THE RATS AND THE CHEESE. A LETTER FROM SETH SLOMAN, ESQUIRE, OF SLYWİNK, TO THE EDITOR. Sir, I seen by the papers that you was a goin' to publish a real yankee Magazine, and as soon as I'd seen it I said to myself, that's just the critter I want. So yisterday I went down to Boston with a load, and when I was there I inquired and I found you'd printed the fust number, and I bought one, and sot up last night and read it all through, and 1 like it fust rate. But I want to git the Republic sent here regular, so here's tew dollars, and you must send it a year to the direction at the bot tom of this letter. I don't think I'm unchristian or hard-hearted, but it does make me rile up sometimes, and crawl all over, when I see these fellers from over the herrin' pond, so obstaciously greedy after our offices, jest as though the old Revolutioners haden't nothin' to dew but to fight and make pap for them to get fat on, or to make a country for them to rule-or spile, one or 'tother, and they don't seem to care which, some on 'em, s'long as they can whooraw and talk politics and git into some office or 'nother. And then they know so much tew,- -we yankees can't hold a candle to 'em about politics! Now when I see these things a goin' on, it allers puts me in mind of a story our old Aunt Debby used to tell afore she died, about her cheeses, and if you like I'll tell it. Aunt Debby allers used to brag about her cheeses. She sed she allers made tew hundred dollars a year off the skim-milk besides the butter 'at she got from the cream, and Uncle Zad kept about twenty cows, and told Aunt Debby she mite have all she could make in cheeses, for pin money. Of course the old critter took a world of pride in her diary as she used to call it, and all summer she was a makin' cheese, and after it was dried she put it away in a bin up garret, big enuf to hold all that she could make in a hull year. When she put 'em away in the bin, she used to put the biggest wuns down to the bottom and then pile 'em up one on another, according to size, till she got 'em about five foot high, up to the top of the bin. Well, one summer Aunt Debby had laid herself rite out makin' cheeses, and she'd got three or four piles all made up, when Zad was a smokin' their pipes, they heerd an one nite, just arter supper, while she and Uncle all fired noise up in the garret, and things a tumblin' as though all satan was let loose. the pipe out of his mouth and looked up at Aunt Debby. Aunt Debby's eyes was as big as "What on airth!" sez Uncle Zad, as he took sassers for a minnit, but after a while she says, says she, “I dun no, but I guess somethin's fell down in the garret." "I guess so tew," says Uncle Zad, "and if your a mine to, we'll go up and see." So up they started, a little shy at fust, but they looked all round the garret and could'nt find nothin' out o' place. At last Uncle Zad thought he'd look in the cheese One of the piles of cheese had tumbled down cobin, and there, sure enuf, he found it all out. junk on to the floor, and when they come to look arter the cause, they found that the rats had nawed a hole through the bin, and got inside, and then they'd nawed away the bottom cheese of that pile till the foundation had all · gone, and down came the hull pile, killin' five or six rats that was under it when it tumbled. So I think these office-ious forreners is somethin' like the rats, they'r nibblin' away at our politics, till bime-by they'l undermine the know where they are, the hull consarn 'll tumconstitution, without knowin' it, and afore they ble down like the pile of cheeses, and kill them and us at the same time. Now, arter Aunt Debby's cheese pile had been sarved so, she told Uncle Zad to git her some strips of tin, and when he got 'em she nailed 'em all around the bottom of the bin, and arter that the rats didn't naw through. I wish our Congress, and Legislatures and people would take warning after Aunt Debby's accident, and put the tin strips tumble down, and not wait 'till its tew late, around our dear bought liberties afore they when the mischief's all done. They can dew it if there a mind to, and the sooner they git about it the better. So no more at present from Your friend SETH SLOMAN. MUSICAL TASTE. UPON no subject connected with the science | essay, what, in my estimation, constitutes.legiof music, exists such diversity of opinion as timate musical Taste. upon that of TASTE. MUSICAL TASTE does not, in the general acceptation of the term, comprehend the different orders into which music is divided. It is usually understood to be merely a judgment displayed in favor of, or against some particular composition-whether sublime or beautiful, solemn or gay, melancholy or animated. Defined truly, Taste is a manifest sensibility to all the beauties of the higher orders of music, both as regards the descriptions of loveliness and grandeur in Nature, and the magnificence and omnipotence of God, its Creator. Among professors, there is a commonly received idea, which includes all the essentials of music; a highly elaborated style, and this applied to either sacred or secular writings. If a composition of the simple-classic order, having some religious subject for its theme, does not display excessive originality, the seal of censure is by them attached to it, and it accordingly lingers in obscurity till finally forgotten. But if a work of the same sacred cast is treated elaborately, and is capable of describing, by the grandeur or exquisite sweetness of its harmonious combinations, every sentiment suggested in the theme, the stamp of approval is by them placed upon it, and it is presented to the world as a work with which to adorn some shelf in the school of high-classic music. With respect to secular writings, the decisions of these professors are the same: does simplicity characterize the one, it is thrown aside, and becomes a nonentity; does sublimity mark the style of the other, that receives their encomiums, and is placed among those which are considered the school to which the student or amateur must turn for the acquisition of a perfect musical education. I presume no one will question that there is a Taste connected with music, as well as with all others of those sciences from whose beauties we derive so many pleasurable emotions. It will not be my province to "investigate the nature of those qualities that produce the emotions of Taste;" nor "to investigate the nature of that faculty by which these emotions are received." I shall endeavor, however, to impress upon the mind of those who peruse this I shall propose two points for my discussion: first, What is not Taste; and second, What is Taste. To proceed with the first question: The feeling often called forth by a simple air, does not decide that the person in whose breast such feeling has being, possesses this faculty. How many are there who are delighted alone by the consumptive ballads of the day, or the comic minstrelsy which has, for a long time past, overran our country? The melancholy pleasure derived from the ballad, "I'm sitting on the stile, Mary," and the vivacity of spirits caused by the performance of "See that old gray goose sitting over yonder," are feelings which exist but temporarily. The style of music of the former may sometimes act as a means of placing one in an attitude of the character often described in novels: the head resting romantically upon the hand, the eyes peering obliviously into the flickering light of the taper. The latter kind, among those who are not imbued with the true spirit of music, causes a desire to almost turn somersets for very laughter. What benefit results from such songs as these? Do they leave any good behind them? do they gratify any intellectual quality of the soul? No, neither; they satisfy only a feeling that may be uppermost at the time-romantic this moment; that, jocose. We frequently hear persons remark, that such an individual has no taste for music, or such a one has no ear for anything really fine. Now, what do these observers mean by fine? The music of Handel's "Messiah?" of Haydn's "Creation?" of Beethoven's "Mount of Olives?" of Mozart's "Requiem ?" of Mendellsohn's "Elijah ?” these are far, far away from their thoughts: they look much lower than the splendor of such musical scriptures. What remains for them to deduce as examples of the fine? "Come, oh, come with me," Carry me back to old Virginny," and similar manufactures. These daubings of musical painting (to which recourse might be had occasionally, if it was not a settled fact that we are too prone to indulge in anything superficial or nonsensical) are deficient in the true object to which music was No; > evidently intended by our beneficent Creator. I do not mean to prefer the idea, that man should devote himself exclusively to the sacred order of music; but I do desire to see his faculties which raise him so far above all else in creation-directed in the healthy channel of moral songs, lower than which man should not allow them to descend, and out of which, it is indubitable, can spring powers to cheer him on through life, though misfortune and sorrow hang their shadowy clouds incessantly over him. He could find no solace from his cares by recourse to love ballads, nor could he be cheered through the drollery of comic minstrelsy; on the contrary, they would awaken in him disgust rather than pleasure, and tend to deepen the gloom with which he might be surrounded. Again; what a curious species of music is affixed to the end of the numerous monthly magazines. It would seem to be understood by itinerant professors, that the more senseless music is, the better will it succeed with the public. Though this idea is entertained by some, it does not obtain with the majority of those writers; for the latter do consider that such works can be written by themselves alone, and through great study and trouble, simple as they are. Their sense of the glory of the science is drowned in their extraordinary appreciation of themselves, and their supposed talent a talent thus far evinced by them, wonderful for its superficiality. The very abandoned taste they adopt, or which they, at least, seem to cultivate, indicates the absence from them of true genius. Their sphere is generally confined to what is termed secular music; and, with few exceptions, our periodicals teem with their nonsensical compositions-compositions which, if much noticed, will deteriorate the advancement some few Americans are at present making in the noble art. Many persons who have neglected to cultivate their musical abilities, and upon whose tables these periodicals find a place, imagine that, as the literary talents displayed by their editors or editresses are of a high order, they must possess excellent judgment in the choice of music for their pages. With this conception the subscriber feels content, and concludes that it is unexceptionable. But I venture the assertion, that not one out of fifty editors or editresses can play a tune, sing a note, or exhibit any actual musical taste. Love for a class of music, such as these writers bestow upon the world, does not denote that intellectual faculty by which the good or bad is determined. It is a class productive, through weak causes, of futile and transient effects. It is composed, usually, of chains of notes sufficiently juxtapositious to create an air, but if examined artistically, even artificially so, it will be observed how little genuine melody or intrinsic harmony is employed and combined to exhibit that beauty of proportion which, above all others, the science of music so imperatively demands. Even the choice and application of music are often foreign to the sentiment of the words which they accompany: a rondo soothes the broken spirit of some wo-begone lover; a dead-march attests the joyfulness of meeting between long-absent and long-separated friends. Neither of the species of music to which I have thus far referred, contains the least of that essence which Taste dictates. THE BABY IN DAGUERREOTYPE. BY MRS.. ANNA L. SNELLING. WHAT! put her in daguerreotype, And victimize the pet! Those ruby lips, so cherry-ripe, On lifeless silver set! The frisking, laughing, bouncing thing, A restless bird upon the wing- Put shadows on that forehead fair- Now, do you think a chance you've got? She's screaming at the very thought Now she is still-fly to the stand; Give up the task-let childhood be Earth's shadows o'er that brow will pass, When time shall make her wish, alas She were a baby still. PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS. 'Let me have men about me that are fat; JULIUS CESAR, according to William Shak-to-day. speare, proved himself, by the utterance of the sentiment above quoted, to have been a man of shrewdness and wisdom. There are no men so deserving to be shunned, or so dangerous as associates, as your cloud-covered, vinegarvisaged, calculating creatures, who are always plodding with their noses to the ground, and, eschewing all pleasure themselves, grunt and groan when they witness the enjoyment which others partake of. Sometimes this spirit is evinced through an ostentatious exhibition of mock-morality; sometimes through a sordid, heart-eating, miserly canker; and again, from an inborn, a natural incapacity, to appreciate that which belongs to the beautiful and the good. You shall go with us to the concerts of the two nightingales, or to Barnum's, or Christy's, or Fellows', or, indeed, to any of the various places of rational amusement in the metropolis, and we will show you a crowd of happier, aye, and better people, than you will find at the money-mart any day of the week-and there is many a good and happy fellow on 'change, too, but he is one of those who partake, rationally, at the feast of popular amusement. It is a fixed principle in man's nature, that to be happy, his mind must undergo a process of relaxation from the toil and thought which the every-day duties of life impose upon him. Is he a merchant? He goes from his countingroom at night, not to enjoy the sweets of the domestic circle, but to fret over losses by bankruptcy, to speculate upon the prospects of tomorrow, or at best, to calculate the profits of Is he a mechanic? When he reaches home, the sudden transition from labor to the quiet of his own household, produces a transient dullness he plays a little with the children, kisses his wife, tries to read a little, and then with the remark that he must be "up early in the morning," he goes early to bed, weary with nothing to do. Now, an occasional evening given to public amusement by these good people, breaks up the insipid monotony. The exercise of going forth the preparation-the anticipation-the crowd of people into which they are thrown, and the performances which they witness-are all powerful solvents of those glued up crannies of the mind, which, when loosened, pour forth a flood of topics, each affording of its kind—food for the finest and best sensibilities-instruction-or, perchance, mere merriment. A play has been known to convert a rogue into an honest man; a night at Christy's has kept many a family in gayety for a month; even the quaint monkey that follows the organ-grinder about the streets, with his tricks and grimace, has shook the wrinkles out of many a dried up spleen, and brought a warm grin to the frozen and austere visage. We are no advocates of mere frivolity, or licentiousness; but the axiom that "All work and no play Makes Jack a dull boy," holds good in our estimation. "Men are but children of a larger growth," and grown-up children require relaxation as much as those who are "only little." Music, Dancing and the Stage, have all been largely employed as accessories to religion; in fact, the latter found its origin in the Church, and was for a long period employed as the most powerful auxiliary that could be used to fix religious impressions upon the minds of the people. These things, therefore, in their legitimate sense, cannot be called profane-it is only their perversion that is condemnable. Private amusements, such as family parties, where music, dancing, and convivial conversation are employed, albeit a little harmless flir tation may be going forward at the same time, come not improperly under consideration in this article. They give a spice to life, and make a great many people satisfied, either with themselves or somebody else; and those of our divines who would root these felicitous entertainments out of our social code, and denounce them as immoral, should be informed that by so doing they are making a task of religion, and throwing cold water upon the sensibilities of thousands of those who profess it. We could quote Scripture, chapter, verse and book, to prove that enjoyment of this nature is not incompatible with religion, and those who plead that a smileless face, a mincing gait, and a demure demeanor, are the only evidences of sanctity, do but injure the cause they erroneously seek to serve. We regard popular amusement, whether public or private, when properly conducted, as an oasis on the desert of metropolitan existence. It is frequently a source of instruction as well as of pleasure to the mind, and, when not abused, affords a fountain of public as well as of individual good. Like many other fountains, religious as well as profane, it is possible to drink of it too deeply;-we speak of it only in its rational use, and in such wise approve it. "Though duller thoughts succeed, The bliss e'en of a moment, still is bliss- Nor still the lightsome gambols of the colt "From the sad years of life We sometimes do short hours, yea, minutes, strike, We have all heard of marriages, cross-marriages, and intermarriages; but for the utter confusion of marriages, the reader is referred to the following statement, which is avouched as true in all its particulars. Some years ago a respectable young English woman, residing near London, became the object of affection to a worthy sea captain, and after due acquaintance and preliminaries, it was agreed among the friends, as well as themselves, that their union would be a proper one, and they were accordingly married. The marriage was a most happy one, and the husband and wife lived together in the bonds of real affection. At length, during a distant voyage, the captain's vessel was lost, and the young wife was made wretched with the intelligence that her husband, together with every soul on board, had been lost with the wreck. Utterly disconsolate, and wasting in health, the young widow was at length induced by her relatives to visit America, in the hope that a change of scene would wean away her distress. She had friends already here, and to them she came on a temporary visit. Having reached the western world, it was found that either change of scene, or the salt-sea air, had wrought miracles on her health and spirits; her bloom returned, her mind was more composed, and in less than six months after her arrival, she found herself reclining upon the affections of a second husband, a countryman of her own. With this one she resided upwards of a year, and having a strong desire to visit home again, she obtained her husband's consent, and departed on board a steamer, for the land of her early joys and sorrows. As she approached her native shores, her reflections naturally reverted to past scenes, among which those of her first domestic enjoyments were vividly prominent. The form of her lost one rose before her, and mingled in memory with scenes of happiness, like the half-faded images of a golden dream, and a shower of tears attested the sincerity of her emotions. She reached England. What was her astonishment on being informed that her husband, the captain, after boxing the compass over strange seas and strange lands for a couple of years, had returned safe and sound, and was at that moment within the sound of the Bowbells! Her delight was unbounded; she forgot-no, she did not forget her later spouse, but she forthwith sat down and addressed to him an epistle, stating the fact of the return of her first love, and in polite, if not tender strains, assured him |