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keepers make great complaints of a falling off in the demand for some articles which are usually, at this season, in request. A dealer in marbles states, that since the annual meeting of the juveniles, his sales have fallen off one third ; cocoa-nut cakes, however, are in some request, and we have heard of a sale as high as twelve for a shilling ; pea-nut candy is freely offered at a penny, and holders appear extremely desirous of sales ; hard boiled eggs remain as they were, but ginger beer is decidedly lively; crullers and dough-nuts are firm at quotations; molasses candy has experienced a still farther decline. The old lady who keeps a stand in Broadway, near what was once Maiden-lane, effected a considerable sale yesterday afternoon of mint-sticks, but the terms have not yet transpired. As the holidays are approaching, we may confidently look for a return of former prices; and as the quarterly allowances to boys under twelve years will then become due, a considerable amount of pennies will be thrown into circulation, which cannot but have a favorable influence on the dealers in tin trumpets, a branch of industry which, we are sorry to learn, is laboring under great depression.'

Next follows a column of miscellaneous items, from which the following are selected :

· Ancient SPORTS. We are always happy to remark any thing like a return to the simple habits and tastes of our ancestors; for although we are strenuous advocates for improvement, it must be allowed that our progenitors excelled in certain acts of bon hommie, of which we are miserably deficient. Considerable excitement was yesterday occasioned, and no small amusement, by a revival of the ancient custom of dancing for eels in Catharine Market. The performers were two black gentlemen, and the prize was a large bunch of splits : the winner's name was Jinquez, a descendant of that famous prince who landed on our shores above two centuries since. After the dance was over, the spectators adjourned to the Spread Eagle Tavern, where they were regaled with oyster-soup, served up in the old style, with pepper-corns and alspice.'

A deputation of boys waited upon the mayor last evening, to de. mand satisfaction for an affront put upon a child by the name of Epenetus Eglintoun, by one of the aldermen of the forty-eighth ward. The facts of the case, as we gather from the chairman of the deputation, are these : as Master Epenetus was trundling his hoop down the Eighty-fourth Avenue, in the quiet enjoyment of his rights, he chanced to run butt against the legs of Alderman Sopht Soaph, doing no other damage to the city dignitary, than slightly lacerating one of his rather exuberant calves ; and for this trifling offence, he had the unparalleled audacity to pull the boy's ears. As soon as the matter became known, a tremendous excitement was the consequence; a meeting was called, at which the most enthusiastic speeches were made, and several very severe resolutions were passed, without a dissenting voice. A committee was immediately appointed, who waited

upon

the mayor, and demanded the instant removal of the offender. One of the committee was the alderman's youngest son, who was very loud in his denunciations of his father. We have not yet heard the nature of the mayor's reply, but as soon as it is received, an extra will be issued from this office.

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* Highly INTERESTING.— A very full meeting of young gentlemen under the age of ten years, took place last night in Young Lion's Hall, to receive the report of the committee appointed to inquire into the expediency of abolishing leading-strings from the nursery. The fifth resolution was offered by Washington Adams, and seconded by Jenkins Thomson, in a speech of great power; the thrillingness of the interest excited, was of the most intense kind. The resolution was to this effect :

Resolved, That in the opinion of this meeting, leading-strings are a relic of the barbarous customs of our barbarous ancestors, and that we are bound by every principle of honor and liberty to wage an exterminating war against them, and that we will do so.'

* Thir,' said Mr. Adams, ' Mither Prethident, in rithing to thecund thith motion, I feel my bothom thwelling, with thoze pecooliar emothions which gwate men have all felt on gwate occathions. Thir, when I look abroad into that animated nature tho beautifully desthwibed by the immortal Goldthmith, I look in wain for leadingstrings. Which of the animals in all kweation leadth ith young by stwings? Do birds ? do fisheth? do therpenth? No, Mither Prethident, no. It ith man alone that pwesumes to lead ith young

with stwingth! Thir, thothiety has much to unlearn, ath well ath to learn, before mankind can be resthored to ith owiginal wights. I wepeat onth more, it ith time that thith odioth awithtocwatic obthervance wath abolished.'

Mr. Adams, after enchaining his auditory for the space of an hour, with the soundest views, expressed in the most thrilling words, sat down amid tremendous cheering. But silence was no sooner restored, than it was immediately broken by a great overgrown man, with a pair of bushy whiskers, and a gruff voice, who had the audacity to address the president in the following manner: 'It strikes me, Mr. President, that the little gentleman who last spoke, is suffering very severely from that juvenile complaint called the lispth. It is needless to add, that the intruder was answered by the most scornful silence.'

On the last page of the paper, the editor delivers himself of the following curious observations in his notices to correspondents :

* An opinion appears to be current in society, that the publisher of a newspaper is bound to print all the communications that he may receive on any subject, whether the sentiments that they contain be congenial with his own, or not; but such is not the view that we take of the matter. Although we live in an age when a man has a right to do wrong, so free is human will, yet we are not so far advanced in freedom, that a man can be compelled to do wrong to himself, to oblige another. That day may arrive, but it has not yet. We wish that these remarks may be considered by the writers of poetry, of all kinds, as intended expressly for them; and in an especial manner, for the translators of German doggerel. These latter gentlemen seem to think that as the art of printing is of German origin, the whole force of the press should be devoted to villanous translations of incomprehensible verses out of that language. We have now on hand several large baskets, full of Germanic verses, besides an innumerable number of essays on the genius of Goethe. The worst of it is, that these things are written by children, whose time and talents might be devoted to better purposes.

• From the above remarks, 'G. B.,' Philo Novalis,''P.T.,' and a score of others, will learn the reason why their effusions have not been printed in our columns. But to show our willingness to yield to the spirit of the age, we will print one of these communications ; and that we may not be accused of partiality, we dip our hand into a basket, and here is the first paper that we caught; but it shall be the last :

TO A

BROKEN

PIPE.

TRANSLATED OUT OF THE GERMAN

OF KRUNTZ, FOR THE MINORS VIBROE.

BY

SIM MPEL

SIMMPSON

All nature obeys all nature's laws,

Because,
Whatever is perfect, as all must see,
With its own perfections must agree,
'Tis simple as simple rule of three.

Straws
Are borne on the breast of the terrible blast,
Which makes the world stand all aghast,

Which wakes the deep,

From its quiet sleep,
And shivers the towering mast.

Then castles are overthrown,

With churches hoary grown,
And all over the town,
Houses come tumbling down,

The breaking, shaking, dashing, smashing blast

All things to earth will cast;
And all things brittle must be broken
By the tempest's stroken !

And when all things give way,
So must pipe of clay.
Ah! pipe of clay! once through thy slender stem,

Thou fair tobacco-gem!
Did smoke-imbibing scholar placid draw,
As boy sucks cider through an oaten straw,

When stuck within his jaw,
Like transcendental German, or a squaw,
That vegetable essence, blue and thin,

Smelling enough to make old Sathan grin;
Offspring of Time and Earth, light-pinioned daughter,
More palpable than air, but less than watur.

But now thy day is done,
Poor blighted, banished, brittle, broken one!

Thy stem cannot be mended,

Thy days are ended,
And he who smoked thee, can, if he is willing,
Purchase a dozen like thee, for a shilling.
Ah! pipe of clay! when I have done my do, and said my say,
Penned my last penning, and my last speech spoken,
I too shall be cast out, contemned and broken;
The fire of life put out, and that this vapor
Life's smoke, the soul, extinguished like a taper ;

Oh soul! less palpable than air, th' ideal

Hath nought so slight as thou, nor yet as real :
The smallest mite that microscopic power
E’er gave a being, is a mighty tower,

Oh! reason's wonder, when compared with thee,
And Egypt's pyramid the slightest flower
Blooming and dying all within an hour,

Enduring essence, when compared with thee!'

a

One department of the 'Minors' Mirror' is devoted to reviews of new books; and, judging from the number under notice, authors must have increased at a fearful rate. Indeed, the editors express an opinion, that were it not contrary to the spirit of the age, they should propose a law making it a capital offence for any publisher to issue a work written by a child under ten years of

age.

The art of criticism appears to have attained to great perfection with our descendants, as will appear from the following remarks :

• We have this week received sixteen hundred and eighty-five new books, of which :

* Three hundred and ten are theological, and consequently either above or below criticism.

• Ten hundred and ninety are tales and novels, and are all without exception most atrociously vile; but notwithstanding their utter want of merit, we should notice them at greater length, did not each one of thein contain that immaculate word, GLORIOUS. We have long since given notice, that we will not review a work in which it

appears. ‘One hundred and forty are historical works, and being as usual full of lies, are not of a character to merit a more particular notice.

'Forty-five are essays on the characters in SHAKSPEARE's plays, and are calculated to excite some astonishment in the minds of readers, as they furnish abundant proof that there are forty-five persons in this enlightened age, incapable of appreciating the great genius of the only dramatic poet that the world has yet known.

Seventy-five are essays on the genius of GOETHE; but as we are among those who deny that the libidinous old scribbler had any particular genius, it cannot be expected that we should waste our time in noticing the rigmarole of those who maintain a contrary opinion.

• Twenty are on the subject of an International Copy-right. As a celebrated philosopher has predicted that the millennium is near at hand, perhaps there is a possibility of the claims of authors receiving some attention from those who are most indebted to them.

• Three are metaphysical; and all that we have to remark in reference to them, is, that we perceive balderdash has not yet had its day.

• One is on chemical affinities; but as the author has filled the greater part of his book with a preface, in which he traduces a score or two of most excellent names, we shall say nothing more in relation

to it.

One is an essay on architecture, and right welcome would it be, if it contained one new idea, or even one just old one, on the subject of which it professes to treat; but as it does not, we pass it by.

• We have also a monstrous heap of new periodicals at our elbow, but as we do not find any thing in them commendatory of ourselves, we have nothing favorable to say of them.'

Some of the advertisements are very curious. A bookseller in Nassau-street announces a work in press, under the superintendence of the Antiquarian Society, giving a faithful account of the rise and overthrow of the sect of STRIPED PIGS; but by far the largest number of advertisements are of confectionary articles, paper kites, colored marbles, tee-to-tums, and other articles suited to the wants of the readers of the paper.

A premonitory symptom of approaching dinner, warns me to leave posterity to take care of itself. So, gentle reader, let us leave OLD KNICK., and take some refreshments.

H. F.

THE LOST CHURCH.

THIS poem, so imaginative and beautiful in the original, is from the German of UHLAND; a writer who, although inferior in fire and strength to SCHILLER, has, according to Professor WILSON, more pretensions than any other German poet, to lead as the Coryphæus of modern minstrels.

OFT in yon drear and lonely wood,
A hollow sound is heard on high,
Far echoing throug the solitude,
Though none its idden source descry;
'Tis said that once a chapel stood
Within the fores s darkest gloom,
That many a pilgrim trod those paths,
Now lone and silent as the tomb.

Once wandering in that lonely wood,
Where not a foot-mark prints the sod,
From all the woes and wrongs of earth,
My soul ascended to its God;
When lo! in that hushed wilderness,
I heard a loud and pealing knell;
The higher my devotion soared,
The louder boomed that pealing bell.

While thus in heavenly musings rapt,

My mind from outward sights with Irawn,
Some power had caught me from the earth,
And far into the heavens upborne;
Methought a hundred years had passed,
While thus entranced I lay,

When a bright vista through the clouds
Seemed opening far away.

The silent heavens were softly blue,
The sun was full and bright,

And a proud minster shone in view,
All in the golden light;

Among the radiant clouds it seemed,
On mighty wings, to rise,
Till all its pointed turrets gleamed,
Far-flaming through the skies!

The bell with clear resounding peal
Rang through the rocking tower;
No human hand had touched the string,
It felt the storm-wind's power.
My bosom trembling like a bark
Dashed by the ocean's foam,
I trod with faltering, fearful joy,
Beneath the mighty dome.

A light, soft as the golden gloom,
Of summer moonlight, threw

From the stained windows, broad and high,

A dim unearthly hue;

There forms of all the sainted dead,

With mystic meaning rife,

On storied pane and sculptured stone,

Seemed kindling into life.

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