thing is honorable, we imply some distinction in its favor. The occupation of a hair-dresser, or of a working tallowchandler, cannot be a matter of honor to any person, to say nothing of a number of other more servile employments. Such descriptions of men ought not to suffer oppression from the state; but the state suffers oppression, if such as they, either individually or collectively, are permitted to rule. In this you think you are combating prejudice, but you are at war with nature." Burke then adds a note, the first portion of which I extract. "Ecclesiasticus, chap. 38, verses 24, 25: The wisdom of a learned man cometh by opportunity of leisure; and he that hath little business shall become wise.' 'How can he get wisdom that holdeth the plough, and that glorieth in the goad; that driveth oxen; and is occupied in their labors; and whose talk is of bullocks?'" You see how eminently suggestive these passages were, of the phrase "Huge paw" of the farmer. So much comment was made on it, that the circumstance I have narrated was fixed in my mind, and I have often thought your praise, when I have contemplated your silence under the attacks made upon you for the use of that unlucky phrase by our deceased friend. Very truly, your obedient, FRANCIS BRINLEY. GENERAL SNOW Has arrived at last, and in pretty good case. He has been preceded by Major Frost and Colonel Below Zero. The General is rather coarse in some of his pastimes, though in the main a pretty good fellow. He pinches the ears, as Napoleon used to do, and he sometimes takes a ma man uncivilly by the nose. Whenever he comes he makes all cheerful, unless he stays too long, and his approach is hailed with the ringing of bells. Old people, however, who remember him seventy years ago, say he begins to fail,—that he has shrunk in point of size, and does not sojourn with us so long as formerly. It is very much to his credit that the children like him, — they surround him on his first appearance and welcome him with shouts. He will probably remain for a couple of months, at which time his old white cloak will need patching—and his coat will be a good deal out at the elbows. If our distant readers do not like allegories, or do not understand them, a plain sentence may better inform them that we have had a snow-storm which has covered the earth a foot or more in depth, and which has so drifted that it has made more banks than monopolies, or monsters. The deposites have been promptly removed from the sidewalks. Our country friends who read "Geoponics," and do them, will have a day's labor, or pastime in breaking out. A cheerful sight it is to see a line of twenty-four yoke of cattle drawing a sled covered with boys, as a ship's bottom with barnacles, so thick that there is not room for another, while twenty red-faced pioneers, with shovels, trace a line through the drifts, or remove their neighbors' landmarks and fences, when the snow is too deep in the road. It is seldom that a Yankee farmer wastes time in joking, but this is an occasion on which he sometimes gives way to that unprofitable pastime. The snow that contracts other things, expands his cheerfulness, and by the time the whitened procession arrives at the mill, the blacksmith's shop, or the meeting-house, there are flying a great many jests and snow-balls, or jokes practical and theoretical. Honest souls! may it be long before ye have to make a road to the grave, and when ye do, may it not be by the way of the grog-shop. A farmer in a deep snow is a patriarch, — his family is like that of Noah shut up in the ark, and the animals are in the barn. He goes to bed while it is snowing, and opens his door in the morning upon a snow-drift, eight feet high, or about a foot taller than himself. He seizes his wooden shovel of his own manufacture, three feet square, and cuts a trench to the wood-pile, and in five minutes he has a rousing fire, and the tea-kettle hanging over it for breakfast. He then digs out to his barn, where he finds the old rooster on the great beam crowing, though half covered with snow. The cattle give him a friendly look, and he returns the salutation. He sets before them, in Bottom's phrase, "a bottle of hay," ("good, sweet hay hath no fellow,") and in five minutes, horses, oxen, cows and yearlings are chewing and grinding, as if for a wager, O fortunatos nimium sua si bona norint. January 1, 1835. This was the last article written by Mr. Holbrook for the Courier. But I cannot withhold a few more extracts from the productions of his muse, when in her happiest and most cheerful humor, though they stand not in the chronological order of their publication. The first of the pieces which follow was written for the carriers of the Courier and Galaxy, as a New-Year's Address, in 1825. It will be understood that the words printed in small capitals are the names of papers then published in Boston, and those in Italics are the names of the editors. Like all Mr. Holbrook's composition, it was struck off with great rapidity, yet it is by no means deficient in ease, and some of the stanzas exhibit a gracefulness of expression, for which many labor but which few acquire. THE FEAST OF THE PAPERS. Songs of Printers, in annual roundelays, Are sung, not to please young nymphs upon holidays, Buckingham offers to open his coffers, And a "ragged ten" proffers; (Parnassian fee!) Wherewith invited, this song I indited, Which, amused and delighted, the reader will see. Now gentle reader, and gentler subscriber, "I had a dream, which was not all a dream,". And the Muse, she shall sing, for your smiles can bribe her, The figures that sported in Fantasy's beam. Once trees could converse, as the poets rehearse, And a bridge patter verse, as in Burns may be found; But I, in a trance, beheld Newspapers dance, And, with bodies, advance to the violin's sound. Methought I was lounging in Hamilton's reading-room, At the bar the Euterpeiad rosined his bow, And the preludes he touched would have charmed Ostinelli; And his trumpet the HERALD refused to blow, Till a dram he decanted, and bolted a jelly. The RECORDER, in black, came up in a hack, Yet out did he pack, when the fiddles begun ; Their music profane inflicted such pain, That he came not again to the reprobate fun. The FARMER a harvest of comfort was reaping; And the BOSTON COMMERCIAL, though seldom caught sleeping, The respectable DAILY, SO hearty and Hale, he The STATESMAN next entered, as merry as any, His conduct was True, and his costume was Greene; On his arm was a beautiful shadow, called "Fanni," In his pocket a bright little "Tea-Pot" was seen. With heathenish name the PALLADIUM came, – Old enough to be tame, wild enough to be Young, And, with smiles at command, and heart in his hand, Took a frolicsome stand, the friskers among. And now, like a CHRISTIAN the REGISTER came Like Death's at Sin, when the supper he saw, And the tables he eyed, as her MIRROR a bride, Or a dollar denied a Limb of the Law. The WEEKLY REPORT now came in, with the CHRONICLE, Both friends and supporters of "Glorious John;" The COURIER'S salute was a little ironical, But decorum prevailed, and the dancing begun. Graceful and gay, they footed away, For care was at bay, and politics barred; And lighter and faster moved madam and master, The dancing a supper magnificent followed,⚫ With science prepared and arranged with taste; Some good things were uttered, and many were swallowed, And, by Phoebus impelled, in rhyme I relate; BARRISTER'S FARE. Dismal and sad are a Barrister's reveries, Without hilarity passes his life; Little he sees of mankind, but their deviltries; |