the admiration of all present. While her most gracious Majesty was taking her fill, the Archbishop of Canterbury sucked at the barley-sugar; the Lord Bishop of London ate a beef sandwich; the Duchess of Kent bolted a water cress; the Duke of Wellington pocketed a radish; the Marquis of Westminster nibbled the cheese; and the squibs and crackers in the parks proclaimed to the popuface without that the 'raree show' was over.'

We can imagine, we think, with what gusto a noisy London populace, on a gala day, with a double capacity for fun and drink, must have received this programme of the royal procession, for an American copy of which we are indebted to that clever sporting, theatrical, and literary weekly journal, the New-York 'Spirit of the Times.'

EARLIEST EDITION OF THE 'PILGRIMS' PROGRESS.'-What would you not give, reader, to be able to say with us, that you had seen a copy of the earliest known edition of the 'Pilgrims' Progress,' 'that curious book of BUNYAN'S,' with its uncouth typography, and its rude wood-cuts, reflecting little credit upon the 'printing-house' of 'NATH. PONDER, at the Peacock in the Poultry, over against the Stocks-Market,' and still less upon the art of celature, in those days of old? What an Apollyon Christian has here to encounter! No marvel he was dismayed, if this picture is from the original portrait.' The Tions that were in the way,' look like centaurs, and the 'delectable mountains' any thing but beautiful. But the matter is the same. That is indeed delectable. How many millions have gone down to darkness and the grave, since the pages before us were printed, strengthened thereby to pass calmly through the dark valley, and over the last river, as did Christian and Faithful, and rejoicing in the hope of walking like them with the shining ones,' amid the glories of the celestial city! Bunyan was at once the Socrates and the Franklin (or Peter Parley,) of religious authors. The inward sunshine which dissipated the gloom of his prison, beams throughout his works, and his style was the perfection of its class. How well we remember the first perusal of the 'Pilgrims' Progress! Next to Webster's Spelling-Book, and the Bible, it was the first volume we ever devoured. Never was such a favorite. We remember, even now, 'the topography of its blots and dog's ears,' and its thousand defacements, of margin and text, from long use, and the soilings of thumb-and-finger upon its coarse pictures, especially the popular ones of the Hobgoblins, and Christian's escape from 'Doubting Castle,' what time Giant Despair stood powerless and scowling in his door, with his 'grievous crab-tree cudgel,' no longer terrible, upraised in his faltering hand. The good biographer of the pilgrims was accused, it should seem, of plaigiarism, after the publication of the first edition, to which charge he replies in verse:

'It came from mine own heart, so to my head,
And thence into my fingers trickled;
Then to my pen, from whence immediately
On paper I did dripple it daintily.'

We see mention made, in an advertisement contained in this volume, of other works of BUNYAN which have not, to our knowledge, floated down the tide of time to this godless generation. Who has ever read 'The Life and Death of Mr. BADMAN, presented to y World in a Familiar Dialogue between Mr. WISEMAN and Mr. ATTENTIVE, by JOHN BUNYAN?' — or his 'Book for Boys and Girls, or Country Rhimes for children?' If any of our readers possess a copy of either of these works we crave the pleasure of its perusal. Reading and writing did not come by nature, we perceive, in the days of Bunyan. One calls the attention of the London public to his 'copy-book, enriched with great variety of the most useful and modish hands, adorned with a whole alphabet of great letters, composed of divers new-devised knots, and beautified with many other curious shapes and flourishes, fitted for the profit and delight of ingenious youth, and peradventure not heretofore practised in any other copy-book; together with practical writing, or round hand, now in use, whereby any youth may attain unto this commendable hand, with great delight and ease.' What an elaborate fuss about a small copy-slip!

SAMUEL SLICK.— A second series of 'The Clock-Maker, or the Sayings and Doings of SAMUEL SLICK, of Slickville,' has just been issued, in a volume of some two hundred pages, by Messrs. CAREY, LEA AND BLANCHARD, Philadelphia. It is to the full as lively and entertaining as the first, which acquired such general popularity, both abroad and at home. We are compelled to limit our numerous selections to a single extract, describing an 'oily man of God,' who cared more for the fleece than the spiritual welfare of his flock:

I recollect when I was last up to Albama, to one of the new cities lately built there, I was awalkin' one mornin' airly out o' town to get a leetle fresh air, for the weather was so plaguy sultry I could hardly breathe a'most, and I see a most splendid location there near the road; a beautiful white two-story house with a grand virandah runnin' all round it, painted green, and green vernitions to the winders, and a white palisade fence in front, lined with a row of Lombardy poplars, and two rows of 'em leadin' up to the front door, like two files of sodgers with fixt bagonuts; each side of the avenue was a grass plot, and a beautiful image of Adam stood in the centre of one on 'em; and of Eve, with a fig-leaf apron on, in t'other, made of wood by a native artist, and painted so nateral no soul could tell 'em from stone.

The avenue was all planked beautiful, and it was lined with flowers in pots and jars, and looked a touch above common, I tell you. While I was astoppin' to look at it, who should drive by but the milkman with his cart. Says I, stranger, says I, I suppose you do n't know who lives here, do you? I guess you are a stranger, said he, ain't you? Well, says I, I do n't exactly know as I ain't, but who lives here? The Rev. Ahab Meldrum, said he, I reckon. Ahab Meldrum, said I, to myself; I worder if it can be the Ahab Meldrum I was to school with to Slickville, to minister's, when we was boys. It can't be possible it's him, for he was fitter for a State's prisoner than a State's preacher, by a long chalk. He was a poor stick to make a preacher on, for minister could n't beat nothin' into him a'most, he was so cussed stupid; but I'll see any how: so I walks right through the gate and raps away at the door, and a tidy, well-rigged nigger help opens it, and shows me into a'most an elegant furnished room. I was most darnted to sit down on the chars, they were so splendid, for fear I should spile 'm. There was mirrors and vases, and lamps, and picturs, and crinkum crankums, and notions of all sorts and sizes in it. It looked like a museum a'most, it was filled with such an everlastin' sight of curiosities.

The room was considerable dark too, for the blinds was shot, and I was skear'd to move for fear o' doin' mischief. Presently in comes Ahab slowly sailin' in, like a boat droppin' down stream in a calm, with a pair o' purple slippers on, and a figured silk dressin'-gound, and carrying a'most a beautiful-bound book in his hand. May I presume, says he, to inquire who I have the onexpected pleasure of seeing this mornin'? If you'll gist throw open one o' them are shutters, says I, I guess the light will save us the trouble of axin' names. I know who you be by your voice any how, tho it's considerable softer than it was ten years ago. I'm Sam Slick, says 1, what's left o' me at least. Verily, said he, friend Samuel, I'm glad to see you; and how did you leave that excellent man and distinguished scholar, the Rev. Mr. Hopewell, and my good friend your father? Is the old gentleman still alive? if so, he must anow be ripe-full of years as he is full of honors. Your mother, I think I heer'd, was dead - gathered to her fathers- peace be with her! she had a good and kind heart. I loved her as a child: but the Lord taketh whom he loveth. Ahab, says I, I have but a few minutes to stay with you, and if you think to draw the wool over my eyes, it might perhaps take you a longer time than you are athinking on, or than I have to spare; there are some friends you 've forgot to inquire after tho' - there 's Polly Bacon and her little boy.

Spare me, Samuel, spare me, my friend, says he; open not that wound afresh, I beseech thee. Well, says I, none o' your nonsense then; show me into a room where I can spit and feel to home, and put my feet upon the chairs without adamagin' things, and I'll sit and smoke and chat with you a few minutes; in fact I don't care if I stop and breakfast with you, for I feel considerable peckish this mornin'. Sam, says he, atakin' hold of my hand, you were always right up and down, and as straight as a shingle in your dealin's. I can trust you I know, but mind and he put his fingers on his lips mum is the word; bye gones are bye gones-you would n't blow an old chum among his friends, would you? I scorn a nasty, dirty, mean action, says I, as I do a nigger. Come, foller me, then, says he; and he led me into a back room, with an oncarpeted painted floor, furnished plain, and some shelves in it, with books and pipes, and cigars, pig-tail and what not. Here's liberty-hall, said he; chew, or smoke, or spit as you please; do as you like here; we'll throw off all resarve now; but mind that cursed nigger; he has a foot like a cat, and an ear for every keyhole-don't talk too loud.

-

'Well, Sam, said he, I'm glad to see you too, my boy; it puts me in mind of old times. Many's the lark you and I have had together in Slickville, when old Hunks(it made me start, that he meant Mr. Hopewell, and it made me feel kinder dandry at him, for I would n't let any one speak disrespectful of him afore me for nothin' I know,)-when old Hunks thought we was abed. Them was happy days-the days o' light heels and light hearts. I often think on 'em, and think on 'm too with pleasure. Well, Ahab, says I, I don't gist altogether know as I do; there are some things we might gist as well a'most have left alone, I reckon; but what's done is done, that's a fact. A hem! said he so loud, I looked round and I seed two niggers bringin' in the breakfast, and a grand ene it was tea and coffee and Indgian corn cakes, and hot bread and cold bread, fish, fowl, and flesh, roasted, boiled, and fried; presarves, pickles, fruits; in short, every thing a'most you could think on. You need n't wait, said Ahab, to the blacks; I'll ring for you, when I want you; we 'll help ourselves.

"Well, when I looked around and see this critter alivin' this way, on the fat o' the land, up to his knees in clover like, it did pose me considerable to know how he worked it so cleverly, for he was thought always, as a boy, to be rather more than half onder-baked, considerable soft-like. So, says I, Ahab, says I, I calculate you 're like the cat we used to throw out of minister's garrat-winder, when we was aboardin' there to school. How so, Sam? said he. Why, says I, you always seem to come on your feet some how or another. You have got a plaguy nice thing of it here; that's a fact, and no mistake (the critter had three thousand dollars a year,) how on airth did you manage it? I wish in my heart I had ataken up the trade o' preachin' too; when it does hit, it does capitally,

that's sartain. Why, says he, if you'll promise not to let on to any one about it, I'll tell you. I'M keep dark about it, you may depend, says I. I'm not a man that can't keep nothin' in my gizzard, but go right off and blart out all I hear. I know a thing worth two o' that, I guess. Well, says he, it's done by a new rule I made in grammar - the feminine gender is more worthy than the neuter, and the neuter more worthy than the masculine; gist soft sawder the women. It 'taint every man will let you tickle him; and if you do, he 'll make faces at you enough to frighten you into fits; but tickle his wife, and it's electrical - he'll laugh like any thing. They are the forred wheels, start them, and the hind ones foller of course. Now it's mostly women that 'tend meetin' here; the men-folks have their politics and trade to talk over, and what not, and ain't time; but the ladies go considerable rigular, and we have to depend on them, the dear critters. I gist lay myself out to get the blind side o' them, and I sugar and gild the pill so as to make it pretty to look at and easy to swaller. Last Lord's day, for instance, I preached on the death of the widder's son. Well, I drew such a pictur of the lone watch at the sick bed, the patience, the kindness, the tenderness of wo men's hearts, their forgiving disposition (the Lord forgive me for saying so, tho,' for if there is a created critter that never forgives, it's a woman; they seem to forgive a wound on their pride, and it skins over, and looks all healed up like, but touch 'em on the sore spot ag'n, and see how cute their memory is)- their sweet temper, soothers of grief, dispensers of joy, ministrin' angels — make all the virtues of the feminine gender always-then I wound up with a quotation from Walter Scott. They all like poetry, the ladies do, and Shakspeare, Scott, and Byron are amazin' favorites; they go down much better than them old-fashioned staves o' Watts.

Ob woman, in our hour of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shada

By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou.'

If I did n't touch it off to the nines, it's a pity. I never heerd you preach so well, says one, since you was located here. I drew from natur', says I, a sqezin' of her hand. Nor never so touchin' says another. You know my moddle, says I, lookin' spooney on her. I fairly shed tears, said a third; how often have you drawn them from me? says I. So true, says they, and so nateral, and truth and natur' is what we call eloquence. I feel quite proud, says I, and considerable elated, my admired sisters-for who can judge so well as the ladies of the truth of the description of their own virtues? I must say I felt somehow kinder inadequate to the task, too, I said for the depth and strength and beauty of the female heart passes all understandin'.

'When I left 'em I heard 'em say, ain't he a dear man, a feelin' man, a sweet eritter, a'most a splendid preacher; none o' your mere moral lecturers, but a rael right down genuine gospel preacher. Next day I received to the tune of one hundred dollars in cash, and fifty dollars produce, presents from one and another. The truth is, if a minister wants to be popular, he should remain single, for then the galls all have a chance for him; but the moment he marries, he's up a tree; his flint is fixed then; you may depend it's gone goose with him arter that; that's a fact. No, Sam; they are the pillars of the temple, the dear little critters, perhaps you ain't got yet, and it may be some use to righted colonists in the outlandish British provinces. Pocket, you mean, instead of head, I guess, said I; it's a pity.'

And I'll give you a wrinkle for your horn, you when you go down atradin' with the beThe road to the head lies through the heart. and if you don't travel that road full chissel,

The publishers should have had more regard to the externals of paper and printing, in this little volume. Both are indifferent.

PORTRAITURE. - Having heretofore called the attention of our citizens to the merits of Mr. C. G. THOMPSON, a young and gifted artist, then newly arrived among us, it affords us pleasure to state, that the predictions which we ventured in his behalf, have been amply sustained by his continued improvement and success. Among his more recent efforts, is a full-length portrait of Rev. CYRUS MASON, of the New-York University. The likeness is striking, and the position, lights, etc., boldly chosen, and effectively rendered. The subject is clad in his clerical robes, and is in the act of speaking, with one hand on a book, and the other extended, and felicitously arrested, in mid-motion. The back-ground is chaste and imposing. A massive Grecian column, in admirable relief, supports a rich drapery of silk. The head stands clearly out against an opening of the sky, as if after a gentle summer shower; the hands are well drawn and finished. The minor adjuncts, the table, with its covering of rich purple velvet, the books upon it, the Persian carpet, etc., are well depicted. In the accessories of his pictures, Mr. THOMPSON exhibits good taste, and graceful execution. Another portrait, of a distinguished lady, which we saw at the studio of our artist, in the University, may be mentioned as in point. The back-ground is an Italian twilight scene, bounded by a distant view of mountain and lake, relieved in the fore-ground by an Etruscan vase, surmounted with a mythological figure. The chair is an elaborate antique; and on the left of the picture, an ornamental staircase, with statuary, opens down upon a near river. A correct eye, refined taste, and continued study, will win for this artist a high and enduring reputation.

MR. CATHERWOOD'S PANORAMAS. - We have already briefly alluded to the panorama of Jerusalem, near Broadway, in Prince-street, but are again impelled, by a desire that the reader may share with us the great pleasure to be derived from this superb specimen of art, again to call public attention to the exhibition. Nothing like it has ever been seen in this country. The illusion, from the correctness of the drawings, the natural coloring, and the immense extent of a complete and boundless horizon, is perfect. Aside from its value, as an elaborate picture of modern Jerusalem, 'and all the country round about,' the sacred associations which it continually awakens, in all its points, are of the most interesting character. There, in the beautiful language of a gifted daughter of song:

'Judea's mountains lift their voice,

With legends of the Saviour fraught,
And favored Olivet, so oft

In midnight's prayerful vigil sought;
And Kedron's brook, whose liquid wave
Frequent his weary feet did lave.

'And sad Gethsemane, whose dews

Shrank from that moisture strangely red,
Which, in that unwatched hour of pain,

His agonizing temples shed:

The scourge, the thorn, whose anguish sore,
Like an unanswering lamb he bore.'

The panorama of the Falls of Niagara, in the same edifice, will soon give place, as we learn, to an accurate and beautiful picture of Mexico.

COMPLIMENTARY BENEFIT TO MR. SIMPSON. Arrangements are making to give a complimentary benefit to Mr. SIMPSON, of the Park Theatre, in the course of the present month. We unite cordially in this testimonial to one who has not only 'done much to sustain the character of the drama among us,' but who has also, by his upright character as a gentleman, and his excellent qualities of head and heart, won the respect and esteem of all who have the pleasure of his acquaintance, in private life. If but a moïety of his friends find admission to the establishment over which he has so long and so successfully presided, on the occasion to which we have alluded, the house will be filled from pit to dome.

THE DRAMA.—The dramatic season opens brilliantly, and we shall keep the reader advised, with the aid of our accomplished dramatic reporter, of every thing worthy of especial mention, at the different establishments. At the PARK, the ever-welcome and never tiresome POWER, the very soul of nature and of humor, has already made his bow. He brings out a variety of new plays, written expressly for him. He will be followed by Mr. and Mrs. MATTHEWS, (late Madame VESTRIS,) and other eminent performers. Two new pieces, by the accomplished and successful Brothers SARGEANT, are also soon to be brought out at the Park. The National opened with FORREST, who is to be succeeded by Miss SHIREFF, Mr. VANDENHOFF and daughter, and several other 'stars' of magnitude. BooтH is drawing crowded houses at the OLYMPIC, and the 'little FRANKLIN' is succeeding beyond past example, under the judicious and liberal management of Mr. DINNEford.

NATIONAL DEFENCE. - We ask attention to the article upon this theme, in the present number. The subject is one of vast importance. National strength is indispensable to the preservation of national independence and character. What would Great Britain have been, had she adopted temporary expedients, in this matter, and given ear to hesitating and timid councils? Would she have been, as now, the only shield in Europe between liberty and despotism? Or is it not reasonable, rather, to suppose, that she would long ago have been a mere degraded province of France?

EPIGRAM. - Some facetious paragraphist, in a sister city, having publicly stated that the pretty little song of our friend Colonel MORRIS, of the 'New-York Mirror' weekly journal, entitled 'Woodman, Spare that Tree,' had been translated into a dozen foreign languages, another wag has responded to the joke, in the following epigram, which is very clever, yet hints at fractures of old Priscian's sconce, which, we have pleasure in stating, the author of the song in question did not make :

In German, French, Italian, Spanish, Greek,

"T is said that Woodman, Spare that Tree' is sung: Oh that some learned philologist would seek

To give it to us in the English tongue!'

There is an old song of THOMAS CAMPBELL's, which, as well as CHORLEY'S 'Brave Old Oak,' so admirably sung by Mr. HENRY RUSSELL, has often forcibly reminded us of the original theme of the above epigram. It is entitled 'Woodman, Spare that Beechen Tree,' and is a petition in behalf of an aged beech, that it may be left to stand where it has stood so long sheltering playful childhood under its boughs, hearing the 'vows of truth and rapture, from youthful lovers, and bearing upon its venerable trunk 'many a long-forgotten name,' once carved there in the light-hearted gayety of boyhood. We scarcely remember any lines of CAMPBELL more pathetic and beautiful.

'MAD DOG! MAD DOG!'- Many a noble and generous animal has fallen, in this metropolis, since Sirius'gan to rage, the present season, and full many along with them, doubtless, who richly deserved their fate — vicious dogs, and 'dogs of low degree.' Hydrophobia demands severe measures of prevention, since its cure is yet a desideratum. A fine or tax, however, on all unmuzzled dogs, at large during the dog-days, would be a more humane, and we should think equally effective, method of keeping them secure from doing or receiving harm. Some years since, we remember, a petition was presented to the Vermont legislature, to lay a general tax on dogs; whereat a friend to the canine race evinced his regard for their interests, in the subjoined squib, which contains a pleasant satire upon those politicians whose principles are the most convenient thing about them:

THE 'NEW-YORKER.' We have had occasion, heretofore, to speak of the many merits of this excellent and widely-circulated weekly journal. It is no small recommendation of the handsomely-executed quarto, that, unlike some of its contemporaries, of less merit and more pretension, it is not printed three weeks beforehand, in order to be 'out early,' but presents the latest literary selections and intelligence, an important feature with the reader. It has acquired its popularity, not by exaggerated and rever