magnanimity, humanity, genius, sufferings, and heroism, make all lovers of progress, learning and virtue, rejoice that Fremont's services have been rewarded by high civic honors, exhaustless wealth, and the admiration and gratitude of mankind."

GEO. P. MORRIS, N. P. WILLIS,

JUDGE NOAH, "PETER PARLEY," AND LONGFELLOW.

THE following characteristic article from the pen of Doctor John Ross Dix, was written, at my request, expressly for this volume. I am sure the reader will thank him a thousand times for introducing to the public in such a handsome manner the noted gentlemen whom he so graphically desscribes.

I had been about a week or ten days in the city of New York, when, having got rid of the lassitude which the intense and unaccustomed heat induced, I made arrangements for presenting some of the letters of introduction with which I had been provided in England. Selecting a few from the bundle, I tripped down the steps of the "Astor," and crossing that world-renowned thoroughfare, Broadway, entered the Park, passed by the fountain which played, encircled by rainbows, beneath the bluest of skies and in the clearest of atmospheres, and directed my steps toward Ann street.

Ann street, with its neighbor, Nassau street, may be called the Paternoster Row of New York, since in it there are situated most of the newspaper and periodical publication offices. Over one of these appeared a sign-board, on which were emblazoned in gold letters, the words "Mirror Office," so,

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drawing from my pocket two letters, one of them addressed. to General George P. Morris," and the other to "N. P. Willis, Esq.," I entered the counting-room.

It was a small, square apartment, divided into two portions by an unpainted wooden counter, behind and above which were shelves, on which lay back numbers and bound volumes of the New York Mirror. On the wall, over a stove, were hung proof impressions of some of Mr. Bartlett's Views of American Scenery, and a flaming portrait of an American Eagle, whose beak had "a downward drag austere," and whose claws held a bunch of thunderbolts. Hung about the place were sundry and divers bills, which informed the public that the "New York Mirror"was, far and away, the cheapest and best serial in the whole United States; and some lithographed circulars, which clearly proved that no more profitable mode of investing dollars and cents, than by purchasing the said “Mirror," could by any means be hit upon.

On entering the office I looked round, but perceived no one; yet fancying that a clerk might be in an inner apartment, I rapped on the counter with a dollar piece. Scarcely, however, had the "silver sound" disturbed the quiet of the place, than from behind a railed desk, at the end of the counter, near the window of the office, emerged a bright-eyed, brisk looking little gentleman, who very politely inquired my business.

Let me describe him. He was about five feet two or three inches high, or, perhaps, a few inches more, not much more, however. His face was genial and pleasant. Short, crisp, dark curly hair, thinly streaked with silver threads, encircled a high,

well-formed forehead, beneath which was a pair of bright, twinkling black eyes. The nose was well-shaped, and the mouth and chin cast in delicate moulds, the latter being slightly dimpled. The complexion was fresh and florid; altogether the aspect of the face was decidedly intellectual; not your pseudo-pensive, thoughtful sort of expression-that mock sentimentalism of look which certain young gentlemen, with turndown collars, rejoice in, but a pleasant, vivacious, sparkling Tom Moore-ish look, which at once convinced you that its owner was open-hearted, as well as open-faced. The gentleman, too, had a semi-military air and carriage, albeit, he had by no means a martial figure; and I certainly was rather taken aback, when, in reply to my question whether General Morris was within, he replied with a smile:

"Yes-I am General Morris."

It is not much to be wondered at that I felt some surprise at thus unexpectedly confronting so potent a personage as a great military commander! for it must be remembered that I had not yet been a fortnight in a country where generals, majors and colonels, are rather more numerous than in England. The very title of "General" had conveyed the idea of a tall, pompous soldier, with plumed cap, fierce moustachios, and dangling sabretasch, clad all in scarlet, and glittering with gold. How different the appearance of the rather diminutive gentleman before me, who, instead of a plume, brandished a pen-was surrounded by hot-pressed reams, instead of hotblooded soldiers, and in whose peaceful armory, books superseded bullets.

T

It was not, however, in his military capacity that I now sought the acquaintance of General George P. Morris. Years and years before, both myself and hundreds besides me in "Old England," had, in many a street, lane, and alley, heard from barrel-organs, hurdy-gurdys, bagpipe, and fiddle, aye, and from grand pianos too, played upon by fair fingers, on still summer evenings, as we wandered through quiet squares, the windows of which were half-open to allow the melody to stream through screens formed by flowers and foliage—I say, years before I had heard the General's popular and famous song of "Woodman, spare that Tree," then, little dreaming that I should ever grasp the hand of its author. But so it happened, that no sooner had Morris read Dr. M- -'s letter, than America's best song writer bade me a hearty welcome, and I felt myself at once at home with him.

I do not imagine that General Morris has seen much stern military service, for I believe him to be merely the commanding officer of a militia corps, a very peaceable and harmless body of citizens in general, their operations being confined to occasional musters, parades, and processionizing; after which services they lay aside martial glory, and peaceably repose, on imaginary laurels, in the bosom of their affectionate families. His, has been almost exclusively a literary life, and, like all other writers for the public press, he has experienced vicissitudes. Employed more as a journalist than as a poet, he has not been very copious of verse, but such works as have proceeded from his pen are highly popular. He has been called the Tom Moore of America, but such a title is not just, for in