the way of music, as the harmony which he compels from his hundred instruments, all sounding in unison, at once. It is the very perfection of art in its kind, and is really a 'living delight.' Now, reader, just think whether we ever spoke in this way before of any musical performer in these pages, and give us credit for an impression of a 'new revelation.' READER,

let us drop a word in your ear: 'Look out,' in the course of a month, for a most charming little volume, from the press of the publisher hereof, entitled January and June: or Out-Door Thinkings, and Fireside Musings:' by BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR. This is the writer's brief and beautiful preface:

'A LITTLE Preface to a little Book is a jewel: so these random sketches are not portionless.

'Some body has declared that 'water runneth by the Mill, the Miller wots not of;' and, for proof thereof, lo! here a little, caught in the hollow of one's hand. Not enough, indeed, to turn a wheel, but to quench, may-be, a rose's or a robin's thirst; to baptize an infant love of nature; to sparkle in dews, on opening leaves of thought. "HARK!' says the mother, as she soothes the restless child. Now, NATURE is the mother, and I- the child.'

THE following admirable lines, written on a 'June Morning,' reach us in the well-known and always welcome chirography of our esteemed friend and correspondent, ROBERT S. CHILTON, Esq., of Washingon City:

"THE cat-bird sings in the tangled bush

That loads the air with its sweet perfume,
And the murmuring bees hide all the day
In the snowy tents of the alder's bloom;
The silent thrush, with a rapid wing,

Darts through the sun-lit, leafy screen,
And tilts the branches that over the brook
Wave their tassels of tender green.

The distant river, asleep in the sun,
Lies in a calm, unruffled rest,
And a single sail, like a snowy gull,
Lazily floats on its placid breast.
From yon white cottage, hard by the wood,
Comes the murmur of pleasant talk;

High over-head in the stainless blue

Sails the silent and watchful hawk!

'O ye who toil in the dusty town,

Come here, and your souls in this sun-shine steep;

See how the earth, at the touch of Spring,

Like the daughter of JAIRUS, wakes from her sleep.

Say if your walls of brick give back

The sun like yonder hill-side green,

In billows of dazzling, golden light,
With cool and shadowy gulfs between.'

Is n't that beautiful, now? 'A THOUGHT has just struck me,' writes one of the precious friends we have left, (for DEATH, within a few months, has made sad work among the little band whom we had 'buckled to our heart with hooks of steel,') 'that I should like to know what you are about at this hour. The idea 'sticks to me like a burr." Well, this: We had been out on the lawn, under the trees, with the little folk; watching the line of porpoises on the calm Hudson, rolling over like sea-swine, on their way downward toward the ocean, with now and then a sturgeon, up

right and stiff, jumping straight from the water, and dropping back again with a sudden splash, that sends circling ripples widening to the shore; upon seventy sail, becalmed in the entrance to Haverstraw Bay; upon the cat's-paw marks of 'schools' of fish, triangular-shaped, like files of wildgeese in the air. Then we shook the plum-trees, and as the round, plump, ripe fruit rolled upon the grass, they were speedily picked up and enjoyed; then we took the step-ladder, and picked some ISABELLA-grapes, from the trellis-roof of the arbor in the garden; then we put a board, with 'cleats' upon it, against the 'big tree,' and all of us got up in the broad branches, and were most pleasantly seated – ·a perfect 'family tree;' then little Jose sung, 'When the wind blows, the cradle will rock;' then we came down; then we lighted a mild cigar; and then there came a voice, telling a 'young sauce-box to come down,' which he did, and his 'paternal progenitor' after him, with the rest of his 'tribe'—pretty quick if not sooner. Can't a great many sit in a tree a great while without getting tired; 'leastways' we found it so, 'among us.' 'A FRIEND' says: 'I heard a good anecdote just now of a wealthy man 'here-away,' who had a number of servants, and was in the habit of sending some one of them a-fishing for trout; but one day his man returned with a smaller number than usual; and, upon being asked the reason of it, he said: 'A negro came along and threw them overboard: ' upon which the master asked him if he 'brooked' such conduct?' 'No,' was the reply, 'but I brooked the nigger!' The verdict of the coroner's jury was: Found drowned!' FRIENDS, if you remark any 'shortcomings' in the original departments of the present number, please to recall the first ten days of September, in which they were prepared; the penetrating, permeating, saturating, debilitating, enervating heats; worse than the 'selectest influences' of SIRIUS and the Dog-star at any period heretofore. It must have been the comet. But 'thereby hangs a tail' too long for present handling. A PERSON named CHARLES W. SNOW (white and spotless soul!) obtained several subscribers for the KNICKERBOCKER in Virginia last spring, but has never reported either the money or the names. 'An individual' calling himself HARVEY DUNN, has been 'doing' still worse. He has obtained numbers and volumes of our Magazine, and other periodicals, on a credit, and getting subscribers — delivering one or more numbers, and then keeping the money. The public are notified that whenever any agent is sent from this office, his name will appear in print in the Magazine. All others 'work on their own hook,' and we are in no way responsible for their operations. Persons wishing specimen-numbers, and writing solely on their own business, are particularly requested to pay the postage, if they expect any attention to be paid to their letters. Publishers of newspapers, every where, are informed that we do not give an EXCHANGE for publishing our prospectus, except where it is done at our request. Our large exchangelist requires reduction rather than increase. AGAIN we leave pages of 'Gossip' over, Notices to Correspondents, of New Publications, etc. Correspondents must keep copies of brief articles sent us. It would be an endless task to return all communications which we do not accept. At the same time, contributors should bear in mind that articles, in prose and verse, may be accepted, and yet await insertion for months. Variety, length, typogra

phical fitness, all have to be considered, to say nothing of postponed papers, which abide their precedence, like 'customers' in a barber's-shop-'not to speak it profanely.' WE again remind our readers and correspondents, that all communications intended for this Magazine, and all inquiries, of whatever kind, in relation to them, must be addressed to 'L. GAYLORD CLARK, Editor KNICKERBOCKER Magazine,' Number 139, Nassau street, New'York.' WE learn that our long-time friend and collaborateur in the pleasant field of letters, PARK BENJAMIN, whose success as a lecturer has been uniformly great, has relinquished his design of going abroad, and will remain at his own house in this city during the next six months, except when necessarily absent in pursuit of his popular vocation. This will be acceptable news to the managers of the various Lyceums, Institutes, and Associations throughout our country, by whom Mr. BENJAMIN'S services may be secured, as usual, for the present and coming season. We hear Mr. BENJAMIN's new discourse on 'Americanisms' very highly commended. Mr. BENJAMIN's address is Number Three, West WashingtonPlace, New-York. 'Оn that we had money!' was our involuntary exclamation, at seeing an advertisement in an Albany journal, headed, ‘Lake George Property for Sale.' To be near Lake George, the most beautiful sheet of water in the known world; to be near SHERRILL'S 'LakeHouse,' and its delighted visitors; to have a house and a home on the classic grounds of Forts 'WILLIAM HENRY,' 'GEORGE,' and 'GALE,' all looking upon lovely Lake Horicon, and the mountains of braided-blue that rise out of its glassy bosom, and swell up from its reflected shores; to have a house and home here, accessible in ten hours from New-York-this would be 'bliss indeed.' THE following, among other works, have been received by the EDITOR, and await present notice: 'Passages from the History of a Wasted Life,' by the Author of 'Pen-and-Ink Sketches,' published by MUSSEY AND COMPANY, Boston, and beautifully illustrated by BILLINGS; 'Spiritual Vampyrism,' by C. W. WEBBER; 'The Roman Traitor,' by H. W. HERBERT; JOHN CARROLL BRENT'S Address before the Georgetown College,' D. C.; a work from the press of BOHN, London, and BANGS, New-York, upon 'China, Ava, and the Burmese, Siam, and Anam, profusely illustrated; 'Fun and Earnest;' 'Mapleton, or More Work for the Maine-Law; 'The Behaviour Book,' by Miss LESLIE; DE QUINCEY'S 'Autographical Sketches;' BRITTON and RICHMOND'S 'Discussion of Spiritualism;' 'Old New-York, a Tragedy, by Mrs. E. OAKES SMITH; 'Turn-Over,' a tale of New-Hampshire; 'State Prisons of New-York' Reports; 'Story of an Apple;' Report of the New-York Young Men's Christian Association; 'Mind and its Creations,' by A. J. HART; ‘The Young American,' by Bishop DOANE of New-Jersey; 'Venice, the City by the Sea;' Treatise on Daguerreotyping,' etc. OBSERVE, please, the advertisement of Frankenstein's Panorama, on the cover of the present number. No one who has not seen the Great Cataract, should fail to visit it; and all who have seen it, can see it again, with all its sublime accessories, save only sound and motion. OWING to an early issue for the California steamer, the commencement of the story of 'John Biggs,' by the author of The Quod Correspondence,' was not received in season for insertion in the present number.

OF A PLACE.

Ir any body were to aver that there was no anxiety about the distribution of offices in the city of State of Ohio, after General Pierce was inaugurated, it would not be strictly true. There was anxiety; induced, no doubt, by the desire to see the places filled by fit and proper men; and there was also a good deal of disinterested patriotism evinced, by a readiness to take office on the shortest notice, and at a self-sacrifice. After the community had been agitated to the last degree by conflicting reports, almost hourly, as to who was appointed post-master, that vexing question was set at rest by the arrival of the commission. But it was settled only to admit the discussion of another of tremendous import—who should be the mail-agent? Placed by circumstances in the situation of a disinterested looker-on, I hope to be able to relate some few incidents which occurred in that memorable struggle for those honorable offices; and if this narrative possesses not the interest of a fictitious story, let it be remembered that it is but a dry detail of facts.

It was in front of a celebrated and justly popular hotel in the city, that two gentlemen, bent upon serving the country at all hazards, met a few days after the post-master had received his commission. One of them was a red-faced, rollicking, impudent-looking sort of person, still. in the twenties, though apparently over thirty. The other was a person not less than forty. Mr. Doem was the name of the former: he had not, at that time, any occupation or profession; but what of that? he had had a good many. The name of the other was Simeon Sugg: he was a thin man, of sorrowful and discontented aspect; he was worn to the bone by anxiety about the state of the country and for the maintenance of the Compromise. He was rich, had retired from business, and, having nothing to do, had many times offered, in the most patriotic and disinterested manner, to take office under the Government. Doem had also tendered his services several times; but, strange to say, though they were both gentlemen of leisure, and could have served the State without loss or detriment to its industrial interests, their offers had been declined.

'How do you like the new post-master, Simeon?' said Doem. Mr. Sugg was engaged in whittling a stick; he slowly moved his head from side to side, like a bear at bay, but made no audible reply.

'If I had known that he was likely to get it, I would have been a candidate myself,' said Doem.

Turning to Doem with a sorrowful air, Mr. Sugg said:

'The old working members of the party is a being set aside for fellows as never hardly voted the ticket.'

'Ah! you've been set aside for this post-master, have you?'

'No, Sir, I was not a candidate for that office.'

'Simeon, I should like to know what office you are a candidate for;' said Doem.

'I am not a candidate; not exactly a candidate, you see. I am not a candidate at all, as you may say; but sooner than these new men shall get all the offices, I will be a candidate.'

For what?' said Doem, sharply.

'Oh, for nothing in particular,' replied Simeon, with his eyes bent upon the ground. But what are you a candidate for?'

"Well, for things in general, and for something in particular, too,' replied Doem. 'Having fit the battles of the Democratic party ever since I was ten year old; having rid, in all sorts of weather, in all parts of the county; having sot up o' nights with the boys, a'

'Drinking whiskey,' suggested Simeon, seeing that the other hesitated. 'And having worked night and day for the election of Franklin Pierce, I am a candidate for -for mail-agent! Now it's out!'

6

'For what?' said Simeon, dropping stick and knife in consternation. Mail-agent; no mistake about it,' replied Doem, coolly. And if I had n't been a modest fool, as did n't appreciate his own merits and qualifications, I should have tried for and got something better.'

'You would, I assure you,' cried Simeon, eagerly. 'It is not too late now; go in for some good office; you ought to be ashamed of yourself to be a candidate for mail-agent.'

Well, I had, I know; but I think I'll take the agency now,' said Doem, after consideration.

'Which route do you apply for?'

'Whichever they like to appoint me to; I have no preference where service to the country is concerned. Now I know you are a candidate for a mail-agency, too, Simeon; and we shall be certain to receive the appointments.'

'I am a kind of a candidate,' said Simeon. 'No doubt our commissions will come on together. I am for either route.'

Certainly, one is as good as the other; and if we want to change at any time, we can arrange it with the Department,' said Doem.

Simeon's reply was prevented by the approach of a young man with a valise in his hand, who had just returned from Washington by the

cars.

'Ah, Bob!' cried Doem,' what's the news? who are the mail-agents?' 'I am the only one appointed; I have my commission in my pocket for the southern route. Much obliged to you for your congratulations. I am in a great hurry; excuse me, gentlemen.'

With this he stepped into the hotel, leaving Mr. Doem and Simeon in speechless consternation. Doem was the first to recover the use of his tongue, and he forthwith began to curse the administration with great