‘These coats for nautical pursuits Have qualities no one disputes; The very texture of their cloth Seems to defy the ocean’s wrath: And then their form and make as well Are suited to the billows’ swell.’

What can be happier than the allusion to the fact mentioned in the last two lines; namely, that the coat is quite a match for the billows, being as great a swell as any of them? The poet dashes off a few lines on trowsers, finishing with the following couplet, which is not likely to encourage purchasers. It is stated, and we dare say truly, that if any one puts on a pair of Moses’ trowsers he becomes at once an object of general observation:

‘While oft such cries as these escape; Look! there’s a figure! there’s a shape!’

It is a very natural consequence, no doubt, of disporting one’s-self in doe-skins made for seven-pence a pair; but the cries of ‘There’s a figure! there’s a shape!’ must make the trowsers rather dear to any one who wishes to walk about peaceably, unmolested by this species of street-criticism.’ Under the head of ‘Bolsters for Behindhand Botanists,’ we find these original questions and answers: ‘What are the most difficult roots to extract from the ground?’ The cube-root. ‘What is the pistil of a flower?’ It is that instrument with which the flower shoots. ‘What is meant by the word stamina?’ It means the pluck or courage which enables the flower to shoot.’ ‘The reversionary interest of a life-crossing, with retail lucifer business attached,’ is offered by a street-sweeper near the Bank of England, he having ‘prigged vat vasn’t his’n, and gone to pris’n.’ ‘He effected an irregular transfer at the bank one day, which, whatever his doubts upon the subject might previously have been, led to his ultimate conviction.’ The ‘Comic Blackstone’ enlightens us upon one of the ‘King’s prerogatives’: ‘The King is the fountain of justice, from which are supplied all the leaden reservoirs in Westminster-Hall, and the pumps at the inferior tribunals.’ Among the public inquiries is the following: ‘At a crowded meeting at Islington, on the question of granting a theatrical license, the papers state that the judges declined at first, but upon the urgent appeal of an advocate, ‘the bench gave way.’ Are we to understand from this that the opposition fell to the ground?’ In ‘Punch’s Almanac’ for 1844, we find among other side-remarks, the annexed: under May seventh: ‘Washington Irving on his way to Madrid as American Ambassador, is entertained in London, 1842. America takes the hand of Spain, and puts her best pen into it.’ ‘June sixth: The first cargo of ice comes from America, 1843, for the relief of those who had burnt their fingers with Pennsylvania bonds.’ ‘Time is money; but it doesn’t follow that man is a capitalist who has a great quantity of it on his hands.’ Punch’s ‘Literary Intelligence’ is very full. From it we gather that the author of the ‘Mothers,’ ‘Wives,’ ‘Maids,’ and ‘Daughters’ of England has another work in press, entitled ‘The Grandmothers of England.’ ‘No grandmother’s education will be complete till she has read and re-read ‘The Grandmothers of England.’ The book is the very best guide to oval suction extant.’ So says an ‘Evening Paper.’ ••• We should be glad to be informed of the name of any real or pretended lover of the turf and its manifold interests, or of an admirer of one of the most entertaining weekly journals on this continent, who could ask more than is offered by the ‘Spirit of the Times’ to all new subscribers to that widely-popular sheet; being no less than any five of those fine large quarto engravings on steel, from original paintings, of Col. Johnson and M’lle Augusta, among ‘us humans,’ and among our four-footed friends ‘of the lower house,’ Ripton, Confidence, Boston, Wagner, Monarch, Leviathan, Argyle, Black-Maria, Grey-Eagle, Shark, Hedgeford, John Bascombe, and Monmouth-Eclipse. On the second day of March a new volume commences; when we hope that this accredited organ of the sporting world, which has raised the prices of blood-stock in this country beyond all precedent, and which in its literary and dramatic departments is without a rival in this or any other country, will take a long lease of a healthful existence, and go on ‘prospering and to prosper.’ ••• The reader will be amused we think with the ‘Veritable Sea-Story,’ told by our friend Harry Franco, in a species of poetry run mad, in preceding pages. He writes us: ‘I send you an epic poem for the Knickerbocker, founded on facts within my own personal experience. I mention this lest you should deem it destitute of merit; for it possesses the greatest merit that any human composition can possess; namely, truth. And in this respect, if in no other, my poem is beyond dispute superior to the Iliad and Paradise Lost. However, tastes differ, I am aware; and you may possibly prefer those two epics to mine! They are longer, it is true; but then I think it will be conceded, even by the critics of the Poh school, that my metre is sufficiently long, even though my story is short. While others measure their verse by the ‘feet,’ I measure mine by the yard.’ ••• D.’s paper, (of Georgia,) so thickly interlarded with French, and Italian synonymes for far more expressive English words, reminds us of an old ‘ignorant ramus’ in the country, who was always eking out his meaning by three or four familiar Latin terms, which he almost invariably misapplied. He observed one day to a neighbor, who was speaking disrespectfully of a deceased townsman, ‘Well, he’s gone to be judged. E pluribus unum—‘speak no evil of the dead’—as the Latin proverb says!’ ••• ‘The New World’ enters upon a new year in a very beautiful dress, and with renewed attractions in all its internal departments. Its large clear types, impressed upon good paper, are exceedingly pleasant to the eye, and what they convey to the reader is equally agreeable to the mind ‘studious of novelty’ and variety. The success which it deserves, we are glad to learn it abundantly receives. The ‘Brother Jonathan’ has changed proprietors, cast its old skin, and comes out as bright and fresh as a June morning. The versatile Mrs. Ann Stephens (a lady of fine intellect, who has produced better prose tales and home-sketches than any one of her gifted contemporaries) and Messrs. M‘Lachlin and Snow, the resident editors of the ‘Jonathan,’ discharged their functions to due public acceptance; but a name so invariably connected with unsuccessful publications that it has come to be justly regarded as the sure precursor and inevitable cause of failure, was at the head of the journal as ‘principal editor;’ and ‘down east’ editorial-ings, transmitted by the yard, and endless unreadable tales, claiming a kindred paternity, gradually ‘choked its wholesome growth,’ and finally brought it to a temporary end. The new proprietor however has wisely declined this ‘principal’ incumbrance; and having secured the services of an able editor in the person of Henry C. Deming, Esq., a gentleman of high literary distinction, and of popular correspondents, the journal is already, as we learn, rejoicing in a rapidly-enhancing list of subscribers. Success to thee, ‘Brother Jonathan!’ ••• The ‘Yankee Trick’ described by our Medford (Mass.) correspondent is on file for insertion. It is in one of its features not unlike the anecdote of an old official Dutchman in the valley of the Mohawk, who one day stopped a Yankee pedler journeying slowly through the valley on the Sabbath, and informed him that he must ‘put up’ for the day; or ‘if it vash neshessary dat he should travel, he must pay de fine for de pass.’ It was necessary, it seems; for he told the Yankee to write the pass, and he would sign it; ‘that he could do, though he didn’t much write, nor read writin’.’ The pass was written and signed with the Dutchman’s hieroglyphics, and the pedler went forth ‘into the bowels of the land, without impediment.’ Some six months afterward, a brother Dutchman, who kept a ‘store’ farther down the Mohawk, in ‘settling’ with the pious official, brought in, among other accounts, an order for twenty-five dollars’ worth of goods. ‘How ish dat?’ said the Sunday-officer; ‘I never give no order; let me see him.’ The order was produced; he put on his spectacles and examined it. ‘Yaäs, dat ish mine name, sartain—yaäs; but—it ish dat d–d Yankee pass!’ ••• Our town-readers, many of them, will remember the bird Mino, who was so fond of chatting in a rich mellow voice with the customers at the old Quaker’s seed-store in Nassau-street. His counterpart may at this moment be seen at ‘an hostel’ near by; but the associations and language of the modern bird are very dissimilar. ‘How are you?’ is his first salutation; ‘do you smoke?’ his next: ‘What’ll you drink? Brandy-and water?—glass o’ wine?’ It has a most whimsical effect, to hear such anti-temperance invitations from the bill of a bird, whose bright eye is fixed unwinkingly upon you. The Washingtonians should ‘look out for him.’ ••• The editor of the Albion has issued to his subscribers a very fine large quarto engraving, in mezzo-tint by Sadd, of Heath’s celebrated line-engraving of Washington. Its size is twenty by twenty-seven inches, and represents the Pater Patriæ in his most elevated character; that of a Chief Magistrate elevated by the free suffrages of his countrymen, after having voluntarily laid down his military authority. This print cannot fail to be acceptable to every reader of the Albion, unless he shall be too narrow-minded to honor true nobleness and dignity of character in one who by force of circumstances once stood in a warlike relation to his country. Apropos of the ‘Albion:’ is our friend the Editor aware that ‘The Evening before the Wedding,’ published as original in a late issue, was translated for the Knickerbocker? ••• ‘Oh dem! dem!’ There is on the tapis a new daily journal, to be called ‘The Exclusive,’ which is to be the very antithesis of every thing in the ‘cheap and vulgar’ line; no slanders, no crim. con.’s, no horrible accidents; ‘no nothing’ of that sort. The affair is already creating some excitement among the beau-monde. The reputed editors are literary men of the world, who ‘know their way.’ Circulars in gold-edged and perfumed paper are already flying about. On dit: that the carriers are to be dressed in uniform, and deliver the paper in white kid gloves; that pastiles are to be kept burning in the publication-office, to disinfect the air of the room of ink and damp sheets; and that only those of the first respectability and acknowledged standing in gay society, are permitted to subscribe to or receive the journal at all! ••• Here is a rich specimen of clerical catachresis, which we derive from an eastern correspondent: ‘Our good dominie gave us on Sunday a sermon on the ocean; its wonders, its glories, its beauties; its infinity, its profundity, its mightiness, etc., ‘But,’ said he, ‘what is all this? It is but a drop in the bucket of God’s infinity!’ I wonder what is outside of it!’ ••• It is not the wont of the Editor of this Magazine, as those of its readers who have followed us through twenty-two volumes of the Knickerbocker can bear witness, to trumpet in its pages the many kind things that are said of us by the public press; but as a fragment is wanted to fill out this page; as we are just at the commencement of a new volume; and as we are more than pleased at the cordiality with which the first number of it has been received; we shall venture to select from a great number of testimonials one or two for insertion here, which are the more gratifying, that they evince the regard in which the ‘Old Knick.’ is held at home, and by those who have known us the longest and most intimately. The New-York Courier and Enquirer says of our last number:

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