busy tongue has been whispering: 'T will soon be gone,' the genius of Improvement has been calling: Come away;' and withal perhaps these imperative demands form not unwelcome excuses to the ears of her wise and prudent governors. And when the time has fully come when the principles of Demand and Supply, according to the most correct and well-digested ideas of logical analysis and Political Economy, present the fairest prospect of affording the wished-for consummation, a good round sum of money, we shall see the old Green turned into a market, a rail-road dépôt or piles of brick and mortar, and the work already begun, fully completed by the banishment of the institution to the legislative grant of barren rock on Fiftieth-street.

And there is another powerful reason for this change in addition to the public weal and private speculation. The tide of population has been and still is steadily setting toward the northern portions of our city, and although the lower part will continue to draw the merchant princes from their palaces to their counting-rooms during business hours, yet for their promising sons the exertion of coming down town at ten in the morning and returning at one, is all too fatiguing. And why should not learning be brought to us instead of our having to run after it as a prize? Do we not experience enough of mental trouble in the acquisition of knowledge without having physical toil superadded? Thus we go, pulling down, building up and renovating forever; and if, as foreigners say of us, we are in nothing ever 'torights,' at least we can take comfort to ourselves, that after one fashion or another we are continually improving.

If we do endure a long-continued first of May, we have the satisfaction of knowing that the sole cause of all lies in our own elevated and noble aspirations. If we must forever banish content from our bosoms and peace from our thoughts, can we and do we not flatter ourselves that every act of our disinterested life is but a part of a high and noble destiny we are fulfilling while acting up to our motto, Excelsior.

TEE CAVERN OF PEARLS.

THERE is a cavern still and deep,
Beneath a sea of troubled foam,
And rays of dimmest daylight creep
Through clefted chasms in the dome.
Columns of chrysolite and spars
Illuminate the lonely cells,
And pearls congealing, lie like stars
Within the rainbow-clouded shells;
Drifting where HECLA's eddy whirls
In deeps as desolate as Night,
They cluster there, selected pearls,
And fill the darkened cave with light!
Buried in weeds and flowers about,

Bestrown along the golden sand,
They lie, till tempests pluck them out
And cast them on the common strand.
Pearls! precious pearls!

A largesse for the world!

VOL. XXXIV.

23

My heart is like this cavern lone,
Beneath a sea of troubled thought,
And all the light that ever shone
Therein, was through its ruins caught:
Imaginations spar the cells,
Illuminate with starry rays,
And growing fancies lie in shells,
Of delicate and dainty lays;
Drifting where Passion's eddy whirls,
In deeps as desolate as night,
They cluster there, perfected pearls,
And fill my darkened heart with light!
Buried in weeds and flowers deep,
Along the golden sand of rhyme,
They lie, till Inspirations sweep

And cast them on the strand of Time!
Pearls precious pearls!
A largesse for the world!

LITERARY

NOTICES.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH: A BIOGRAPHY. BY WASHINGTON IRVING. New-York: GEORGE P. PUTNAM. London: JOHN MURRAY.

WE have no hesitation in pronouncing this one of the most delightful pieces of biography that we have ever perused. The author loved and honored his immortal subject, whom, perhaps more than any other author, living or dead, he most closely resembles; there being in the writings of each the same purity and simplicity of style, the same tender pathos, genial humor, and refined wit. The present volume is based upon a briefer biographical sketch written by Mr. IRVING many years ago, the later work of FOSTER, and the labors of the indefatigable PRIOR. It omits none of the facts which illustrate the life and character of the poet, and which are given in that graphic style which Mr. IRVING knows so well how to command. Touching his illustrious subject, our biographer observes: There are few writers for whom the reader feels such personal kindness as for OLIVER GOLDSMITH, for few have so eminently possessed the magic gift of identifying themselves with their writings. We read his character in every page, and grow into familiar intimacy with him as we read. The artless benevolence that beams throughout his works; the whimsical, yet amiable views of human life and human nature; the unforced humor, blending so happily with good feeling and good sense, and singularly dashed at times with a pleasing melancholy; even the very nature of his mellow, and flowing, and softly-tinted style, all seem to bespeak his moral as well as intellectual qualities, and make us love the man at the same time that we admire the author. While the productions of writers of loftier pretension and more sounding names are suffered to moulder on our shelves, those of GOLDSMITH are cherished and laid in our bosoms. We do not quote them with ostentation, but they mingle with our minds, sweeten cur tempers, and harmonize our thoughts; they put us in good humor with ourselves and with the world, and in so doing they make us happier and better men. An acquaintance with the private biography of GOLDSMITH lets us into the secret of his gifted pages. We there discover them to be little more than transcripts of his own heart and picturings of his fortunes. There he shows himself the same kind, artless, good-humored, excursive, sensible, whimsical, intelligent being that he appears in his writings. Scarcely an adventure or character is given in his works that may not be traced to his own parti-colored story. Many of his most ludicrous scenes and ridiculous incidents have been drawn from his own blunders and mischances, and he seems really to have been buffeted into almost every maxim imparted by him for the instruction of his reader.' It is scarcely too much to say, that

the praise here awarded to the writings of GOLDSMITH might with almost equal propriety be extended to the productions of his eulogist.

It would be impossible for us to present a moiety of the many admirable passages of the biography under notice, which we pencilled as we read, and which so forcibly illustrate the character of GOLDSMITH, as indicated in the extract we have quoted above. We make however a few selections. The subjoined we find in the course of some remarks upon The Traveller'

WE hear much about 'poetic inspiration,' and the 'poet's eye in a fine phrensy rolling;' but Sir JOSHUA REYNOLDS gives an anecdote of GOLDSMITH while engaged upon his poem, calcu lated to cure our notions about the ardor of composition. Calling upon the poet one day, he opened the door without ceremony, and found him in the double occupation of turning a couplet and teaching a pet dog to sit upon his haunches. At one time he would glance his eye at his desk, and at another shake his finger at the dog to make him retain his position. The last lines on the page were still wet; they form a part of the description of Italy:

'Br sports like these are all their cares beguiled,
The sports of children satisfy the child.'

JOHN

GOLDSMITH, with his usual good-humor, joined in the laugh caused by his whimsical employment, and acknowledged that his boyish sport with the dog suggested the stanza.'. SON pronounced The Traveller' the finest poem that had appeared since the days of POPE. 'But one of the highest testimonials to the charm of the poem was given by Miss REYNOLDS, who had toasted poor GOLDSMITH as the ugliest man of her acquaintance. Shortly after the appearance of The Traveller,' Dr. JOHNSON read it aloud from beginning to end in her presence. 'Well,' exclaimed she, when he had finished, I never more shall think Dr. GOLDSMITH ugly!' On another occasion, when the merits of The Traveller' were discussed at REYNOLDS's board, LANGTON declared there was not a bad line in the poem, not one of DRYDEN's careless verses.' 'I was glad,' observed REYNOLDS, to hear CHARLES FOX say it was one of the finest poems in the English language.' Why was you glad?' rejoined LANGTON, you surely had no doubt of this before. No, interposed JOHNSON, decisively; the merit of The Traveller' is so well established that Mr. Fox's praise cannot augment it, nor his censure diminish it.' 'BOSWELL, who was absent from England at the time of the publication of the Traveller, was astonished, on his return, to find GOLDSMITH, whom he had so much undervalued, suddenly elevated almost to a par with his idol. He accounted for it by concluding that much both of the sentiments and expression of the poem had been derived from conversations with JOHNHe imitates you, Sir,' said this incarnation of toadyism. Why no, Sir,' replied JOHNSON, JACK HAWKSWORTH is one of my imitators, but not GOLDSMITH. GOLDY, Sir, has great merit.' But, Sir, he is much indebted to you for his getting so high in the public estimation.' Sir, he has, perhaps, got sooner to it by his intimacy with me.'

SON.

Why,

We are glad to perceive that Mr. IRVING has a due appreciation of that ineffable Scotch toady, BoSWELL. When we remark his toadyism of JOHNSON, GARRICK and others, we cannot help calling to mind a certain Scotch toady belonging to the small illiterati of Gotham, who takes true poetical and dramatic Genius by the hand, and 'patronizes' it with his distinguished approval; a mercenary BoswELL, in short, seen through the little end of an opera-glass. BoswELL affected to undervalue GOLDSMITH, and a lurking hostility to him is discernible throughout his writings. Before the intrusive sycophancy of the former had made its way into JouNSON's confidence, he envied GOLDSMITH'S intimacy with the great lexicographer. Speaking of an invitation from JOHNSON, to fulfil which he says GOLDSMITH' went strutting away,' the toady observes: 'I CONFESS I then envied him this mighty privilege, of which he seemed to be so proud; but it was not long before I obtained the same mark of distinction.'

Obtained! but how? not like GOLDSMITH, by the force of unpretending but congenial merit, but by a course of the most pushing, contriving, and spaniel like subserviency. Really, the ambition of the man to illustrate his mental insignificance, by continually placing himself in juxtaposition with the great lexicographer, has something in it perfectly ludicrous. Never since the days of DON QUIXOTTE and SANCHO PANZA, has there been presented to the world a more whimsically contrasted pair of associates than JOHNSON and BOSWELL.

Who is this Scotch cur at JOHNSON's heels?' asked some one when BOSWELL had worked his way into incessant companionship. He is not a cur,' replied GOLDSMITH, you are too severe; he is only a bur. Tox DAVIES flung him at JOHNSON in sport, and he has the faculty of sticking.'

BOSWELL never lost an opportunity, in his mean way, to underrate GOLDSMITH to JOHNSON, and to attribute to him 'envy and all uncharitableness.' An instance,' says

Mr. IRVING, which occurred in the course of GOLDSMITH's tour to Paris, has been tortured by that literary magpie, BoswELL, into a proof of GOLDSMITH's absurd jealousy of any admiration shown to others in his presence:'

WHILE stopping at a hotel in Lisle, they were drawn to the windows by a military parade in front. The extreme beauty of the Miss HORNECKS immediately attracted the attention of the officers, who broke forth with enthusiastic speeches and compliments intended for their ears. GOLDSMITH was amused for a while, but at length affected impatience at this exclusive admiration of his beautiful companions, and exclaimed, with mock severity of aspect, Elsewhere I also would have my admirers !'

It is difficult to conceive the obtuseness of intellect necessary to misconstrue so obvious a piece of mock petulance and dry humor into an instance of mortified vanity and jealous selfconceit.

GOLDSMITH jealous of the admiration of a group of gay officers for the charms of two beautiful young women! This even out-BOSWELLS BOSWELL; yet this is but one of several similar absurdities, evidently misconceptions of GOLDSMITH'S peculiar vein of humor, by which the charge of envious jealousy has been attempted to be fixed upon him. In the present instance it was contradicted by one of the ladies herself, who was annoyed that it had been advanced against him. 'I am sure,' said she, from the peculiar manner of his humor, and assumed frown of countenance, what was often uttered in jest was mistaken, by those who did not know him, for earnest.'

We give two other characteristic transcripts of BoSWELL's head and heart, supposing him to have had any of the latter, separate from his egregious vanity:

GOLDSMITHI had now become accustomed to be regarded in London as a literary lion, and was annoyed, at what he considered a slight on the part of Lord CAMDEN. He complained of it on his return to town at a party of his friends. I met him,' said he, at Lord CLARE's house in the country; and he took no more notice of me than if I had been an ordinary man." The company,' says BOSWELL, laughed heartily at this piece of diverting simplicity." And foremost among the laughers was doubtless the rattle-pated BosWELL. JOHNSON, however, stepped forward, as usual, to defend the poct, whom he would allow no one to assail but himself; perhaps in the present instance he thought the dignity of literature itself involved in the question. Nay, gentlemen,' roared he, 'Dr. GOLDSMITH is in the right. A nobleman ought to have made up to such a man as GOLDSMITH, and I think it is much against Lord CAMDEN that he neglected him.'

'On one occasion he accompanied EDMUND BURRE to witness a performance of the Italian Fantoccini or Puppets, in Panton-street; an exhibition which had hit the caprice of the town and was in great vogue. The puppets were set in motion by wires, so well concealed as to be with difficulty detected. BOSWELL, with his usual obtuseness with respect to GOLDSMITH, accuses him of being jealous of the puppets! When BURKE,' said he, praised the dexterity with which one of them tossed a pike,'Pshaw,' said GOLDSMITH with some warmth, I can do it better myself.'' The same evening,' adds BOSWELL, when supping at BURKE's lodging, he broke his shin by attempting to exhibit to the company how much better he could jump over a stick than the puppets.'

GOLDSMITH jealous of puppets! This even passes in absurdity BosWELL'S charge upon him of being jealous of the beauty of the two Miss HORNECKS.'

6

One other picture of Dr. JoHNSON's Bozzy,' and we have done with him:

THE moment JOHNSON's voice burst forth, the attention which it excited on Mr. BOSWELL amounted almost to pain. His eyes goggled with eagerness; he leant his ear almost on the shoulder of the doctor; and his mouth dropped open to catch every syllable that might be ut tered; nay, he seemed not only to dread losing a word, but to be anxious not to miss a breathing; as if hoping from it latently, or mysticaliy, some information.

On one occasion the doctor detected BoswELL,.or Bozzy, as he called him, eaves-dropping behind his chair, as he was conversing with Miss BURNEY at Mr. THRALE's table' 'What are you doing there, Sir?' cried he, turning round angrily, and clapping his hand upon his knee. Go to the table, Sir !'

'BOSWELL obeyed with an air of affright and submission, which raised a smile on every face. Scarce had he taken his seat, however, at a distance, than impatient to get again at the side of JOHNSON, he rose and was running off in quest of something to show him, when the doctor roared after him authoritatively, What are you thinking of Sir? Why do you get up before the cloth is removed? Come back to your place, Sir;' and the obsequious spaniel did as he was commanded. Running about in the middle of meals!' muttered the doctor, pursing his mouth at the same time to restrain his rising risibility.

BOSWELL got another rebuff from JOHNSON, which would have demolished any other man. He had been teasing him with many direct questions, such as What did you do, Sir? What did you say, Sir?' until the great philologist became perfectly enraged. I will not be put to the question! roared he. 'Don't you consider, Sir, that these are not the manners of a gentle. man? I will not be baited with what and why; What is this? What is that? Why is a cow's tail long? Why is a fox's tail bushy? Why, Sir, replied pil-garlick, you are so good that I I venture to trouble you.' Sir,' replied JOHNSON, my being so good is no reason why you should be so ill. You have but two topics, Sir;' exclaimed he on another occasion, 'yourself and me, and I am sick of both.'

BOSWELL'S inveterate disposition to toad, was a sore cause of mortification to his father. This tagging at the heels of Dr. JOHNSON, whom he considered a kind of pedagogue, set his Scotch blood in a ferment. There's nae hope for JAMIE, mon,' said he to a friend; JAMIE is gaen clean gyte.''

Mr. IRVING has dwelt at some length upon the sycophantic and toadying characteristics of BosWELL, for the purpose doubtless of showing the quo animo of his sneaking and insidious attacks upon the character of his kind, gentle-hearted, illustrious subject, whose memory will live in the affections of his readers when BOSWELL'S has sunk into merited contempt.

THE CLAIMS OF OUR COUNTRY ON ITS LITERARY MEN: an Oration before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard University, July 19, 1849. By GEORGE W. BETHUNE. Cambridge: JOHN BARTLETT.

Ir is quite true, as our orator remarks in the opening of his address, that the claims of our country upon its literary men is a theme that has often been discussed, but we much question whether it has been more ably treated than by Dr. BETHUNE, whose prose style, alike simple, luminous and graceful, adds attraction to any subject which it is employed to illustrate. We take the liberty to present a single extract, which will serve in some measure to confirm the justice of our praise: Our researches as scholars are in the past, but our business is in the present and the future. And what an unprecedented field does our present and future open to the philanthropic exertions of intellectual men! Human nature is ever radically the same. That as yet anonymous science which concerns the knowledge of human nature has few fundamental axioms. SOLOMON wrote proverbs for all ages. The characters of TACITUS transmigrate through all generations. But the developments, the combinations and phases of human action, in these times, are unexampled. The labyrinth has become so complicated, that our hand cannot securely grasp the ball of the clew. ZENO himself could not keep cool amidst such universal, multiform, constant excitement. Once, a few thought, and still fewer led; now, all think, and none are willing to follow. Mountains, seas, diversities of language, hereditary enmities of races, scarcely retard the revolutionary contagion. Armies receive the command to charge!'- they obey; but first come right about face,' and rout with their bayonets l'état major. Bulls,, whose roar once shook terribly the earth like one wide Bashan, now wail plaintively and feebly as a famishing calf outside the gate of its paddock. The pawns toss kings and queens, knights, bishops, and rookish nobles from the board, to play out the game among themselves. Constitutions are woven in a night, and are swept away like cobwebs by the morning broom. Rulers and ministries treat oaths as lightly as do smugglers in a custom-house. The giant, MAN, long crushed by usurpers of divine right, is flinging off the Ætna from his mangled breast. His limbs are not yet drawn from under the quaking, groaning, fire-spouting mass' but he is sure to rise. He will reel blindly, at first, from inveterate weakness of limb, his head dizzy with his new uprightness; his enemies will hurl on him their frightened vengeance; he will stagger, stumble, fall; but, gaining strength each time he presses the bosom of his mother earth, he will gather himself up, drive opposing powers irrevocably back to more than Egyptian darkness, and stride triumphantly forward until he reaches the goal which the good God has promised him; consummate freedom, happiness undefiled, imperishable dignity in the Divine image.' Speaking of the effect of American example on the old world, Dr. BETHUNE says: The example of our national character developed by