good thing can come out of Nazareth.' I was told by a London publisher, that if an American book were re-printed, it would be bad policy to acknowledge its origin. I know several instances of our books having been published in London and Glasgow as original, and without a word of the source, or any alteration, except the omission of local names, by which they might have been detected! In one case, an English copy of a book thus re-printed, verbatim, except the title, was received by a New-York house, published as an English work, and one thousand copies were sold, before it was discovered that the copy-right belonged to the author and publisher in Philadelphia! American periodicals, however, are doing much toward diffusing a knowledge of our literary men and resources abroad—in England, Scotland, and France, especially; and there is, on all hands, a great and growing interest in every thing which relates to our noble republic.' * * * 'Some of our higher periodicals are favorably known here. Silliman's 'Journal of Science' is appreciated and praised by scientific men throughout Europe; one or two hundred copies of the 'North American Review' are taken in London; and the 'Knickerbocker,' I am informed, is held in much estimation. Your sometime correspondent, Dr. Metcalf, (who is engaged in important studies and investigations here, connected with his theory of the great pervading principle of life,) tells me, that he finds numbers who agree with him in the opinion, that the 'Knickerbocker' is not surpassed in talent, variety, or interest, by any English magazine whatsoever.'