inferred, from any thing that he had ever seen in these pages, that we should be led to publish his communication? It is a poorly-concealed 'Defence of Gaming,' and should have been so entitled. It is not the innocent diversions of chess or whist that he commends; it is the right of a man to do what he will with his own; to risk his money wherever and whenever he pleases; and the right in another, and to an equal degree, to take that risk in exchange for his own. This is the 'argument;' urged on the ground that the same thing is done in Wall-street every day.' Our answer is short to our would-be-correspondent. In the language of the poet, (with a' trifling variation,') we should

'rather be the wretch

Who scrawls his ideot nonsense on the walls,

His gallant bark of reason wrecked,

A mere faint ray of intellect,

Not quite a man, nor yet a brute,

Than we would basely prostitute Old KNICK.,'

To serve the cause of VICE!

WE will try to get along as well as we can in this department without the editorial side-table' scraps sent us by an anonymous correspondent. We are not 'smart,' but we are industrious, and can fill our available space very comfortably. . . THERE were a-many little folk in the parlors down-stairs last night, from the neighborhood round about, for the purpose of having what a friend of ours terms 'Tab Lewxes Wiwants,' in which the young scions of the house of KNICK. were, with others, to take a part. Every now and then came up from below these words: 'Now come down, father; we are all ready!-come quick, father!' And down did we go, a half-a-dozen times, suddenly dropping the adscititious pen, and leaving our long gossippy slips unstained with ink. In one of the tableaux there was a camp of gypsies, and little Jose was one of the gipsy-children. Now while we were looking at the scene, with some little parental pride and gratification, a bright light increased before the red curtain, and in a moment we saw that our little lamb was all a-blaze. We rushed toward her, seized her in our arms, and hapily succeeded in smothering the flame before it had reached beyond the under-clothing. We mention this, not as an incident of any great interest or importance, but because we wish no parent to feel as we did when we saw that little girl on fire, nor to have such after dreams concerning the event as we had last night. The moral is: When your little folk have tableauxvivants, pray see that the candles are not carelessly placed near their persons.' . . . A WRITER in the 'Church and State Gazette' submits a choice specimen of the dialect as exhibited in the responses during the reading of the decalogue: What is there so solemn, in hearing a commandment of GOD, as to pray that He will have mercy on us, and incline our hearts to keep His law? What more shocking than to hear the privileged leader of the congregation put up such solemn prayer after this desecrating fashion: Lawrummuzzy puns, 'nincline er rarts to keep's laws!'' . . . A Friend has sent us the following as a forcible illustration of the legal tautology that obtains in the law-papers of 'sharp-practitioners,' who charge by the folio for their 'words, words, words:"

day of

'WHEREAS, by a certain instrument bearing date the eighteen hundred and twenty-nine, purporting to be an agreement between R B. F, of the city of New-York, inspector-in-chief of the elections in the Ninth Ward of the said city, doctor of music, of the first part, and JS, of the same city, doctor of medicine, of the second part, it was agreed and consented, by and between the aforesaid parties, that upon the fulfilling the said covenant and agreement, (reference being had to the aforesaid instrument, the nature of the said agreement and covenant will more fully appear,) the said party of the first part should be entitled to and receive from

the said party of the second part certain remunerations, benefits, emoluments and advantages, to be paid, given, rendered, yielded and presented by the said party of the second party unto the said party of the first part: and WHEREAS, upon the failing to perform the said covenant and agreement, (reference being had unto the said instrument, the nature of the agreement aud penalty attached to the non-performance of the covenant and agreement, made, concluded, arranged, agreed upon, settled and consented to, will more fully, clearly, conspicuously and definitely appear,) the said party of the first part became bound and obligated in a certain penalty: AND WHEREAS, upon the due and faithful performance of the conditions of the aforesaid instrument of agreement, the said parties thereunto should, agreeably to the usages and customs of nations, be discharged from the penalty contained in the said agreement, and the said covenant and agreement be rendered and made really and absolutely and truly null, void and without effect, and the covenanting parties discharged and released from the penalties, pains, fines, dues, duties and obligations now or at any time heretofore incurred, due or liable to be incurred, or rendered due in consequence of the existence of the aforesaid instrument, covenant and agreement, and that the said instrument, covenant and agreement should be obliterated, cancelled and destroyed: THEREFORE, it is now hereby expressly and decisively agreed and understood by and between the parties to these presents, as well as by and between the said parties in the aforesaid instrument, covenant and agreement, named and mentioned: THAT the aforesaid instrument, covenant and agreement be and is hereby declared and pronounced to be utterly, truly, really and absolutely rendered and made null, void and without effect, and is totally, altogether and irrevocably obliterated, cancelled, destroyed and annihilated, as fully, completely and truly as if the aforesaid instrument, covenant and agreement had never had existence. In witness of the aforesaid total and irrevocable obliteration, cancellation, destruction and annihilation, the parties to these presents have hereunto set their hands and seals this thirty-first day of July, eighteen hundred and

We trust the 'New Code of Procedure' in this state abolishes much of this tautological, adscititious, unnecessary, and supererogatory lingo! . . . THE wail of dying Summer is moaning in the trees before the sanctum to-night, and the rain patters plaintively against the windows. Let us, while we listen, read over again ‘An Autumnal Leaf,' just sent us by our fresh-hearted correspondent, the 'PEASANT BARD:

WHEN withered leaves around my way

Drift in the fresh autumnal blast,
I view them, as they rustling play,

As Summer's phantoms flitting past.
In some still nook, or sheltering lee
Of roaring woods, they seem to me
When resting from their eddying flight,
To build departed Summer's urn;
Where PHOEBUS pours a saddened light
Like moonlight fanned to burn.
The rivulet lowers its babbling voice,
Past its brown banks runs dreamily;
It seems to take, as if from choice,
The melancholy minor key.
All nature's full of sympathy:
The winds and waters, woods and plains
Together blend their dirge-like strains;
The lonely bird forbears to sing;
Grief-stifled seems each tuneful throat;
E'en darker grows the raven's wings,
And desert-like his note.

The dying winds, as set the sun,
Usher the gloaming and expire;
The frosty stars gleam one by one,
Like ice reflecting distant fire.
The moon awaits her time to rise,

To bathe with her cold light the skies;

The frost-king creeps in stillness forth;

While shooting upward high and higher,
The unwarned wizard of the north
Kindles his ghostly fire.

The peasant, homeward hieing now,
Belated, turns his thoughtful gaze,
And sees on high the starry' plough'
Pale through the evanescent blaze.
Thoughts, sad yet pleasing, crowd his mind;
Thoughts formless half, and half defined,
Such as the bard and painter feel,
But fail to picture or to sing;
Thoughts that of genius fix the seal,

And point her upward wing!
The hunter, camped beside the spring,
Where the red maple sheltering stands,
As low the welling waters sing,
And cheerful shine his blazing brands,
Moodily muses as his eye

Watches the flashing northern sky,
And dreams in Opis's distant hall

Hunters some kingly banquet share,
And he, one day, when DEATH shall call,
Shall mingle with them there.

When withered leaves around my way
Drift in the fresh autumnal blast,

I look upon them as they play,

As Summer's phantom's flitting past.
In stilly nook, or sheltering lee,
Of waving woods, they seem to me,
When gathering from their eddying flight,

To build departed Summer's urn
Where PHOEBUS pours a mellowed light,
Like moonlight fanned to burn!

MESSRS. WILLIAMS AND STEVENS, opposite the Carlton-House, have made their superb establishment one of the necessities of the town. 'All things rich and rare'

are there congregated. Foremost, in all their stateliness, stand their great reflectors, shadowing passing events and facts, encircled by their graceful wreaths, not of fancy but of gilded ornament. Among some of the recently added novelties, may be noticed the engraving from LANDSEER's last and magnificent picture of 'The Drive,' or 'Flight of Deer,' the largest engraving ever put to press. The same house will soon announce his two great subjects: 'Peace' and 'War,' and a fine large print from a picture of the olden time, called 'An Old English Merry Making,' of which the etching has been received. They will also soon have from London, for exhibition, the original picture of this splendid subject. The great print of 'HARVEY demonstrating to CHARLES the First his theory of the Circulation of the Blood,' will soon be finished, as well as 'Waiting for the Countess,' from LANDSEER. 'The Wounded Hound,' from ANSDELL, are also, among the latest novelties. Their print department is very complete, embracing all the finest productions of the English, French and German schools. The artist's-materials department of the establishment will soon be complete for the supply of every thing English or French. Additions will be constantly made to their present very fine assortment of bronzes, papier-maché goods, and porcelains, the productions of the best artists and manufactories in Europe; and these, together with a choice new lot of the Bisqué, or Parian marble-ware and figures, which will be ready for exhibition in a few days, will contribute to make their store emphatically what they term it, the Art-Repository.'... 'A RAT! a rat! dead for a ducat!' So we recently thought, with HAMLET; but there was a flaw in our speculutions as there was in the mad prince's philosophy. We sat the other morning, in the mild October air, watching a corpulent rat come from a neighboring yard, cross the flower-bordered walks of our little garden, and half bury himself in a hole in the farthest corner. Knowing that in that position his 'ear was deaf that it could not hear,' we approached with noiseless, stealthy step, seized with vigorous grasp his caudal appendage close up to his person; and what do you think befel? Why this: he retired, leaving a 'balance in hand' of one rat-tail skin, bearing a strong resemblance to the 'file' of that name. That victim to 'prompt measures' may still occasionally be seen sneaking shame-facedly around his old places of resort; but in the main, he rather shuns society. . . . ONE of the most costly and elegant gift-books for the approaching holiday season is a work of large size, embellished with eighteen highly-finished engravings, designed expressly for the work, edited by Rev. Dr. WAINWRIGHT, and entitled 'Our Saviour, with Prophets and Apostles.' The several descriptions are by different distinguished American divines, and are exceedingly well written. We predict for this splendid volume a wide popularity. . . . 'OLLAPOD once very forcibly conveyed the distortion of words by fashionable vocalists in the lines of Black-Eyed SUSAN :'

'ODLE id'n the Dowd'nds thoi vlit was a-moor'd,
Thoi zdrimures woiving id'n the woind,'

and so forth; but we once heard a twanging-nosed Yankee vocalist beat this style out and out, in rendering a patriotic ditty of and concerning' the 'Death of General Wolfe. Two of the verses were as follow; but pen cannot describe the tones of the voice that wedded them to that immortal music :'

'D'DNE-E d'lifted um'p d'his 'ead,

Widle d'the cad'dnons din'd d'rattle, Ad'nd tew his Ad'nedekemp he sai-n'd, 'D'now goes the bad'ntel?'

'D'n iz Ad'nedekemp d're'mplied,

'Tid'n'z id'n our fa-a-ver!"

'D'no thed'n bra'nve WOLFE d're'mplied, 'D'n-I-e die wid'th pled-zshure!'

WE had the pleasure of an interview to-day with our long-time oriental correspondent and friend, JOHN P. BROWN, Esq., of Constantinople, whose contributions to these pages have proved so widely acceptable. He visits this country with AMIN BEY, the distinguished ambassador from the sultan of Turkey, whom we also had the pleasure to meet; a fine specimen of his improved and improving race. Our readers will soon hear again from Mr. BROWN. . . . A VERY rare and touching series of sketches is 'Ehringer's Etchings, suggested by Hood's Bridge of Sighs,' just issued by PUTNAM. They are worthy of HooD's noble poem, which is all that need be said touching their merit. . . . IN conversation,' says SIDNEY SMITH, any language almost will do; that is, great indulgence is extended to the language of talkers, because a talker is at hand to explain himself, and his looks and gestures are a sort of comment upon his words, and help to interpret them; but as a writer has no such auxiliary language to communicate his ideas, and no power of reëxplaining them when once clothed in language, he has nothing to depend upon but a careful use of terms. The use made of the great instrument of conversation is the display of superiority, not the gaining of those materials on which superiority may rightfully and justly be founded.' SMITH himself, we are told, was a model talker. . . . HALF past twelve o'clock at night, and a stormy morning has begun. We have gossipped till 'our eyelids can no longer wag,' so we will 'to couch.' Looking in the fire, and thinking of the rosy slumbers, for hours, of the little people, while we have been scribbling, we have meditated upon their innocence; upon our own childhood, passed forever away; of the thick-coming years; of the reposeful spirit to which we would attain; of the 'higher life' to which every man must at some period or other of the day or night aspire; and of the rest which a conscience void of offence toward GoD and toward man' gives to the weary spirit. Who does not sometimes say to himself, at the close of the busy day, or in the night-watches:

REST for MY SOUL I long to find!
SAVIOUR of all, if mine thou art,
Give a meek, a lowly mind,

And write THY image on my heart!"

When the years of old,' reader, shall 'stand in the sun, and murmur of childhood and the dead,' you will 'think on these things.' . . . WE would invite the reader's attention to the series of articles upon 'Physical Geography,' which have lately led the van in our Magazine. They are written with great spirit, and are the result of much study and research. A stupid typographical blunder disfigures the last line of the first paragraph in the opening article of the present number, but the intelligent reader will readily correct it. The next number of the series is upon 'Comparative Physiology,' and will reward perusal. . . . THE crop of new towns that is springing up all over the country, impresses us with a belief that in the next half century we shall have some serious philological disturbances in our language. For how are we to designate the inhabitants when they have a 'local habitation' but no name?' What can be done, for example, with such appellations as San Franciscans, Montereyjans, Chicagonians, Detroiters, Buffalonians, Oswegians, West-Pointers, Tillietudlemites, Rahwayians, Poughkeepsians, Peekskillers, Sing-Singers, Green-Pointers, Ryeiters, Weekawkers, Key-Porters, Communipawians, Lansingburghians, Skeneatelians, Old Point-Comfortonians, Fishkillers, Neversinkers, Ramaponians, PaintedPosters, Chemungians, Pleasant Villains, Catskillers, Hyde-Parkers, Depositers, Esopusers, and after all these what on earth is to be done with the people born in

Cocksackie?... THERE is great melody, as well as tender feeling, in the subjoined beautiful 'Serenade.' It breathes the very soul of passion; yet it is soft and flowing as a murmuring rivulet. We commend it to the sweet music of our friend DEMPSTER:

TWILIGHT dews are weeping,
Silent stars are peeping

Forth from thrones of love on high;
Meekly flowers are bending,
Evening songs ascending,

Peaceful glides the streamlet by.

Vesper bells are tolling,
Echoes lightly rolling,

O'er the mountain, vale and moor;
Music softly stealing,

Purest thoughts revealing,

Now the toils of day are o'er.

Happy hearts are beating,
Lovers' vows repeating,
Swiftly haste the hours along;
Founts of love are swelling,
Joyous hearts are telling
Dreams of sunny days in song.

With the changing measure,
Comes to me no pleasure,
Heedless hies the sunset hour;
Music sorrow bringing,
Mem'ry sadness winging
To my heart's once happy bower.

Round me joy is teeming,
I am only dreaming
Of her smile I can't forget;
From delusion waking,

Heart deceived is breaking:
Love's bright star for me is set!

We never saw a more forcible exemplification of the sublime and ridiculous' than we witnessed to-day, while standing on the rail-road bridge at Yorkville, watching the approach of a train from the city. Onward came the fiery-dragon of steam, with snort, and rumble, and roar, while a country dog, on a bank near by, was watching it with a dilating eye. As it neared, he gave a short quick bark, and 'went forth to meet the foe.' He rushed down the bank, and, as if he were merely seizing a vagrant pig, was about to take the locomotive by the ear, when we heard a single scream, like the top-note of a fiddle, and then all was still. The train swept on, and while we were thinking, 'Supposing it had been a man!' there came limping slowly up the bank our four-footed 'brave.' When he reached the bridge, he looked after the train, flitting into distance, shook his ears, and said, in as plain English as ever a dog spoke in the world, 'I am afraid I made a little mistake in challenging that fellow. I didn't exactly know his breed.' And after licking his fore-foot, he limped away, a 'sadder and a wiser' dog. . . . We see that GRANT THORBURN, who ca'nt write a line without misspelling every other word, and whose hand-writing is the scrawl of a spider escaped from an ink-bottle, is giving certain old Reminiscences of New-York' in one or two of our journals. Will he not, on some future occasion, favor us with some account of a little incident that occurred in a cider-cellar in Liberty-street many years ago? It excited a good deal of interest in the public mind at the time, and the papers of the day, we find, considered it a 'great moral lesson;' as forcible, indeed, as any of Mr. THORBORN's written homilies at the present time. Mr. LAURIE