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his noble profession, degraded it to his own level. Now, with deference to the opinions of our correspondents, we think the evils upon which they have enlarged, will always, to a great degree, be corrected by the public. It is as impossible that a disingenuous and dishonest lawyer should be respected in the community, as that a dishonest merchant should be esteemed among his upright neighbors. Nor does temporary success, through adroit evasion of justice, by low cunning, or misty special pleading, secure the practitioner from his real rank in his profession. 'Pray who was that crafty-looking person, that left the apartment a moment ago?' said a friend to Johnson, one day, at a dinner party in London. 'I cannot exactly tell you, Sir,' replied the old bear, and I should be loth to speak ill of any person whom I did not know deserved it; but' - and he drew the listener toward him, as he added, in an under tone-'I am afraid he is an ATTORNEY!' If we remember BOSWELL rightly, the man had reached a bad eminence, through the exercise of industry and low cunning, as a lawyer. Promoters of litigation, with none other than mercenary views, who, for a consideration, stand ready at all times to 'make the worse appear the better reason,' will here, as well as in England, inevitably incur the verdict implied in the reply of the 'Great Leviathan.' Take, for example, the case of AARON BURR, whose character as a lawyer is admirably considered in an article upon his 'Life' and 'Private Journal,' in the last number of the North American Review. He was sufficiently skilful in weaving the filmy cobwebs of the law; but the spring which moved him, in this as in every thing else, is rightly described, malgré the glosses of his biographer, to have been only selfish cunning. 'It was this,' says the reviewer, 'which made him acute in trifles; which impelled him to the study of all flaws in title-deeds, and defects of form in legal process; to the cultivation of technical niceties, and of the innumerable devices by which fictitious issues may be interposed before the true ones.' He was 'a disciple of that school of his profession, which dispenses lawyers from the necessity of conscience.' His standard of all human action was low; his estimate of others generally the meanest; and the predominating feature of his character was craft. What marvel, that he lived despised, and died unlamented? Such members of the legal profession may be successful, perhaps, for a time, in a pecuniary point of view; but the price paid for the mere acquisition of silver, makes the gain a loss. Character, standing in society, the blessings of sincere friendship, weigh down the scale past equipoise. Are our friends answered?"

THE DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE, for June, is a good number of a very good periodical. The Midsummer Anthology,' with which it opens, contains several spirited poems by our correspondent, Miss MARY ANNE BROWNE, England, with a pleasing bit of verse by 'one 'IOTA,' who has chosen an odd signature. From the concluding paper of the number, 'Scraps of Hibernian Ballads,' we take the subjoined natural and touching stanzas. They are from the pen of an unfortunate young peasant, of Ireland, whose early hopes were crossed by the untimely death of one whom he 'loved, not wisely, but too well:'

HOUSE-TOP REFLECTIONS.

'I am getting a-weary of these annual jubilees of liberty,' said a friend, as he elbowed his way, in the twilight of our late anniversary-day, along the ranges of booths that lined and surrounded the Park, and heard the deafening din of revelry which swelled up from the many-voiced multitude. Yet was he uncompromising in his defence and love of country, and only eschewed gunpowder explosions, great and small, and desired not to be rudely jostled by what Mrs. RAMSBOTTOм terms 'unassorted predestinarians a-walking.' It was our natural cue, however, to speak of the affected decadence of amor patriæ, which is sometimes manifested, even by single-minded and hearty Americans, on the return of our annual 'Sabbath-Day of Freedom.' We say 'affected,' because the spirit which was awakened anew sixty-three years ago, has not vanished from American bosoms; although one might think so, to hear the oft-repeated question, 'What can one say that is new, in a Fourth-of-July discourse? — what that is in the least interesting, at this late day? And we have seen comparisons such as these, in passages of indigenous criticism, and that too in high quarters; 'It is more trite than an independence ode;' more tedious than a Fourth-of-July oration;' as if these performances were necessarily striking synonymes for sickly sentiment, and hackneyed dulness. To all such queries and criticisms, we would answer: 'Well, if we can say nothing new, let us repeat the old story; let us keep alive, and active, the spirit of old '76; that spirit which long ago dictated an instrument so well befitting a great nation speaking for itself.'

These and kindred thoughts followed us to our sanctum. 'What,' thought we, 'would the architects of our liberties say, could they know, that in the brief space of little more than half a century, the story of their disinterested sacrifices and perils, their bravery and their victories, had come to be considered, by many of their posterity, as a 'wearisome tale that is told?' Patriotic American reader, if ever you are inclined, by reason of personal association, or other cause, to yield, even for a moment, a tacit acquiescence in the popular sneer we have cited; to think or speak lightly of our national anniversary, and the usages which it perpetuates; just roll back the tide of time, for a few years, and place yourself in the midst of the master-spirits of our revolutionary history. Fancy yourself one of that audience which might have heard ADAMS urge the Declaration of Independence. Some there are, of his hearers, hesitating, doubting, desponding. They have seen enough of war; the orator is meddling, they think, with an interdicted subject, and no good can come of it. His very boldness they consider temerity, and his eloquent arguments the theses of an astute sophist. He is no liporator, alive to the titillations of mere applause. 'It is the cause, the cause!' His language, bold and figurative, yet brief and concise; his compressed sentences of condensed meaning; his powerful appeals, and sublime heart-touches, are the fruits of a conviction, that not to be warm in the cause he has espoused, is to be frozen. Hear him, reader; you cannot hear him too often:

Set

Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and heart to this vote. before the people the glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. Read this declaration at the head of the army; every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling around it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there; let them hear it who heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon; let them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the very walls will cry out in its support.

Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I see, I see clearly through this day's business. You and I indeed may rue it. We may not live to the time when this declaration shall be made good. We may die; die colonists; die slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold. Be it so. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But while I do live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and that a free country.

But whatever may be our fate, he assured, be assured that this declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations.

On its annual return, they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off, as I began, that live or die, survive or perish, I am for the declaration. It is my living sentiment, and by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying sentiment; independence now, and INDEPENDENCE FOR EVER.'

Our reflections were ended on the house-top, whither we had repaired, to survey the indistinct but magnificent panorama which it commanded. All around we could read, in characters of light, a fulfilment of the prediction of the illustrious prophet and patriot. On every hand, fiery tokens of rejoicing' transpierced the wounded air.' The multitudinous sounds of a great city spoke but one voice. What ADAMS foretold, and we have heretofore faintly depicted, was again enacting. Clusters of India crackers, prolonged by double, treble, and anon uncountable explosions, indicated the ubiquity of juvenile patriots. Blue, red and yellow fires every where colored the streets. Here an illuminated balloon gleamed like burnished gold in the light of the 'silver rain' of a rocket, which had exploded above it; there, far hissing through the air, trailed a fiery serpent; nearer by, a fountain of fire rained down golden drops upon the swarming, tumultuous metropolis; and on all sides, streams of light rushed toward the zenith, paling for a moment the 'ineffectual fires' of the whole host of stars. That will do!' doubtless exclaims the reader: 'Let him that is on the house-top now come down.' Very well, an' you will have it so. The scuttle-door is closed, with an emphasis.

OF THE TRIALS OF DOGS AND HORSES.

'Gentle reader; and if gentle, good reader; and if good, patient reader; for if not gentle, then not good; and if not good, then not gentle; and neither good nor gentle, if not patient;' will you tarry to hear a word upon the trials of dogs and horses, 'about these days?' Little do almanac-makers reflect upon the misery which accrues to these noble animals, after the advent of the season which they describe crisply, in the margin of their tables, as 'Dog-days begin.' Hydrophobia is certainly a fearful thing; but, metropolitan reader, let us entreat you to get your face against the persecution of an entire race, because now and then one chances to be an 'unclean beast.' What abuses of humanity have we seen, in the last three weeks! Faithful creatures, that, with the opportunity, would have risked their lives to save their tormentors, made mad by infuriate pursuers! There is now no 'sweet security of streets' for any of the canine tribe. They should be requested to stay at home; and in nine cases out of ten, if properly instructed, they will comply with the requisition. In Holland, there are high-schools for dogs, where even poodles go through with a regular course of education. They are taught to go, and come, and tarry, at the word of command, with unfailing promptitude. But if your dog will be gadding, see that he is muzzled. When one thinks of the intelligence and affection of the dog; his love, his gratitude, his unremitting watchfulness; it is quite easy to appreciate Dr. DANIEL DOVE's esteem for the noble animal. He says that whenever he 'looked at a dog who had been humanized by society, who loved his master, pined during his illness, and died upon his grave,' (the fact has frequently occurred,) he could not but fancy that such a creature was ripe for a better world than this, and that in passing through the condition of humanity, it might lose more than it could gain. Would that dog-haters and dog-catchers might partake something of this spirit, instead of considering the whole canine genus as totally depraved, especially while 'Sirius rages.' And oh, cruel hack-drivers, and ye omnibii-men of the town, remember that 'a merciful man is merciful to his beast!' As we write, two noble animals lie cold and stark in the street, that two hours ago were among the sentient and the quick. We say 'sentient,' and not without reflection. Let us ask the doubter if he remembers a story, among numberless others of a kindred description, of a troop of British cavalry, which had served on the contiVOL. XIV.

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nent, and was disbanded in the city of York, England, and the horses sold? Their noble-minded commander could not bear to think that his old fellow campaigners, who had borne brave men to battle, should be ridden to death as butchers' hacks, or worked till they became dog's meat; so he purchased a piece of ground, and turned out the old horses to have a run there for life. These animals were once grazing promiscuously, while a summer storm gathered; and when the first lightnings flashed from the cloud, and the distant thunder began to roll, supposing these sounds to be the signal of approaching battle, they were seen to get together and form in line, almost in as perfect order as if they had had their old masters on their backs! Are not such creatures sentient? Are they to be wasted at noon-day, by the cruelty of their inferiors? 'Forbid it, reason; forbid it justice!'

MR. CHARLES DICKENS.-We have before us the fifteenth 'Part' of Messrs. LEA AND BLANCHRD's edition of 'Nicholas Nickleby.' So far from sinking in public estimation, as a writer, as has been more than once predicted, by certain astute critics in England, Mr. DICKENS seems even more and more affluent in intellectual resources, as he advances in his literary performances. The interest of 'Nicholas Nickleby' continues unabated. The sketches of character contained in the two chapters which comprise the present divison, will bear a favorable comparison with the most felicitous of the writers' limnings. Ralph Nickleby and the lecherous, avaricious Gride; the petulant invalid and his lovely daughter, Madeline Bray; and last not least, 'Mr. Vincent Crummles, of provincial celebrity,' are each portraits so natural, colored with such minute fidelity, that we must consider them as transcripts of character in real life, rather than creations of the imagination. Mr. DICKENS is a most accurate and acute observer; and possesses the rare faculty of making his reader see and feel all that he records. The ability to create, is equally apparent, throughout his works. Memory and imagination blend their influences, and nature controls both. He trusts to these sources, and makes little use of the adventitious aids employed by less gifted and more plodding novelists. We speak advisedly, when we say, that all the memoranda preserved for the works which Mr. DICKENS is now writing, could be contained in a sheet of note-paper. 'I never,' says he, in a recent letter to us, 'commit thoughts to paper, until I am obliged to write, being better able to keep them in regular order, on different shelves of my brain, ready ticketed and labelled, to be brought out when I want them.' As readers are usually interested in the personal appearance and social habitudes of distinguished authors, we subjoin a sketch of Mr. DICKENS, which may be regarded as authentic: 'In person, he is a little above the standard height, though not tall. His figure is slight, without being meagre, and is well proportioned. The face, that first object of physical interest, is peculiar, though not remarkable. An ample forehead is displayed under a quantity of light hair, worn in a mass on one side, rather jauntily, and this is the only semblance of dandyism in his appearance. His brow is marked, and his eye, though not large, bright and expressive. The most regular feature is the nose, which may be called handsome; an epithet not applicable to his lips, which are too large. Taken altogether, the countenance, which is pale without sickliness, is in repose extremely agreeable, and indicative of great refinement and intelligence. Mr. DICKENS's manners and conversation, except perhaps in the perfect abandon among his familiars, have no exhibition of particular wit, much less of humor. He is mild in the tones of his voice, and quiescent; evincing habitual attention to etiquette, and the conventionalisms of polished circles. His society is much sought after, and possibly to avoid the invitations pressed upon him, he does not reside in London; but with a lovely wife, and two charming children, occupies a retreat in the vicinity. He is about twenty-six years of age, but does not look more than twenty-three or four. Mr. DICKENS is entirely self-made, and rose from an humble station by virtue of his moral worth, his genius, and his industry.' The reader will be glad to learn, that the KNICKERBOCKER will be favored, in the course of the present volume, with effective evidence of Mr. DICKENS's 'good wishes and cordial feelings.'

HYMN TO THE FLOWERS. -Reader, did you ever peruse the following 'Hymn to the Flowers,' written by HORACE SMITH, one of the authors of the 'Rejected Addresses?' If you have never read them before, we congratulate you; and if you have seen them once, we will not so slander your feeling and good taste, as to suppose that you are not rejoiced to have them recalled to your remembrance. They seem, to our poor conception, the concrete essence of poetic beauty:

'DAY-STARS! that ope your eyes with morn to twinkle,
From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation,
And dew-drops on her lovely altars sprinkle,
As a libation!