A REMONSTRANCE AGAINST BABY-CARS.' Our bachelor correspondent, who proposed a 'Baby-car' for all rail-road trains, has raised a hurricane of hornets about his ears! We would n't stand in his shoes for a 'large sum of gold.' Communications, some in manuscript, othersome clipped from newspapers, pour in upon us. 'I wonder,' says a lady-writer in an Illinois newspaper, the 'La Salle County Journal,' 'if the EDITOR has not made a mistake about the writer's being a Western correspondent;' claiming that there are no such curmudgeons in that love-making and marrying region. She scouts the idea of 'cooping up babies like little animals,' and wonders our correspondent 'did n't suggest the idea of of having little cages to put them in!' She goes on to add: 'He says, prettily-dressed child, with a clean face, is decidedly pleasant: he'rather likes such an one.' 'Prettily dressed!'-how prosy! Now every body knows the little cherubs are prettier without any dressing at all: and you and I know, Mr. Editor, and so does 'Old KNICK,' that a child never looks half so 'cunning' as when his face is just a little smutty. This nervous old bachelor,' she continues, 'complains that travelling babies are restless, and want to go here, there and everywhere, except just where they are or where they ought to be, and then cry because they can't. Why, don't he know that it is to this same wanting-to-get-everywhere-ative temperament of our people, both little and big, that we owe the prosperity of our country? Had n't it been for this very thing, COLUMBUS would never have discovered America.' The following point is, we think, well taken: although a friend says a car known to be a 'Bachelor's Car,' would be so run down by old maids and young maidens trying to get in, or 'get a look,' that the occupants would be harried to death, and finally be obliged to quit travelling by rail: 'Now, if you please, I want to make a suggestion: and it is this: that upon all the railways in this land or any other, east or west, north or south, there be a 'Bachelor-car provided, into which all crusty bachelors shall be thrust; and never let them dare to show their faces inside of any other: and the worst wish I have to bestow upon this bachelor-car is, that no sunny-haired, rosy-cheeked little innocent may ever lighten its interior; that no tiny footstep may ever patter through its aisle; that no musical little voice may ever echo therein.' A hard punishment, that would be! Our correspondent had better 'give in,' or 'give out.'

GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS. Right glad were we to find the other day, in the 'Express' daily journal a remonstrance against a recent proposition to change the time-honored name of 'Spuyten-Duyvil' to soft and silly 'Linwood.' The writer, a Baltimore correspondent, says: 'Please do n't let your people change Spuyten-Duyvil into Linwood. It will grieve us here: Spuyten-Duyvil! '—it does me good to write it.' He goes on to say: 'The name is historic: the American blood of Marylanders and NewYorkers, and of many a good fellow beside, has flowed about it. The quaint, the genial spirit of your own IRVING hovers over it. The old Dutch spirit breathes around it: it is spicy too. We are getting too polished on the surface, by far all broad-cloth and satin. If you want to make a change, knock into the surging tide that miserable name, New York, and take your proper name, MANHATTAN! Don't mind the one hundred and ninety years you have borne it: they are nothing to the long future which lies before you. You think yourself very big now: you 're nothing yet: you creep along now, like FULTON's boat, when it first crept, and stopped, and crept again up the Hudson. By-and-by you will begin to fly: dashing the billows of old ocean round you: leaving all the cities of the world behind you, and speeding to the uttermost bounds of the habitable globe. Now get a name before you start.' The very idea started, if we remember rightly by Mr. IRVING, in an article in these pages, entitled 'American Nomenclature,' and we hope one day to see it carried out. - . If, as has been said by an eminent writer, 'repeated parodies of a poem afford the strongest evidence of its popularity,' what shall be thought of LONGFELLOW's 'Hiawatha?' Our own opinion of that poem, since widely confirmed, was early expressed in these pages: it has been warmly commended by the best English and American critics, quoted by members of parliament, etc.: but the parodies upon it! Was there ever any thing like it? Some score or more have been sent to us; while in newspapers all over the Union, not only have they appeared as extended poetical performances, but imitations have been forced, in 'bits,' into a thousand-and-one advertising columns. If it were a musical effort, and could be performed or whistled, every street-organ and city urchin would doubtless be 'executing' it in every thoroughfare of the metropolis. That rare wag, JOHN PHŒNIX, of California, has tried his hand at a parody of it in ensuing pages. In his note to the EDITOR, he says: 'I transmit to you a heroic poem, the production of the author, Mr. H. WADDING TALLBOY, which it strikes me any one might have waited to read, six months at least, and probably longer, with satisfaction and advantage. Several friends of mine, who have had a sly peep at the manuscript, declare that 'this quaint legend is told with exquisite grace, sweetness, and power!' and I trust you will be of their opinion. You will perceive the moral is excellent, and the general tone unexceptionable: nothing in fact being introduced which could bring a blush upon the cheek of the most fastidious. The main incidents are facts: and thus woven together form a pretty little

romance, sweet indeed to dwell upon.' Our readers will not fail to dwell upon' this sweetness: nor will they omit a perusal elsewhere of the fine lines of Mrs. SIGOURNEY in the now world-famous measure:

Till the sun, which kept retreating,
Got alarmed at his persistence,
And behind the western mountains
Hid his recreant head in terror.
But the last rock 'NOTHIN' SHORTER'
Threw, fell back on his 'cabeza,'
And produced a comminuted

·

Fracture of the cerebellum.

Twang a diddle, twang a diddle,
Twang, Twang, tum.'

For some time poor 'NOTHIN' SHORTER'
Lay upon the earth quite senseless,
Till a small exploring party
Under Colonel JOHN C. FREMONT,
Picked him up and fixed his bruises,
Put on 'DALLEY's pain-extractor,'
And some liquid opodeldoc.
When relieved, though sorely shattered,
He sat up, upon his haunches,
And to FREMONT told his story.
Gravely listened that young savan,
Wrote it down upon his note-book,
Had old PREUSS to make a drawing
Representing 'NOTHIN' SHORTER'
Throwing boulders; then he gave him
An old blanket and a beef-bone,
And when he asked him for a quarter,
Told him to go unto the DEVIL.
But far away in Eastern cities
FREMONT told that tale of wonder:
And a certain famous poet
Heard it all and saw the picture,

We call that very SQUIBOBISH!'

Wrote it out and had it printed
In one volume post octavo.
And I wish I had the money
For this song of 'NOTHIN' SHORTER.'
Twang a diddle, twang a diddle,
Twang, twang, twang.

At this juncture, AMOS JOHNSON
Rushed tumultuously from his grocery,
Crying, 'Dern your Indian uproar;
Stop that noise and dry up' quickly,
Or, by the Eternal Jingo!

I'll -'here he saw Miss TIPSYDOOSEN,
And the heart of Axos caved in,
As afterward he told Miss STEBBINS
That she just completely knocked him."
Why should I continue longer?
'Gentles,' well ye know the sequel,
How the bright-eyed TIPSYDOOSEN
Now is Mrs. AMOS JOHNSON;
Wears gipure, and old point laces,
And wont visit Mrs. HODGKINS,
'Cause her husband once made harness.
Yes, a leader of the fashion

Now is YOUNG GRASSHOPPER-EATER,
And the ancient 'STEP-AND-FETCH-IT'
Has a residence at 'JOHNSON'S;
In the back-yard an umbrella
Stuck for his accommodation,

Where he sleeps and dreams fair visions
Of the days of NOTHIN' SHORTER :'
And the moral of my tale is,

To be virtuous and be happy.

We propose to initiate the reader into the mystery of a 'Silent Josh.' It is a terrible ceremony, and calculated to 'unman the stoutest heart.' We had heard of it, through a pleasant correspondent of the 'Spirit of the Times,' as a Boston sentiment, on convivial occasions, but wist not what it was. One lovely summer day, however, many months ago, at a little gathering of choice spirits, in one of EDWARD WINDUST's (long life and prosperity to him!) best and most private rooms, the handsome Tall Son of York' proposed the execution of that 'Literary Emporium' toast. The glasses were filled with a delicate wine, and each guest, looking the host in his face, followed directions. Now so it was, that 'Old KNICK' was the only person at table who was not aware of the nature of the ceremony. The glasses were raised: in utter silence, three times each guest and host made the motions of Silent Josh' with their lips and circling glasses: the fourth motion was to close the sentiment. It did! At the very top-most bent of every man's lungs present, except ours, came forth the pseudonymical syllable,

"JOSH!!'

It is the harshest single word in the English language, and was chosen probably, on that account, for its capability of expression, in a burst of 'silence' through the medium of voices like the tearing of a strong rag. It 'took us out of our boots!' The very house seemed to be coming down over our heads. Consternation seized upon us, and caused all our bones

to shake. But for the roar of commingled laughter which ensued, we should have rushed from the building, as if an earthquake had 'frightened our isle from its propriety.' 'Silent Josh' indeed! We wish our readers could hear it from a full table, once! THE Sermon in our February number has recalled to an Alton (Ill.) correspondent one which was preached in Tennessee by a Baptist minister. When drawing near the close, he said: 'Brethering, I am an hostler, and I must curry these horses before I leave. Here is this high-blooded Episcopalian horse: see what a high head he carries, and how black his coat is, and soft as silk: but he'll kick if you touch him on his Litany or Prayers: Whoa, Sir, whoa! Here is an old sober Methodist horse: Whoa! old fellow! Just slip away his love-feasts and class-meetings, and he'll kick till he falls: Whoa! you old Shouter! whoa! Ah! here is the horse that is ready to kick at at all times: don't you go near his Confessional or Penance: Whoa! Mr. POPE! how beautiful his trappings are! his surplice and mitre! Whoa, Sir! whoa!' and so he went on through the various denominations. When he was nearly through, an old Methodist gentleman, well known in the place, offered his services to conclude, which was readily accepted. He said: 'Friends, I have learned this morning how to dress down horses, and as the brother has passed two of them, I will take it upon myself to finish the work: Here is an animal that is neither one thing nor the other. He is treacherous and uncertain: you can not trust him: he 'll kick his best friend for a controversy. Whoa! MULE, whoa! See, Brethren, how he kicks: 'Whoa! you old CAMPBELLITE! whoa! Here, friends, is an animal that is so stubborn, he will not let me in his stall to eat from his trough: he is so stubborn that he would not go where a prophet wished him: he is so hard-mouthed that SAMSON used his jaw as a weapon of war against the Philistines. Whoa, you CloseCommunion Baptist: whoa!' 'Do you call me an ass!' exclaimed the minister, jumping up: 'Whoa!' continued his tormentor: 'see him kick! whoa! Hold him, friends! — whoa!' and thus the old gentleman went on; the minister ranting meantime until he got out of the church. The congregation unanimously agreed that they had never seen an Ass so completely 'curried' before! THE opinion would seem to be general, that the 'Retiring-Board' of the United States' Navy, in the exercise of the power conferred upon it by law of Congress, has given just cause of complaint to many most able officers, old in the noble service upon which they have conferred high honor. Instances of officers' recall to duty have already occurred, and we trust these acts of justice may be continued. We have before us a copy of a Memorial' to Congress, by Commander OSCAR BULLUS, of the Navy, who had been placed by the Retiring-Board on the 'Reserved List,' on 'leave-pay.' The list upon which he is retired is an honorable one, and precludes the supposition that any misconduct or professional incapacity was attributed to him. Commander BULLUS assumes, therefore, that the reason of his being 'reserved' is in consequence of a lameness, produced by a fall on board ship in a gale of wind, while in the discharge of the duties of his station. In this 'Memorial' he shows that this lameness never interfered with the performance of his duty; on the contrary, that he was an anxious