• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 15908 0

antagonist, (towards the end of the race), having fallen, shortly after completing his ninth mile. There can be no doubt that Stannard could have run the ten miles within the time stipulated (as he did, easily, in 1835), and thus have secured five hundred, in place of three hundred dollars. He was, no doubt, influenced, in holding back, by the hope of a future bet. I myself did not see the contest; feeling little interest in feats of merely physical strength, or agility, when performed by rational beings. The speed of a horse is sublime — that of a man absurd. I always find myself fancying how very readily he could be beaten by an ass. In the same way, when Herr Kline curvets upon a rope, I say to myself “how any ordinary baboon would turn up its nose at his antics!” Touching the actual feat now in question — ten miles within the hour — I have not only accomplished it myself, but firmly believe that there are at least one thousand men, in our western districts, who could perform, with proper training, twelve, with all ease. The true reason why “ten miles within the hour” is considered a marvel, is to be found in the fact (not generally understood) that the most active men — those in the highest physical condition — are seldom to be met with among “the lower classes” of society — among those who alone ever contend, in public, for the honors of the athletae.

One of the truest curiosities of Gotham, is the great raree-show of Messieurs Tiffany, Young, and Ellis, Broadway, at the corner of Warren. They are very tasteful and industrious importers of the various fancy manufactures of France, England, Germany, and China. Their warehouses are, beyond doubt, the most richly filled of any in America; forming one immense knicknackatory of virtu. The perfumery department is especially rare. I notice, also, particularly, a beautiful assortment of Swiss osier-work; chess-men — some sets costing five hundred dollars; paintings on rice-paper, in books and sheets; tile for fencing ornamental grounds; fine old bronzes and curiosities from the ancient temples; fillogram articles, in great variety; a vast display of bizarre fans; ranging, in price, from sixpence to seventy-five dollars; solid carved ebony and “landscape-marble” chairs, tables, sofas, &c.; apparatus for stamping initials on paper; Berlin iron and “artistique “ candle-sticks, taper-stands, perfume-burners, et cetera, et cetera.

There is little political excitement; or else it lies “too deep for tears” — too profound for ordinary observation. “Polk Houses,” “Polk Oyster Cellars,” and “Polk hats, gloves, and walking-canes,” are already contending with their rivals of Clay. One poor hotel-keeper had half-painted the sign of a “Wright Restaurant”; but the next mail convinced him that Wright was wrong, and so he plastered it over with “Dallas.”

Mr. Harper has failed, I am truly happy to say, in an attempt to stop the running of the Harlaem rail-road cars upon Sunday. There are loud complaints, on the part of the “original Natives,” that the new authorities have made nearly all the appointments from the ranks of the Whigs. There can be no doubt that patriotism (well paid) is a capital thing.

I learn that the “twelve quarto volumes,” embracing a full account of the Exploring Expedition, are very shortly to be given to the public. Never before was so great an outcry in the case of so little wool; never before was so great a tumult for so little accomplished. Let Mr. Wilkes say what he will, the Expedition was a failure. This is the gentleman who picked up, on an iceberg at sea, a few morsels of rock, and brought them home (wrapped in Cotton) as specimens of an Antarctic Continent — after the fashion of the skolastikos in Hierocles. By the examination of these specimens, a committee, appointed by Mr. W., will determine the soil, climate, extent, geological condition, population, governmental policy, religion, and literature of the new country, which is to be entitled “Wilkesland,” after its illustrious discoverer. Why does not some enterprising maker of wooden nutmegs get on board