Day, as the E-Guards were parading the streets to the sound of ‘Yankee Doodle,' from fife and drum, a lover of the patron-saint and good whiskey, a sort of 'camp-follower,' was observed staggering along behind, and merrily whistling 'St. PATRICK'S Day in the Morning.' Some one observed that PADDY'S gait appeared rather eccentric: 'I know it,' said he, but, d'ye mind, I'm striving to march afther two tshunes.' That might be called a specimen of forced marching.' THIS pansy from 'A Christmas Garland,' woven for 'The Independent' religious and literary journal, should have graced our last number. But when could 'Thoughts of our Friends in Heaven' be untimely, or out of place? Very beautiful, tender, and touching are these thoughts. They came from the heart, and they cannot fail to reach the heart of every reader who possesses that 'noble entrail:'

'Ir is strange what a change is wrought in one hour by death. The moment our friend is gone from us for ever, what sacredness invests him! Every thing he ever said or did seems to return to us clothed in new significance. A thousand yearnings rise of things we would fain say to him; of questions unanswered, and now unanswerable. All he wore or touched, or looked upon familiarly, becomes sacred as relics. Yesterday these were homely articles, to be tossed to-and-fro, handled lightly, given away thoughtlessly; to-day we touch them softly, our tears drop on them; DEATH has laid his hand on them, and they have become holy in our eyes. Those are sad hours when one has passed from our doors never to return, and we go back to set the place in or der. There the room, so familiar, the homely belongings of their daily life, each one seems to say to us in its turn, Neither shall their place know them any more.' Clear the shelf now of vials and cups and prescriptions; open the windows; step no more carefully; there is no one now to be cared for, no one to be nursed, no one to be awakened.

Ah! why does this bring a secret pang with it when we know that they are where none shall any more say, I am sick!" Could only one flutter of their immortal garments be visible in such moments; could their face, glorious with the light of heaven, once smile on the deserted room, it might be better. One needs to lose friends to understand one's self truly. The death of a friend teaches things within that we never knew before. We may have expected it, prepared for it, it may have been hourly expected for weeks; yet when it comes it falls on us suddenly, and reveals in us emotions we could not dream of. The opening of those heavenly gates for them startles and fiut ters our souls with strange mysterious thrills unfelt before. The glimpse of glories, the sweep of voices, all startle and dazzle us, and the soul for many a day aches and longs with untold longings.

We divide among ourselves the possessions of our lost ones. Each well-known thing comes to us with an almost supernatural power. The book we once read with them, the old BIBLE, the familiar hymn; then perhaps little pet articles of fancy, made dear to them by some peculiar taste, the picture, the vase-how costly are they now in our eyes!

'We value them not for their beauty or worth, but for the frequency with which we have seen them touched or used by them; and our eye runs over the collection, and perhaps lights most lovingly on the homeliest thing which may have been oftenest touched or worn by them.

'It is a touching ceremony to divide among a circle of friends the memorials of the lost. Each one comes inscribed, no more, and yet, each one, too, is a pledge of reunion. But there are invisible relics of our lost ones more precious than the book, the picture, or the vase. Let us treasure them in our hearts. Let us bind to our hearts the patience which they will never need again; the fortitude in suffering, which be longed only to this suffering state. Let us take from their dying hand that submission under affliction which they shall need no more in a world where affliction is unknown. Let us collect in our thoughts all those cheerful and hopeful sayings which they threw out from time to time as they walked with us, and string them as a rosary to be daily counted over. Let us test our own daily life by what must be their now perfected estimate; and as they once walked with us on earth, let us walk with them in heaven.

We may learn at the grave of our lost ones how to live with the living. It is a fearful thing to live so carelessly as we often do with those dearest to us, who may at any moment be gone for ever. The life we are living, the words we are now saying, will all be lived over in memory over some future grave. One remarks that the death of a child often makes parents tender and indulgent. Ah! it is a lesson learned of bitter

sorrow. If we would know how to measure our words to living friends, let us see how we feel toward the dead. If we have been neglectful, if we have spoken hasty or unkind words, on which death has put his inevitable seal, what an anguish is that! But our living friends may, ere we know, pass from us; we may be to-day talking with those whose names to-morrow are to be written among the dead; the familiar household objects of to-day may become sacred relics to-morrow. Let us walk softly; let us forbear and love; none ever repented of too much love to a departed friend; none ever regretted too much tenderness and indulgence; but many a tear has been shed for too much harshness and severity. Let our friends in heaven then teach us how to treat our friends on earth. Thus by no vain fruitless sorrow, but by a deeper self-knowledge, a tenderer and more sacred estimate of life, may our heavenly friends prove to us ministering spirits.

The triumphant Apostle says to the Christian: All things are yours-Life and Death.' Let us not lose either; let us make Death our own; in a richer, deeper, and more solemn earnestness of life. So those souls which have gone from our ark and seemed lost over the gloomy ocean of the unknown, shall return to us, bearing the olive-leaves of Paradise.'

Thoughtless reader, remember these words!

THERE appears to be a present prospect of a War between Great-Britain and the United States. Fortunately, we are 'out of town,' and like the Americans at Bladensburgh, 'do n't seem to take no interest.' If they come up to our section, we can set twenty locomotives on 'em down the pier at once; not volunteers, but regulars, that have been trained to their work. 'Spare the switch and spoil the machine,' has always been the maxim at our end of the road. 'Let 'em come on, we are armed!' General 'RAMAPO'leads the forces, aided by 'NEW-YORK,' second in command, and another locomotive on 'the retired list,' halfway down the Flatts, and at low tide ready at its country's call. 'Up Guards!' ('Ingine' Guards,) 'and at 'em!' A COUNTRYMAN brought a number of live fowls to market in one of our Southern towns. A native and a Frenchman were 'pricing' them with a view of purchasing, when the poulterer mentioned his price per pair, and remarked that he wished to leave for home, and if they would buy the lot, they could have them for so much a head. Well, then, Monsieur,' said the Frenchman to the other: 'suppose we buy dem all: you will take the roustares and I shall take their sistares.' Is n't that very 'Frenchy ?' Do our readers remember the thrilling account given not many months ago in this department of the KNICKERBOCKER, of 'A Night in Bed with a Rattlesnake? We shall assume that they do; for it was not a narrative to be soon forgotten. Well, from the same welcome correspondent we derive the following:

'In the month of August, in the year 1836, I was sojourning for a few days at the Cavalry post on the Mississippi River, called Fort Des Moines. There was at this post at the time above stated, quite a body of troops, under the command of that excellent officer and accomplished gentleman, Colonel M—. This gentleman was accredited one of the best shots in the army at that day, and I was particularly anxious to witness his prowess in arms. To accomplish this a party was made up for the purpose of paying our respects to the 'Prairie chickens,' whose homes were upon the wide-expanded ocean land' that lay at no great distance from the fort. I have said the party was made up for the purpose of paying our respects' to the game in question. This is a slight mistake, for none of the party were armed with any weapon more deadly than a pocket-knife, save the Colonel. The rest of us were mere amateurs. We went to see the fight, not to join in the deadly fray.' The hero of the day was mounted on a slight-made, ambling pony, of so diminutive a size that, when mounted, the Colonel's feet almost touched the ground. Dressed in his hunting-garb, and armed with his

trusty double-barrel, he was ready to take the field. The rest of us were differently mounted; and as for myself, by accident or by design, I was called upon to throw myself astride one of the most vicious and untamable animals among the whole four hundred stabled at that post. It is true I did not pride myself on my horsemanship, but as for backing down, that was out of the question, even though my obstinacy had cost me the dislocation of my neck, or the more moderate punishment of the breaking of a leg. So after examining the saddle, and seeing that all was right, with two soldiers on either side of his head to hold the animal, I vaulted into the saddle, and adjusting my feet in the stirrups, and gathering up the reins, gave the word to let him go;' and sure enough, he did go; and he not only went but he flew; but by great good luck, for I can attribute it to nothing else, I preserved my position, and by still greater good luck, my reputation as a horseman.

'A few minutes' ride brought us upon the entrance to the far-stretching prairie, and in a few minutes more the Colonel was engaged in his favorite sport. The rest of us, having no guns, soon found ourselves wandering still farther into the 'desert waste;' and it was not long before our presence started from his hiding-place a PRAIRIE WOLF. Here was the game before us, but we had no weapons with which to dispatch him. The thought occurred to us that we might ride him down, and so set upon the chase. The race was an exciting one; but having the fleetest horse, I was soon left 'solitary and alone' in the race. But this denizen of the prairies had a decided advantage of me, for he could turn a short corner in a much quicker time than it was possible for me to do; and the consequence was, that when I thought there was no possibility of escape, the next moment would see my wily fugitive on another tack, and before I could veer around, some rods would be intervening between us. I did not like the idea of a discomfiture, and therefore pursued the game, 'hoping against hope,' until I was wearied of the ride, and gave it up in despair. I did not catch the wolf, but 'I had a good drive out of him.'

'Were you ever lost on a prairie? If not, you can hardly imagine the crushing sensation of being alone! Being lost in the woods is a pastime compared to it! In the latter case you are surrounded by the noble forest; around and above you, the branches are vocal with the song and chirp of the feathered tribe; the squirrel is performing his antics by leaping from branch to branch, and from tree to tree. There is animation and music around you; life pervades the scene, and gives hope to the future. But in the former case, one desolate waste, with nothing to break or enliven the prospect, presents itself to the eye. The throbbing of the heart, even, is silenced with the vastness of the desolation that surrounds it, and a sensation of despair is felt creeping over the mind, until an effort is demanded to save the body from utter prostration. This was my condition after the unsuccessful chase of the wolf. In the excitement of the race I had not discovered that my companions had left me, neither had I taken any note of the course pursued. I looked around me, monarch of all I surveyed,' which was nothing more nor less than utter desolation.

'But there was no use of speculation. I must get back to the fort; but how was that to be done? There was not a root or a branch to guide me. My horse had become perfectly docile, and really seemed to sympathize with the troubles of his rider. I at tempted to follow my trail back, but after many efforts found it of no use; and finally, when I found the sun was not disposed to wait for me, but was fast sinking to rest in the west, I threw the reins down upon the neck of my noble beast, and gave myself up to his guidance. It is not the first time this best of all animals has been thus serviceable to me. Instinctively, or otherwise, he set his face toward the fort, and it was not long (for my friends had become alarmed at my absence) before I heard the firing of guns, they having resorted to this in hopes of attracting my attention. In due time I was in comfortable quarters, and thus ended my day's sport if 'sport,' it may be called.

F. F.'

A 'good scrape to be out of!' - THE great length of an article among the 'Original Papers' of the present number, (which in sending to the

printer's we had forgotten was written, against our repeated caution to correspondents, on both sides of the paper,) together with a lost package of 'copy,' prevents the publication, in this issue, of several notices of new books and new editions from popular houses in Boston, New-York, and Philadelphia. We ask the indulgence of our friends the publishers once more until our next number. WE see many allusions to Mr. BARNUM's failure, in the papers, some of which express a sort of exultation at the alleged fact. We do not envy the man who can rejoice over the misfortunes of one who has devised so many liberal things as has Mr. BARNUM; whose misfortunes have been brought on by his generous attempts to assist his friends. Let such remember that Mr. BARNUM has no contract unfulfilled; that he owes no one for labor, or for any articles for the use of himself or his family; that if he is ruined, (which we are slow to believe,) it is by having too much confidence in others. Mr. BARNUM has been unfortunate, in placing his trust in others; but if he were this day without a penny in the world, he could not long remain so. He is just in the prime of life, and has energy and resources that will enable him soon to recover all he has lost. He may have a lofty fall, but he will be sure to alight on his feet. It will not be long before the public will hear of some enterprise they now little dream of, which will surprise and startle them, and then 'BARNUM' will once more be in every body's mouth. You may knock him down with one of the very largest of the clubs that killed Captain Cook, but he will be up again before you can vociferate 'JOHN ROBINSON, Esquire.'

New Publications, Art-Notices, Etc.

THE CITY ARCHITECT,' is the title of a 'Series of Original Designs for Dwellings, Stores, and Public Buildings,' adapted to cities and villages, the first number of which has just reached us from the press of Messrs. DE WITT AND DAVENPORT, of this city. It is from the pen of Mr. WILLIAM H. RANLETT, author of 'Cottage Architecture,' and is illustrated by drawings of plans, elevations, sections, details, etc. It commences a work the plan and execution of which impress us very favorably. It is intended to be, and promises to be, an eclectic designer and instructor in the art of constructing houses adapted to the exigencies of the American people: to enable those whose necessities require them to build with such rapidity that they cannot stop to study principles, and in places where they can seldom avail themselves of professional assistance, to avoid the errors which are so inevitable and so costly, so destructive to domestic comfort, and so often ruinous to health. It is not to be simply a collection of designs for showy house-fronts, but a manual containing all the requisite information and practical directions for building a city from the start. It will contain not only plans and specifications for dwelling-houses, shops, stores, manufactories, lecture-rooms, academies, churches, theatres, court-houses, prisons, hotels, alms-houses, and hospitals; but also instructions for paving, flagging, constructing drains, culverins, docks, wharves, mills; street-grading, laying out of squares, parks, and public grounds; and full and comprehensive directions will be given for ventilating, heating, and lighting all classes of buildings.'

'OUR CHURCH MUSIC,' by Mr. RICHARD STORRS WILLIS, a thoroughly-educated and accomplished musical savant, is literally 'a book for pastors and people,' and one with which we hope 'pastors and people' will generally make themselves acquainted. The

volume contains a true and forcible exposition of the present style of church-music, and gives us many important suggestions as to its improvement and reformation. It is a fact, that we have heard more devotional church-music from a country-church choir, in our boyhood's 'meeting' days, (set a-going by a tall 'singing-master,' with dingy, well-bethumbed, unpainted pine 'pitch-pipe,' pulled out to 'E' or 'F,' and sounding the onset to 'Old Windham,' 'Aylesbury,' 'Old Hundred,' 'Limehouse,' and the like; the whole congregation joining, with an unction, a fervor, and a twang,) that we never heard in a metropolitan church, with all the opera-singers in town, singing opera-tunes in the blue-and-gold decorated choir-inclosures. And apropos of this, hear Mr. WiLIS's sensible and forcible remarks:

Not so.

HEARING a choir sing, is not worship. Reading the hymn through in a merely intellectual attention to the thought, is not worship. A solenin feeling is not worship. Such a feeling is often the result of architectural or artistic causes. A person, for instance, has entered a cathedral. He is awed by the grandeur and solemn hush of the place. He yields to an irresistible feeling of solemnity, and afterward goes away, and feels, perhaps, as though he had worshipped. He has merely indulged in what might be called architectural awe. Such a feeling is a legitimate effect of elevated art. But this is not worship. The place and the supreme OBJECT of worship lie higher than mere architecture, or music, or sculpture, or painting, artistically enjoyed, bear the soul. For, in the enjoyment of art, as in the enjoyment of natural scenery, we are recipients; the mind, therefore, is in a passive state. Whereas, in worship, the mind is in an se tive state. We must rise through nature to nature's GoD: and, in sacred art, unless the soal be impelled forward one step further, to definite religious action, it is not in a condition of worship. For no passive state, no condition of mere feeling, can involve this. Worship involves an act Feeling may and should accompany this act, but cannot constitute it, And in sacred song we must not only, as a mere act of intellection, attain to the thought of the words, but we must utter that thought upward to God, before we can be said rightly to worship.'

COSMOPOLITAN ART-ASSOCIATION. -The second annual distribution of this increasinglypopular 'institution,' took place on the twenty-eighth day of February last. The distribution was made in the presence of a large number of citizens and invited guests, at Sandusky, Ohio, who were first favored with an eloquent lecture on 'The Dignity and Influence of Art,' by PARKE GODWIN, Esq., of this city. The Genoa Crucifix goes to FRANCES BOLAN, of Minersville, Pa.: the Bust of WASHINGTON, by POWERS, was drawn by Dr. SALTER, of this city, who subscribed for the KNICKERBOCKER only a day or so before the distribution. The Bust of FRANKLIN, also by POWERS, goes to JAMES PAT TERSON, of Alliance, Ohio. We learn that the Association are making arrangements to remove their Gallery to Philadelphia, and expect to offer greater inducements than ever to subscribers. Those who wish to add to their magazine-reading can subscribe, and receive any of the three-dollar magazines for the present year, and become members of the Association for the third year. As we have before said, there has never been offered any plan for the dissemination of works of art and good literature so deserving of public favor as this; and next year, by opening a Gallery for exhibition in Philadelphia, and if possible a sub-exhibition here, they should secure one hundred thousand subscribers and we predict that they will.

THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF DESIGN has opened its Thirty-First Annual Exhibition. We have not had an opportunity as yet to visit the collection, but we learn from those who have been more fortunate, that it is one of marked excellence and unwonted attraction. Beside the best efforts of the 'great masters,' DURAND, KENSETT, CHURCH, ELLIOTT, HICKS, LANG, and their compeers, certain new candidates for public favor have made successful endeavors to secure the boon. The Academy, in the pleasant days which bid fair presently to ensue, will be one of the most charming places of resort in the metropolis, both for intellectual and refined enjoyment, and the 'best society.'

THE ACADEMY OF MUSIC.-The LAGRANGE OPERA TROUPE, after very successful seasons in Boston and Philadelphia, are again among us, and have been greeted on their return by crowded houses. As we write, the house is to be closed for a week, to bring out ARDITI's new opera of The Spy,' of which we may have something to say hereafter.