THE

NICKERBOCKER MAGAZINE,

EDITED BY LOUIS GAYLORD CLARK.

THE number for January, 1854, begins the FORTY-THIRD VOLUME of the KNICKERBOCKER MAGAZINE. In July last we commenced giving sixteen pages more in each umber, thus adding Two Hundred pages a Year to the work.

Since the price of subscription has been reduced from FIVE to THREE DOLLARS a year, the circulation of the KNICKERBOCKER has been increased nearly four to one. In many places ten are sold where there was but one before, and through the year it has been steadily increasing. It is now offered as cheap as any of the Magazines, all things considered. Instead of making new and prodigious promises, we submit a few extracts from notices of late numbers, which we might extend to a number of pages.

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Those familiar with the Editor' monthly Gossip with his readers,' have doubtless, with ourselves, admired the perennial source of its plesant wit and joyousness. In this number The Gossip' holds on its way like some fair rivulet glancing and dancing in the sunshine of a May morning. We used to wonder how Mr. CLARK held out, expecting he must certainly snow brown' in the coming number; but this number gives no sign of exhaustion.-Nainnal Intelligencer, Washington.

Pleasant, genial, delightful Old RNICK. Thy name is a suggestion of all things delectable; the sight of thy modest, fresh cover, a balm to spiritual sore eyes; a glance within thee, best antidote for the blues. Thou hast given to kindly humor, to piquant delineation, and to side-splitting fun, a 'local habitation,' without which they might go wandering over the domain of letters, calling now and then where a friendly door opened to them but refusing to be comforted for the loss of their old dear home.-Courier, Burlington Vi

"The great care evinced in the selection of articles that adorn its pages, is a sufficient guaranty thato contribution meets the eye of the reader but those which are known to be worthy of his perusal. When storms and wild tempests are sweeping o'er our hill-side village in these chill winter hours, and all is drear and desolate without, we ask for no more agreeable companion than the 'KNICKERBOCKER;' for while its contents impart valuable information, its sallies of genuine wit are a sovereign specific for all fits of the blues or attacks of the horrors, and time passes merrily on.'Democrat, Doylestown, Pa.

"The KNICKERBOCKER has been and will be a fact of its own; a genuine living thing, all the more desirable now that the new crop of magazines, filled with articles pirated from English authors, makes fresh home creations more conspicuous and welcome.'-New-York Christian Inquirer.

"No one ever rose from the perusal of the KNICKERBOCKER a disappointed reader. Whatever may have been his anticipations, they have always been rewarded. When he took up a new number, he felt sure of a literary treat; it was no mere showy repast he was invited to. Did he seek the grave or didactic essay, the touching story, poetic gems, or the humorous tale, he was always sure of finding the object of his search. And then, besides, there was the Gossip' of Old KNICK.,' always looked to with eagerness, never put down except with regret that there were not more pages of inimitable random sketches-the Knick-nacks of that repast.'--Courier, Natchez, Miss.

A new Story by the Author of the "ATTORNEY," will commence in the December number. THE FUDGE PAPERS, by Ik Marvel, Author of the Reveries of a Bachelor, Dream Life, &c., &c., will be continued regularly.

Rev. F. W. SHELTON, Author of Letters from Up the River, etc., will be a regular contributor. FITZ-GREENE HALLECK has engaged to furnish poetical contributions from time to time.

The best talent in the country will be enlisted, and no expense or effort spared, to make the KNICKERBOCKER more than ever deserving of the first position among our original American Magazines.

TERMS.-Three Dollars a year, strictly in advance-there will be no deviation from this condition; Two copies for $5 00; Five copies, and upwards, 82 00 each. Booksellers and Postmasters are requested to act as Agents. Those who will undertake to procure subscribers will receive favorable terms. Specimen numbers will be sent gratis on application, post-paid.

INDUCEMENTS FOR CLUBBING.-The KNICKERBOCKER and Harper's, Putnam's, Graham's or Godey's Magazines will be sent one year for FIVE dollars; the KNICKERBOCKER and Home Journal, or any other of the two-dollar weekly papers published in New-York, Philadelphia, or Boston, for FOUR dollars a year.

A copy of the "ATTORNEY," or "HARRY HARSON," will be sent post-paid, to every person who will send a club of ten, and both works to those who send a club of twenty.

POSTAGE.-Two cents per number, prepaid at the office where the work is delivered quarterly in advance.

All remittances and all business communications must be addressed, post-paid, to

SAMUEL HUESTON,

139 Nassau Street, New-York

JOHN went to his child's funeral; but he was very quiet and many who had seen the devotion with which he had watched him while alive, wondered at his calmness. They had expected a heavy out-break of grief; but there was none. He lingered at the grave until the last sod was laid upon it; and then he went away very quietly, though some said he tottered for a moment as he turned to go.

Harry Lindsey joined him as he went home, and quietly slid his hand in his. John started, and turned suddenly, as if he expected to find some one else at his side; but he said nothing: and the boy, too, walked with him in silence. They did not part at the door, but went in together, and sat down by the fire. The room was very still; the little hat and coat still hung on the peg against the wall, and all the marks of the former presence of the child were still there. John looked around wistfully, and then turned to the boy:

'You'll miss little Tom, won't you?' asked he, in a tremulous tone. 'He was very fond of you.'

Harry Lindsey sprang up, and, flinging himself in front of the blacksmith, leaned his head against his knee, and sobbed as if his heart would break. John's own heart was full; and oh! how grateful to him was the love which this child was showing to his own lost boy! He could not speak; but he raised him in his arms and pressed him to his heart; and as the tears, which he vainly tried to keep back, filled his eyes, with his head bowed over him, he swore by the love which he had borne to his own child, to keep the promise he had made to Harry's father, at all hazard and at all cost.

They sat and talked of little Tom, of his ways, and of what he had said and done, and of how gay and patient he was in spite of all his pain, until they both grew quite cheerful and now and then a smile

lighted up the face of John, as in dwelling on the past he forgot the present. As they talked, the sun went down, and night came on. Then the black-smith took Harry by the hand and accompanied him home. As he was parting with him, he said:

'You'll come and see me sometimes, Master Harry, won't you?' The boy sprang up and flung his arms about his neck:

'I will, John, I will.'

The door closed on him, and John set out for home.

A week had passed, and John went to his work as usual; but there was a stern gravity about him, as if he had encased his warmer feelings in iron, resolved to keep them down, although he had at times a weary, care-worn look. Morning, noon, and night, the clink of his hammer was heard. He never broke off from his work as heretofore. His neighbors, who usually assembled about the smithy, kept away, for they felt that beneath his grave exterior there was a great weight of mental sorrow; and so he labored on by himself.

It was a quiet, golden day; not a breath of wind rippled the water of the lake; not a leaf rustled. The smoke of the forge ascended straight upward like a column of dark gray marble, until, high up in the sky, above the smithy, it spread out into a sombre canopy; and there it hung. There was a glistening rime upon the leaves and branches of the trees which spoke of coming winter; but the birds still twittered gaily, for their ice-clad enemy was not upon them yet.

John was busy at his work, too sad at heart to think of the brightness about him, but stern and resolved to bear his trouble with a manly spirit, and to fight the battle of life bravely. He was so intent upon his work that he did not observe a shadow as it darkened his door; nor did he observe the owner of the shadow, who, after standing for a moment watching him, came in and stood within a few feet of him.

He was short and square-built, with light hair, and a bright, open, blue eye, which met your glance freely, fully, and frankly, and had withal such an honest expression that you might have sworn to his sincerity at once from his look alone. Although much younger than John, he was by no means young. He was roughly dressed in stout, strong apparel, and wore a felt hat, carelessly slouched over his face.

He stood some moments watching the smith, as if in doubt how to address him, and perhaps in the hope that John would observe him. But if such were the case he was disappointed, for the black-smith went on with his work, utterly unobservant of his presence.

At last he went up to him and took him by the hand. John started and looked up.

'Dick Bolles ! you here? I'm glad to see you, Dick; indeed I am,' exclaimed he, laying down a heavy hammer which he held, and grasping the hand of the other in both of his own. The stranger shook his hands cordially.

'It's kind of

you, Dick.'

The world's gone hard with you, John,' said he, still holding his hand and looking earnestly in his face. I heard of it only yesterday.' 'Yes, Dick, it has.'

'And little Tom?

'inquired the other.

He did not finish the sentence, but stood looking John full in the face.