young writer of Cambridge, England, who well deserves the title of poet, if the ex- quisite passages quoted by the reviewer be fair examples of his verse at large; the fifth, is a paper upon the beet-sugar manufacture, for the perusal of which we confess we did not 'agnize a prompt alacrity;' the sixth, an appreciating estimate of La Chute d'un Ange, by Lamartine; the seventh, a notice of Freytag's Arabic Lexicon; and the eighth, a review of 'The Life and Times of the Rev. George Whitfield,' to us one of the most interesting articles in the number, touching upon the early history, education, and progress of that remarkable minister; the character of his eloquence, and his modes of preaching; and tracing his itinerant career through England, Scotland, and America. The 'Blue Laws of the Old States' are next discussed, to which succeeds a notice of the same German poems that are reviewed in the New-York Quarterly. We are glad to perceive, that the reviewer's enthusiasm does not lend his to the affectation of descrying new beauties in vague, shadowy, and indistinct Germanosities, if we may coin a word to express our meaning. Apropos to this, there in an admirable caustic paper in the February number of Blackwood's Magazine, entitled 'A Discourse on Göethe and the Germans,' to the truth sad justice of which we most fully subscribe. These enthusiastic admirations of peculiar 'schools' of literature are periodical. Young as we are, we have seen some half dozen manias of this description subside into neglect, and ultimate indifference, and in some instances, contempt. The eleventh and last article, is a review of Wetmore's Gazeteer of Missouri; but 'farther of its matter can we not report'—principally because we have not read it.
The late Charles Mathews.—In a review, in a late number of 'Blackwood,' of the Memoirs of Mathews, noticed in the Kickerbocker for March, we find the following amusing story of a fantastic English original, one Lord Eardley, whose particular antipathy was, to having attendants about him, and whose still more especial antipathy was, to have them of the class called 'fine gentlemen:'
'During breakfast, one day, Lord Eardley was informed that a person had applied for a footman's place, then vacant. He was ordered into the room, and a double refined specimen of the genus so detested by his lordship made his appearance. The manner of the man was extremely affected and consequential, and it was evident that my lord understood him at a glance; moreover, it was evident be determined to lower him a little.
'Well, my good fellow,' said he, 'what, you want a lackey's place, do you?'
'I came about an upper footman's situation, my lord,' said the gentleman, bridling up his head.
'Oh, do ye, do ye?' replied Lard Eardley; 'I keep no upper servants; all alike, all alike here.'
'Indeed, my lord!' exclaimed this upper footman, with an air of shocked dignity. 'What department then am I to consider myself expected to fill?'
'Department! department!' quoth my lord, in a tone like inquiry.
'In what capacity, my lord?'
My lord repeated the word capacity, as if not understanding its application to the present subject.
'I mean, my lord,' explained the man, 'what shall I be expected to do, if I take the situation?'
'Oh, you mean if you take the place. I understand you now,' rejoined my lord; 'why, you're do every thing but sweep the chimneys and clean the pig-sties, and those I do myself.'
'The gentleman stared, scarcely knowing what to make of this, and seemed to wish himself out of the room; he, however, grinned a ghastly smile, and, after a short pause, inquired what salary his lordship gave."
'Salary, salary?' reiterated his incorrigible lordship, 'don't know the word, don't know the word, my good man.'
Again the gentleman explained: 'I mean what wages?'
'Oh, wages,' echoed my lord: 'what d'ye ask what d'ye ask?'
Trip regained his self-possession at this question, which looked like business, and, considering for a few moments, answered—first stipulating to be found in hair-powder, and (on state occasions) silk stockings, and gloves, bags, and bouquets—that he should expect thirty pounds a-year.
'How much, how much?' demanded my lord, rapidly.
'Thirty pounds, my lord.'
'Thirty pounds!' exclaimed Lord Eardley, in affected amazement; 'make it guineas, and I'll live with you;' then ringing the bell, said to the servant who answered it, 'Let out this gentleman, he's too good for me; and then turning to Matthews, who was much amused, said, as the man made his exit, 'Conceited, impudent, scoundrel! Soon sent him off, soon sent him off, Master Matthews!'
The preceding was placed in type for our last number, and when it was fresh from the other side. It may be so now, indeed, to a large portion of our readers. At all events, it strikes us as too good to be lost.
