'The sun is now uncovering
The mid-Atlantic—scattering
The mists, with many a toss and fling
Of dangling skirts and weary wing;
Half frantic, as they knew not where
To hide them from his fiery glare;
The iceberg from his ocean-bed
Lifts loftily his glittering head,
But shakes not off one burnished spear,
To ring in the frosted atmosphere.'
Perhaps we are amenable to the criticism of our New-Haven friend. Certain it is, however, that 'the lightness which predominates in our cogitations and gatherings' is often to us a veritable relief; and if we may trust the candor of many friends, it has been grateful to them also,
... 'when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world
Have hung upon the beatings of the heart.'
We are not all constituted alike, dear Sir; yet what is one man's meat we would not have another's poison. 'The amiable qualities of cheerfulness and good-humor,' says an old writer, 'cast a kind of sunshine over a composition, and resemble the gentle smile that often lights up the human countenance, the never-failing indication of a humane temper.' As for wit, we consider it a species of poetry. It amuses and delights the imagination by those sudden assemblages and pleasing pictures of things which it creates; and from every common occasion can raise such striking appearances as throw the most phlegmatic tempers into a convulsion of good-humored mirth. We fear our censor will consider us 'past mending.' We must still hold with the excellent Fletcher, that 'a little mirth now and then is a great purifier:'
''Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood,
More than wine, or sleep, or food;
Let each man keep his heart at ease,
No man dies of that disease.
He that would his body keep
From diseases, must not weep;
But whoever laughs and sings,
Never he his body brings
Into fevers, gouts, or rheums,
Or ling'ringly his lungs consumes;
But contented lives for aye—
The more he laughs, the more he may.'
Does our critic remember an ancient motto on a sun-dial? 'Non numero Horas, nisi serenas?' It is capable of application. * * * We are glad to say, since our opinion in this place is requested, that the essay on 'Education of Youthful Morals' is an excellent one. It is only too long for our Magazine, if we would preserve our accustomed variety. It would make at least fifteen printed pages of the Knickerbocker. We hope however to see the article published. No parent who feels as he ought for the children which God has given him, growing up around him, but would honor its aim and emulate its salutary lessons. Years pass quickly away. Yet a little while, and our dear ones will be actors in this busy world, of which at present their knowledge is so small. The article in question has been returned, as requested, through the Upper Post-Office. * * * Something akin to the following, were certain lines written by 'S. C. M.', now well known in America and England under a popular pseudonyme, many years since. There is rather more of the 'cautionary,' however, in this 'limning from life:'
THE NOVEL-READER
'Twas very sweet of a summer's eve,
To hear her talk and sing
Of stars, and dews, and rocks, and caves,
And all that sort of thing.
I loved her for her mild blue eye,
And her sweet and quiet air;
But I'm very sure that I didn't see
The novel on the chair.