BRIC-A-BRAC. PAT. AGENCY U.P 呼 "Pat Agency! That's a quare name onyhow--I wondher if he's a Tipperary man.” A Constant Reader. BY PARMENAS MIX. THE Overworked scribe of the "Mudville Gazette ' If his office would ever be cleared of its debt, When the tread of old leather was heard on the stair "How are ye?" The editor rose with a smile "I hev read all the pieces you've writ for your sheet, "I am glad you are pleased," said the writer, "indeed; By the way, I've a melon laid up for a treat- It's a beauty, sir, fit for an angel to eat- Then the stranger rolled up half a dozen or more Helped himself to the fruit, threw the rinds on the floor, He assured his new friend that his "pieces were wrote As he wiped his red hands on the editor's coat "By the way, I've neglected to ask you your name," Said the scribe as the stranger arose; "That's a fact," he replied, "I'm Abimalech Bame, You have heerd o' that name, I suppose? I'm a-livin' out here on the Fiddletown Creek Where I own a good house and a lot; The Gazette' gets around to me wunst every weekI'm the constantest reader you've got!" "Abimalech Bame," mused the editor, "B-a-m-e(Here his guest begged a chew of his 'twist ')— "I am sorry to say your mellifluous name Doesn't happen to honor my list!" "'Spose not; " was the answer-"no reason it should, For ye see I jine lots with Bill Prim He's a reg'lar subscriber and pays ye in wood, Poe's "Raven." THE MYSTERY SOLVED. A correspondent gives the following curious theory of the composition of this much discussed poem. There have been numerous conjectures in | regard to what a theatrical manager might call the "property" of this poem, and it is time that the questions asked concerning it should be answered. What were the many "quaint and curious" volumes? What was the last name of the lost Lenore? Was the shutter iron or wood? Was the lamp one of sperm, kerosene, or gas, and, where did it hang? | These are but a few of the multitude of questions which have been asked by the inquiring minds of the present day. Be it known, therefore, that the hero of the poem was a hotel clerk, whose duty it was to remain in the office during the weary hours of night and receive such guests as might offer themselves. The proprietor himself was in the habit of occupying the office during the day, and had had it fitted up elaborately; thus, the "sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain," which filled the hero with "fantastic terrors never felt before," is fully accounted for. He had been enamored of a young lady who had been staying at the hotel for a short time during the season, but had taken her departure several weeks before the date of the poem. His knowledge of the fair one was extremely limited; merely including the two leading facts, that her name was Lenore and that she lived in Aden,-which, by the way, is incorrectly spelled in the poem,--Aden being, according to the best geographical authorities, situated in the southern part of Arabia. The arrivals had been so numerous since her coming that he had been unable to look up her name in the register; but, on this eventful evening, no late visitors had troubled him, and, turning the pages of that book containing "many a quaint and curious" signature, he searched for that of the lost Lenore. While engaged in this fruitless undertaking,-fruitless, alas! for her father in his haste had only signed, "C. Ferguson and Daughter," -he heard a tapping at the door. Now this at a hotel is an unusual method of applying for entrance, and the thought that it must be a spirit came forcibly to his mind. Spirits have never been known to ring the door-bell. They always rap. Thinking that Lenore must have come from a better land to converse with him, he hesitated a moment, remembering that he had never been introduced. WARNING! TRESPASSER It was December, and the embers were painting, ghosts upon the floor. He had been wishing for the morning, for the hotel register afforded but poor amusement, and his heart did not cease to sorrow, for the "rare and radiant maiden" was nameless there on account of her father's thoughtlessness, and it was likely evermore to be so, for residents of so distant a place as Aden would probably never visit America again. However, he remembered, that if a guest complained of having been left shivering outside the door for a good half hour the proprietor might not consider his suffering because of the lost one to be a sufficient excuse for his negligence; so, apologizing for his delay, he throws open the door to find darkness there and nothing more. After turning with burning heart into the room he hears a similar tapping at the window, and upon raising it and throwing the iron shutter-the window opened toward the rear and was much exposed to burglarious attempts, as the safe was standing hard by-without the least obeisance, a raven stepped in and perched upon the bust of Pallas over the door. The extreme accuracy of the poet at this point is marvelous. Hotel-keepers are noted for their efforts to buy cheaply. This one, when searching for decorations to beautify his house withal, had made some great bargains. A young sculptor in town having found that the citizens did not appreciate wisdom, and that, consequently, the bust of Pallas was dead stock, sold it for an absurdly moderate price, and it was placed over the entrance door. We might continue to throw light upon the many other obscure portions of the poem, but fear that we may weary the reader. It is but proper, however, that the final sentence, which occupies the whole of the last verse, should be explained. It is well known to those of observing habits that hotels ordinarily have a fan-light over the main entrance, and a lamp suspended above and in front of the same. The raven, sitting upon the sculptured "AFTER YOU, SIR!" bust, was in a straight line between the lamp outside and the floor inside, which, in the course of nature, received the shadow of the raven, which presented a 304 striking contrast to the clear light afforded by the artificial luminary above and beyond. This contrast was greatly increased by the absence of light inside the room; for, fearing lest his employer should enter the office and see the gas burning brightly while he was musing, perhaps with former experiences fresh in his memory, the thoughtful clerk turned down the light, and thus contributed greatly to the effect of the poem. It is strange that this easy and complete exposition has not occurred to the eminent critics who have discussed the poem. ARTHUR JACOBUS. "A Reflection. WHEN Eve upon the first of men The apple pressed with specious cant, Oh, what a thousand pities then That Adam was not adamant!" Sixty to Sixteen. [To a young lady who complained that the ruins, antiquities, etc., didn't look old enough.] MY DEAR GIRL: You complain, as I'm credibly told, That antiquity's relics are fading from view, That with vision æsthetic you've sought for the old, And in all of your roamings have found but the new. 'Tis the magic of girlhood and youth at its prime To cast their own glamour on all that they meet; And the moldiest landmarks of classical time Brighten up and look young at the sound of your feet. Don't be hard on the ruins! Don't murmur too loud! SEXAGENARIUS. "Will you lead in prayer?" said the minister to good Deacon Colman at a conference meeting. "Better ask some other brother," said the honest old man-"I don't feel very spry to night!" A simple looking country lad, to whose lot fell the leading questions in the Catechism, "What is your name?" replied, "Carrots!" "Who gave you that name?" "All the boys in the parish, sir!" whiningly replied the red-haired urchin. Reason for being in debt.-As a Scottish officer was handing a summons to a collier, he said: "It's a curious thing that ye haud me coming to ye so often, can ye not get out o' debt?" "Get out o' debt, Mr. Turnbull," said the knight of the black diamond; 'deed, it takes a' my time and wit, the gettin' into't. I'm astonished how onybody can hae leisure to warstle out o' it." A newspaper poet in Ireland appealed to his fellow-countrymen in behalf of a monument to O'Connell. We quote a few lines: "When he'll be elevated on his pillar tall and high, A ring of heavenly angels will salute him from the sky; With golden harps resounding, they will chant his deathless praise, For the good he done his country up from his cradle days." One day, after dinner, Curran said to Father O'Leary, a priest famous for his wit and amusing conversation: "Reverend Father, I wish you were Saint Peter." "And why, Counsellor, would you wish that I were Saint Peter?" asked O'Leary. "Because, Reverend Father, in that case, said Curran, you would have the keys of heaven, and you would let me in." "By my honor and conscience, Counsellor," yelled the divine, "it would be better for you that I had the keys of the other place, for then I could let you out." JEALOUSY. Constraint. Down through the orchard wandered we, There came a blush upon her cheek, I touched her snowy dimpled hand, At last we paused beneath a tree, The branch that sheltered her and me Reached low its luscious fruit. "Be seated, pray," I gently plead; "I cannot-cannot," soft she said, "I'm in my walking suit." the waters of the North and the East rivers. The City Hall Park was then an uninclosed space, known as the Fields or Commons, disfigured by the gallows, bridewell, jail, and barracks, with the Liberty Pole of the patriots as its only ornament. St. Paul's Church, newly built, was one of the ornaments of the upper city, but there were many green fields and few residences in its vicinity. For a neighbor, it had the Old Brick Church, which was trying to gather an up-town congregation to its site on the triangular space of ground bounded by Park Row, Beekman, and Nassau (then Kip) street. Other edifices of note were Trinity Church, on Broadway; the Middle Dutch Church on Nassau street, until recently occupied as the post-office; the North Dutch Church in Partition (now Fulton) street; the Government House in the fort on the Battery, and King's (after ward Columbia) College, whose quadrangle faced the Hudson, and was described as the most beautifully situated college in the world.. The traveler of that day avers that the city was tolerably well built. Though its Though its streets, with the exception of Broadway, Wall, and Broad, were rarrow, they were paved and very clean, a state of affairs on which our nineteenth century civilization has not improved. On Broadway nearly all the houses had rows of trees before them, and TRINITY CHURCH IN 1775 most of the private residences in other streets were encircled by pleasant gardens. Many houses had balconies on the roof, where the families sat in summer evenings. The people, of whom at least one-half were of Dutch descent, are described as frugal, industrious, and quick at a bargain. Yet they indulged heartily in their favorite amusements, and kept their legal holidays with an unction worthy of imitation by their descendants. Balls and sleighing expeditions enlivened the winter, and in summer fishing and sailing parties were numerous, and excursions to the upper end of the island took place once or twice a week. "Thirty or forty gentlemen and ladies," writes an English visitor, "would meet to dine together, drink tea in the afternoon, fish and amuse themselves till evening, and then return home in Italian chaises," adding, with just a suspicion of humor, that there were "a gentleman and lady in each chaise." The same close observer of men and manners also noted that there was a bridge about three miles distant from the city, which was always crossed in returning, and which was known as the Kissing Bridge, because it was "a part of the etiquette to salute the lady who had put herself under your protection." The writer was a clergyman, and it is fair to presume that he omitted this uncanonical ceremony. The bridge in question crossed De Voor's mill stream, near Fifty-fourth street, between Second and Third Avenues. Beyond the Commons, the island stretched away, unbroken by streets, and crossed but by few roads, dotted here and there by the elegant summer residences of the merchant princes of the city. There Walton, Rutgers, Stuyvesant, Murray, Beekman, Morris, Watts, Lispeñard, Mortier, and other men of wealth, exercised a bountiful hospitality. houses were embowered in groves of chestnut, oak, beech, and hickory trees, while every kind of wild berry grew in the meadows in profusion. Fisherman and hunter found abundant sport in every quarter. The East and North rivers, and the bay, swarmed with shad, bass, salmon, and black-fish, and the sporting citizen had no need to go farther than Minetta Brook, which emptied into the North River near the foot of Houston street, in his search for trout. Wild geese, ducks, and pigeons, quail, partridges, and snipe, had their haunts near the quiet city. There was nothing to disturb them. Travelers were not numerous. The high road to Boston crossed the Common on its east side, and followed the Bowery to the spot where the Cooper Union now stands, where it branched off into the Middle road, joining Harlem Lane at about Thirty-seventh street, and the Bloomingdale road at a very short distance above. The latter avenue, |