"A change, at last, came over our torments; the time arrived for continuing our journey. We mounted our dromedaries like listless and unwilling criminals, indifferent as to the route we were to pursue. We Te were certain that it must be forward in some direction, and that was all. I merely asked if we should have fresh water that evening; and Araballah, who was near me, replied that the spot of our intended halt was near a well.

"The sleeplessness of the past night, my abstinence from food, and the state of fusion I had been in for some time, combined, now, to produce an irresistible drowsiness. I at first opposed to it the idea of danger; a fall of fifteen feet, although on the sand, had no attraction in it. But the fear of this mischance soon grew indistinct. A hallucination took possession of me. My eyes were closed; yet I saw the sun, the sand, and the dusty air, only they were changed in color, and took strange and variable hues. I then imagined myself in a vessel rocked by the surges of the ocean. Suddenly, I dreamed that I had fallen from my dromedary, which, however, continued its course. I tried to call out to my companions, but my voice failed, and the caravan went on. I strove to pursue, but could not keep my feet in the sandy waves; they overwhelmed and nearly drowned me. I endeavored to swim, but I had forgotten the necessary motions. Over this vision of frenzy, came recollections of my childhood, that for twenty years had been buried in oblivion. I heard the murmur of a pleasant brook gliding through my father's garden. I threw myself under the shade of a chestnut-tree, planted on the day of my birth. How I could simultaneously and interchangeably experience these conflicting visions, I have no power to imagine: the one factitious, that of water and shade; the other real, that of thirsting, parching, suffocating. But I was so bewildered that I did not know which of the two was a dream. Presently, a violent blow in my breast or back awakened me; it was a thump from my saddle, that warned me I had, in truth, nearly lost my equilibrium. I opened my eyes with a start of terror: the garden, the brook, the tree, and the shade had vanished: but the sun, the wind, the sand, the desert, in short, remained.

"Hours passed in this manner, but I took no note and had no notion of the time. At length all motion ceased: and, arousing myself once more from my drowsiness, I saw that the caravan had stopped. The whole of the Arabs were grouped around Toualeb; we three remained just where our camels had pleased to halt. I made a sign to Mohammed: he came to me, and I inquired why the Arabs stopped and looked about them so irresolutely. I found from his answer that The Bewildering Valley' maintained its reputation, and our men had lost their way."

The forcible picture which succeeds, of the joy that is felt in obtaining an unexpected supply of the most indispensable of life's necessaries, in 'a dry and thirsty land, where no water is,' although in type, we are reluctantly compelled to omit. The copious extracts which we have heretofore presented, from travels in the same regions, to say nothing of a plentiful lack of space, must constitute our apology with the reader, for limiting our quotations to this little measure; but the book itself, and a handsome one it is, is extant; and we therefore cordially commend the reader to the fountain head.

PUBLIC AND PRIVATE ECONOMY. Illustrated by Observations made in England, in the year 1836. By THEODORE SEDGWICK. Part Third. In one volume. pp. 156. NewYork: HARPER AND BROTHERS.

We have heretofore adverted to the entertaining, not less than instructive, works which have preceded the present, by the same author, and having in view the same leading inculcations. Mr. SEDGWICK is a clear, vigorous thinker; an acute, and we may add minute, observer; and a very plain, straight-forward, agreeable writer. In these respects, he more nearly resembles COBBETT, than any native or foreign author whom we can call to mind. The volume before us is devoted to the thousand objects of curiosity or admiration, which arrest the attention of a stranger in England, especially an American. Frequent comparisons between the two countries are nstituted; and the contrasts of good and evil; of improvement and the lack of it; of domestic uses and abuses; of social merits and defects, afford the author a wide

field of investigation and comment, in connection with his main theme of political economy. There are lessons cited, and warnings given, in this work, which should sink into the heart of every true-minded American; and we cannot but hope, therefore, that the volume will have a wide sale. Wherever it circulates, it will be found doing good, by its fearless truths, and forcible directness.

PERICLES AND ASPASIA. BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR, ESQ. In two volumes. pp. 463Philadelphia: E. L. CAREY AND A. HART.

THAT 'first appeal, which is to the eye,' certainly impressed us very strongly in favor of these volumes. In our last number, we awarded a deserved tribute of praise to the outward grace which almost uniformly characterizes the productions of the Boston press; but if volumes like these before us are hereafter to proceed from Philadelphia, our friends the eastern publishers must look to their bays. Nothing, in truth, need be more beautiful. The paper is firm, thick, and of a clear whiteness; the type large and open, and in pages that leave abundant margin. Thus much for the externals. The inward beauty is in keeping. We have seen the volumes pronounced somewhat labored and heavy, by critics whose judgment we have been accustomed to respect. But we do not so regard them. Save perhaps occasional effort at extreme sententiousness, Mr. LANDOR has managed the species of composition which he has chosen, with signal address. When the reader has advanced a few pages, he will acquire the language, so to speak, in which our author is causing his characters to converse; and we greatly mistake, if he do not pronounce the letters what all letters should be,' written converse,' of a very natural and graceful description. The interest is well sustained throughout, although the tone of sentiment and passion is low. We can well believe, that works like the present can scarcely be generally perused among the great mass of 'light readers.' Foreign and domestic fabrications, termed novels by courtesy, that outrage probability and common sense, with diction all blotch and varnish, as if put on with a shoe-brush, are far more popular. The annexed faint outline indicates the ground-work of a species of romance that is greatly in request, and sure to reward the publisher. The hero is a handsome man, uncommonly polite, and withal brave as a lion. The heroine is an angel, and has nothing in common with mere earthly mortals. There is a smooth villain, also. A misunderstanding soon arises, not very probable, but extremely necessary. 'At length, chance befriends them. He flies on the wings of love. She is reserved, but does not quite drive him to despair. A perfidious rival is unmasked; mysteries are explained; friends are reconciled; parents consent; and George-Augustus de Fitzmaurice leads his rich, beautiful, and accomplished Sybil, or Blanche, or Isabel, to the altar of Hymen. Thus virtue, etc., while on the other hand, vice, This last, however, is not now deemed essential to a dénouement. Adultery is sanctified by sentiment; and to be a traitor to one's country, or a lawless buccanier, is enough to constitute a hero - not a subordinate character, but a hero good enough for a modern novel. Then let it be dedicated, in glowing terms, to a writer of real eminence, who has little knowledge of, and nothing like intimacy with, the author, and the work is complete. This is no fancy sketch. But we have wandered too long; and will close by remarking, that the volumes under notice are far from being of the school above described; that although dedicated without permission to an illustrious name, the author has had the manliness to avow the fact; and that the offspring he has thus fathered without insinuating the tacit praise of a pretended patron, who may, sometimes, as we have good reason to know, regard both an author and his work with indifference, if not contempt - will well repay perusal.

etc.

THIRTEEN HISTORICAL DISCOURSES, ON THE COMPLETION OF Two HUNDRED YEARS, FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE FIRST CHURCH IN NEW-HAVEN. With an Appendix. By LEONARD BACON, Pastor of the First Church in New-Haven. In one vol. pp. 400. New-Haven: DURRIE AND PECK, New-York: GOULD, NEWMAN AND SAXTON.

THE time is fast coming, we are not sure that it has not already arrived, when to speak lightly of the pilgrim fathers of New-England, will be considered as evidence of any thing but a correct estimate of what is elevated in character, or noble in conduct. Indications are constantly meeting us, that the affectation of contempt, generally the offspring either of ignorance or wickedness, or of both, with which it was not uncommon a few years since to speak of the early settlers of this country, has had its day. Never, in New-England at least, if we are rightly informed, has the reverence for the men who have left the impress of their devotion to the cause of religious liberty, and wisely-regulated civil freedom, upon the institutions of this whole country; whose spirit is yet breathing in the efforts put forth for the extension of sound learning to every class of our people, and to whom we owe so much that is good and so little that is evil in our government or character- been deeper, or more widely extended, than at the present moment.

The centennial celebrations of the settlement of the different towns, which have been held in various parts of New-England, within a few years, while on the one hand they have manifested, on the other have increased, the respect for the puritan settlers. The portraitures of their character which such occasions have demanded, has indelibly impressed upon great masses of the community the conviction, that the pilgrims, whom many had before only heard mentioned to be sneered at, were 'of earth's best blood.'

Among the productions which these anniversaries have called forth, 'the Historical Discourses' before us occupy a conspicuous place. They were delivered to crowded audiences in the city of New-Haven, and relate to the church over which the author is settled as pastor, and to the civil history of the colony of which the church was, as is well known, the parent. Mr. BACON, however, does not confine himself strictly to these topics, but in illustration of his principal subject, introduces a great amount and variety of collateral information. The work has therefore less of local character, and is better adapted for general circulation, than one would be led to infer, from the title. It is in truth a commentary upon the principles and character of the puritan settlers of this country, as illustrated in the colony of New-Haven, and as such, deserves the perusal of every son of New-England, and of every one who would know the truth with regard to those much-calumniated men. The annexed extract, a sketch of the first Sabbath spent on shore, affords a fair example of our author's manner:

"How easily may the imagination, acquainted with these localities, and with the characters and circumstances of the men who were present on that occasion, run back over the two centuries that have passed, and bring up the picture of that first Sabbath! Look out upon the smooth harbor of Quinnipiack. It lies embosomed in a wilderness. Two or three small vessels, having in their appearance nothing of the characteristic grace, lightness, and life, of the well-known American vessels, which are in these days found shooting over every sea, lie anchored in the distance. Here, along the margin of a creek, are a few tents, and some two or three rude huts, with the boxes and luggage that were landed yesterday, piled up around them; and here and there a little column of smoke, going up in the still morning air, shows that the inmates are in motion. Yet all is quiet; though the sun is up, there is no appearance of labor or business; for it is the Sabbath. By and by the stillness is broken by the beating of a drum; and from the tents and from the vessels, a congregation comes gathering around a spreading oak. The aged and the honored are seated near the ministers; the younger, and those of inferior condition, find their places farther back; for the defence of all these, are men in armor, each with his heavy unwieldy gun, and one and another with a smoking matchlock. What a congregation is this, to be gathered in the wilds of New-England! Here are men and women who have been accustomed to the luxuries of wealth in a metropolis, and to the refinements of a court. Here are ministers who have disputed in the universities, and preached under Gothic arches in London. These men and women have come into a wilderness to face new dangers, to encounter new temptations.

They look to God, and words of solemn prayer go up, responding to the murmurs of the woods and of the waves. They look to God, whose mercy and faithfulness have brought them to this land of promise; and for the first time since the creation, the echoes of these hills and waters are wakened by the voice of praise. The word of God is opened; and their faith and hope are strengthened for the conflicts before them, by contemplating the conflict and the victory of HIM, who in all things the example of his people, was once, like them, 'led forth by the spirit into the wilderness."

A style thus flowing and vigorous, correct delineation of character, felicitous historical allusion, and a generous enthusiasm, are prominent characteristics of the entire performance.

THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN AND HIS WATER LOTS, with other Sketches of the Times. By GHORGE P. MORRIS. With etchings by JOHNSON. In one volume. pp. 155. Philadelphia: LEA AND BLANCHARD.

are:

HERE is another specimen of very beautiful typography, from the Philadelphia press, equalling, indeed, the edition of 'Pericles and Aspasia,' elsewhere noticed. The illustrations, likewise, are very good, particularly those of the 'Little Frenchman.' In the first cut, one can almost see the toy-dancer, in the embryo speculator's hands, go through with its galvanic saltations, as he exposes it to the eager juvenile at his counter. The features of the little man, too, are characteristic and capital. Indeed, we may remark, in passing, he more resembles his archetype in looks than in speech; since the French terms he employs are those, in the main, whose English synonymes are first acquired by his expatriated countrymen. Perhaps, however, he was a sham Frenchman, for such have been detected among us; and, like the boasted female linguist of MATTHEWS' country parvenu, who 'l'arnt the lingo of a Garman, that l'arnt it at Dunkirk,' in Scotland, he might not have acquired the language from the most authentic sources. The contents of the volume under notice 'The Little Frenchman and his Water Lots;' 'The Monopoly and the People's Line;' 'Sketches from the Springs;' 'Leaves from a Port-folio,' and 'Mrs. Beverley Lee.' They are probably familiar to the public, having been originally printed in the 'New-York Mirror,' and made to radiate from the metropolis, in the daily and other journals, to different and distant sections of the country. Touching their literary merit, we will now proceed, as the orientals have it, to ‘knock head and pay respects.' To be candid, then, the contents of the book do not, in our judgment, exhibit great force of imagination, or much originality of invention. We cannot avow an excess of participation in any of the sketches; nor conscientiously declare, that they rise above the denomination of fair light reading. Yet that they will afford a degree of amusement to many readers, there is no reason to doubt. The merely descriptive portions evince an eye for striking points, or effects, and the objects aimed at by the author are satisfactorily developed. That these 'gathered fragments,' however, as the writer modestly and not inaptly terms them, 'possess the quaint beauty of LAMB, and the quiet humor and rich style of IRVING,' as has been claimed for them, we are rather inclined to doubt. This hyperbole of laud, also, we have the best authority for believing, is properly appreciated by the author; but even were he as keenly alive to the titillations of applause as the vainest poetaster in christendom, he could not but see, that the tide of such extravagant praise soon recedes as far below the mark of correct judgment, as before, it rose above it; and with never so overweening a desire to shine, he would be disinclined to risk exposure to ridicule, by the mistaken partiality of real, or the elaborate flattery of pretended, friends. With these opinions—which, however they may be regarded, are kindly intended and sincere we commend these 'Hits at the Times' to our readers; fully satisfied that they will find them light, lively, and ludicrous; but equally assured, that they will not recognise in them either the author of 'Elia' or the 'Sketch-Book,"

EDITORS' TABLE.

JABEZ DOOLITTLE AND HIS LOCOMOTIVE. Since our last number, we have received letters from various parts of the country, respecting Jabez Doolittle and his Loconiotive, by which it would appear, he has the gift of ubiquity; for he has been seen about the same time in a dozen different places, and a dozen different manners, but always under full speed; a kind of Flying Dutchman on land. Hic et ubique' should be his motto. We subjoin one of these letters, as it may tend to set the Far West at ease on a matter that seems to have caused some consternation.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KNICKERBOCKER.

'SIR: In your last number, I read with great interest an article entitled 'The First Locomotive.' It throws light upon an incident which has long been a theme of marvel in the Far West. You must know that I was one among the first band of trappers that crossed the Rocky Mountains. We had encamped one night on a ridge of the Black Hills, and were wrapped up in our blankets, in the midst of our first sleep, when we were roused by the man who stood sentinel, who cried out, 'Wild fire, by - We started on our feet, and beheld a streak of fire coming across the prairies, for all the world like lightning, or a shooting star. We had hardly time to guess what it might be, when it came up, whizzing, and clanking, and making a tremendous racket, and we saw something huge and black, with wheels and traps of all kinds; and an odd-looking being on top of it, busy as they say the devil is in a gale of wind. In fact, some of our people thought it was the old gentleman himself, taking an airing in one of his infernal carriages; others thought it was the opening of one of the seals in the Revelations. Some of the stoutest fellows fell on their knees, and began to pray; a Kentuckian plucked up courage enough to hail the infernal coachman as he passed, and ask whither he was driving; but the speed with which he whirled by, and the rattling of his machine, prevented our catching more than the last words: 'Slam bang to etarnal smash!' In five minutes more, he was across the prairies, beyond the Black Hill, and we saw him shooting, like a jack-a-lantern, over the Rocky Mountains.

'The next day we tracked his course. He had cut through a great drove of buffalo, some hundred or two of which lay cut up as though the butchers had been there; we heard of him afterward, driving through a village of Black Feet, and smashing the lodge of the chief, with all his family. Beyond the Rocky Mountains, we could hear nothing more of him; so that we concluded he had ended his brimstone career, by driving into one of the craters that still smoke among the peaks.

This circumstance, Sir, as I said, has caused much speculation in the Far West; but many set it down as a 'trapper's story,' which is about equivalent to a traveller's tale; neither would the author of 'Astoria' and 'Bonneville's Adventures' admit it into his works, though heaven knows he has not been over squeamish in such matters. The article in your last number, above alluded to, has now cleared up the matter, and henceforth I shall tell the story without fear of being hooted at. I make no doubt, Sir, this supposed infernal apparition was nothing more nor less than Jabez Doolittle, with his Locomotive, on his way to Astoria.

Who knows, who knows what wastes

He is now careering o'er?'

as the song goes; perhaps scouring California; perhaps whizzing away to the North