the thronged streets of New York, that he saw nothing but his boots, yet few of the quick young eyes of the crowd see more than he does, for he searches to the very bottom of everything, and penetrates all with a mere glance.

Solon Robinson is a true specimen of Yankee character, and possesses great versatility of talent. He could build a ship or a log-cabin-write a philippic or a sermon-" set the table in a roar," or draw tears from a "full house." His nature is an odd compound of seriousness and mirth. His voice is soft enough for a parlor and quiet conversation, or full, clear, and distinct enough, when he speaks in the open air, for thousands of people to hear him. His eyes are blue, but very sharp; his hair was of a soft dark brown, and skin fair, in all of which he resembles his mother, as well as in form and stature.

His nature is truthful and candid—if he likes you, you will know it if he does not, you will not long remain in doubt as to the fact. He is too plain and blunt ever to be personally popular. The vicious will always hate him. Those who read his book will see that he is no friend to Vice, particularly that which makes the world vicious-the Rum Traffic. is to build up (not to pull down) society to his own level.

His aim

His versatility of talent has surprised a good many people. They have wondered that a man who could write so well upon farming, could give such graphic reports as he does every week of the cattle and horse markets of New York, should also have the power to draw tears from the million with the story of "Little Katy." They think, perhaps, as one did of old, "How can he get wisdom that holdeth the plow, and that

glorieth in the goad, that driveth oxen, and is occupied in their labors, and whose talk is of bullocks; who giveth his mind to make furrows, and is diligent to give the kine fodder."

Yet the subject of this sketch has got all the wisdom he possesses, amid just such scenes and occupations, for he was born and has always lived amid the green fields, and has followed after the plow and led the kine until within a few years past, and has not yet done talking of bullocks, having made the reports of the New York Cattle Market a prominent feature in the Tribune.

Solon Robinson was born October 21st, 1803, about a mile south of the village of Tolland, Connecticut. His father, whose name was Jacob, the son and grandson of Jacob, and lineal descendant of James, the Puritan, whose son came over with the Pilgrims, was born in Scotland parish, a few miles east of the scene of the great bull-frog fight, or fright, which has made their native town of Windham wide-world renowned.

Solon's mother was Salinda Ladd, of Coventry. His father, a small farmer on the hard lands of that part of the state, and a cooper, died when Solon, the fourth son, was about six years old, and his mother, who had one son a week after her husband's death, found herself, as many a widow has, obliged to sell everything to pay debts, and to put her boys out to places with farmers, who would teach them to hold the plow and talk of bullocks.

After a second marriage, and a sixth son, she died, and his three eldest brothers subsequently, with a similar pulmonary complaint. Solon, himself, has several times been "given up

by the doctors" with the same complaint. Once he was cured by electricity-once by cold water.

His education was just such as might be expected in the old school house, at the corner of the cross roads, where he attended at irregular intervals. At fourteen he closed this course of study with ability to spell the hard words of Noah Webster's spelling-book and to write his name in a good round hand.

After that he went to learn the trade of a carpenter; his master found him exceedingly useful when an old roof was to be mended or a new one built. This work he was compelled to quit because he had not sufficient strength, but the knowledge gained by it he found very useful in after life, especially during his log-cabin experiences in the West.

He then, like many other Yankee boys went peddling, and after many and various other avocations wrote some graphic papers in the Albany Cultivator, which attracted much attention. For several years he has been connected with the press in the city of New York, and is now the associate, on the Tribune, of Horace Greeley and C. A. Dana.

Of the former it is needless to say anything in praise, and scarcely is it so of Mr. Dana, who is one of the most accomplished of American editors, and who has done much to raise the Tribune to its present high position. The Hot Corn stories have made their author a celebrity, and with Mrs. Stowe, and a few more favored writers, Solon Robinson enjoys a reputation more extensive, perhaps, than that of any other living sketcher of men and manners.

JOHN ROSS DIX

Is one of the most fluent and forcible writers in America, and having made his mark on the present age by the productions of his classic pen, I will endeavor to gratify the general reader by inserting the following "off-hand" sketch, which was written by me for an editorial friend at a time when family afflictions incapacitated him for superintending the management of his paper. Mr. Dix is a native of Bristol England, and now editor of the "Waverley Magazine," published in Boston :

In this issue of our paper we close the interesting series of articles entitled "Passages from the History of a Wasted Life.” They have been to the "Life Boat" what the thrilling tale of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was to the "National Era." Our readers will be delighted to know that our enterprising and excellent fellow-townsman, B. B. Mussey Esq., has made arrangements with the distinguished author of this truthful narrative to publish it forthwith, so that its appreciating admirers, and others, may have it in a more beautiful and a less ephemeral form. During the many years that we have been connected with the press, nothing has appeared in the columns of our Temperance Journals, whose melting pathos, sparkling poetry, earnest air, and laughing humor, have

created such a sensation in the great circle of Temperance readers.

The magnificent poem entitled "To-Morrow," which appeared in last week's paper, is a perfect gem; and stamps its author as a man of rare genius. Indeed, there is so much feeling and passion in these lines, we seem to feel the pulsations of the heart out of which they throbbed—and see the radiant light of the cultured brain that conceived them.

It is not a matter of astonishment that such an eminent man as Lucius M. Sargent, who stands at the head of Temperance literature in this country, should volunteer his approval of the work in question. From all quarters the same verdict is rendered by disinterested parties; even the enemies of our common cause admire the thrilling style and truthful history of our author. Here it may not be amiss to say, that this inimitable series of sketches is not the maideneffort of our highly esteemed friend and correspondent.

His prolific pen, like a match ignited by friction, has blazed through many folios. He is the author of the "Pen and Ink Sketches"-"Loiterings in and about Boston "—" Life of John B. Gough"-" Pen Portraits of English Preachers," and perhaps a dozen other different works.

Doubtless, our readers would be gratified with a personal sketch of one, in whose remarkable history they have been so intensely interested. We were on the point of mentioning his name; but, as we are not authorized to take that liberty, we will proceed by saying, our author is a well-formed man of common stature-rather slender-of the nervous bilious