Empire city, he visited Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and other cities, where his exertions were crowned with success. Now look at the fruit of his labor. He first originated the idea of starting such a journal, he next procured the list of subscribers requisite to sustain it, he then assumed the editorial management of it, and he now commands an influence of which a prince might well be proud, and has an income sufficient to satisfy the demands of his constantly increasing business. Mr. Hunt is a man, a noble man, a reliable man, who never forgets a friend, and never fails to recognise him, whenever or wherever he meets him; for this reason, as well as many others, the writer is glad to see him prosper. Mr. Hunt is not only a very energetic and determined man, but a man of exquisite sensibilities and cultivated taste.

His statistics of trade show that he possesses unfaltering industry-his elaborate essays prove that he wields the pen of a powerful writer. No well appointed counting-room should be without his invaluable magazine; indeed, his list of subscribers and corps of contributors will not suffer in comparison with those of in the United States or the world. He is preany eminently a practical man, of broad understanding, a wise knowledge of mankind, and great tact, governed by extraordinary talents.

N. P. Willis, speaking of him, says:

"Hunt has been glorified in the Hong-Kong Gazette, is regularly complimented by the English mercantile authorities, has every bank in the world for an eager subscriber, every consul, every ship-owner, and navigator; is filed away as

authority in every library, and thought of in half the countries of the world, as early as number three, in their enumeration of distinguished Americans; yet who seeks to do him honor in the city he does honor to?

"The Merchant's Magazine, though a prodigy of perseverance and industry, is not an accidental development of Hunt's energies. He has always been singularly sagacious and original in devising new works and good ones. He was the founder of the first Lady's Magazine, of the first Children's Periodical; he started the American Magazine of Useful and Entertaining Knowledge, compiled the best known collection of American anecdotes, and is an indefatigable writer-the author, among other things, of "Letters about the Hudson." Hunt was a play-fellow of ours in round-jacket days, and we have always looked at him with a reminiscent interest. His luminous, eager eyes, as he goes along the street keenly bent on his errand, would impress any observer with an idea of his genius and determination, and we think it is quite time his earnest head was in the engraver's hand, and his daily passing by a mark for the digite monstrari

I have taken the liberty to copy from the writings of Edgar A. Poe the following sketch of his personal character and appearance.

"He is earnest, eager, combining, in a very singular manner, general coolness and occasional excitability. He is a true friend, and the enemy of no man. His heart is full of the warmest sympathies and charities. No one in New York is more universally popular. He is about five feet, eight inches

in height, well proportioned, complexion dark florid; forehead capacious, chin massive and projecting, indicative (according to Lavater and general experience), of that energy which is, in fact, the chief point in his character; hair light brown, very fine, of a web-like texture, worn long and floating about the face; eyes of wonderful brilliancy and intensity of expression; the whole countenance beaming with sensibility and intelligence. He is married, and about thirty-eight years of age."

Poe's sketch was written about six or seven years ago, and Mr. Hunt must have grown so much older, although there are no indications of it in his face or form. He is now in the prime of life, ripe with experience, with his natural force unabated, as the elasticity of his step, the vigor of his pen, the magic of his voice, and the magnetism of his countenance bear ample testimony.

B. P. SHILLABER.

NOTWITHSTANDING the popularity of Mrs. Partington, and the deep interest manifested by the masses in her present and prospective happiness, there are but few individuals who have an accurate conception of her personal peculiarities, her mode of dress, her physiognomy, her education, her habits of life.

She has been represented as an antique specimen of the feminine gender in petticoats, with a pinch of snuff between her thumb and finger, a pair of spectacles astride her nose, and a mouse-colored parasol in her hand. Now you and your readers will undoubtedly be surprised to hear, that this famous hero, I would say shero, wears pantaloons instead of petticoats —a vest instead of a visite—brogans instead of bootees-and a Kossuth hat in the place of a "kiss-me-quick." Indeed there appears to be more of the masculine than the feminine in her dress, and in her address also. Without any desire to test the credulity of the reader, I assure him, that I have seen the veritable Mrs. Partington late at night, in company with some of our city editors, perambulating the streets. You know enough about the moral character of such men, to form a fair estimate of her standing in that community without any hints from me. She smokes, drinks soda-water, wears men's clothes, and seems fond of the society of men. In politics, she is on the Post,* instead of the fence. She used to carry a handsome Carpet

* One of the editors of the Boston Daily Post.

Bag,* filled with beautiful things, dry-goods, and jewels, besides spicy things and sharp things too numerous to name.

It is pretty generally known, hereabouts, at least, that B. P. Shillaber, a practical printer in this city (Boston), is the author of the quaint, odd, and humorous sayings attributed to Madame Partington.

Mr. Shillaber has, within a few years, won a reputation which some lovers of notoriety would give a dukedom to possess. His strange speeches have been copied in all portions of our country; they have crossed the sea and kindled smiles on faces in foreign lands. There is a wise and humane blending of humor, philosophy, and benevolence, in the short utterances to which this writer has given vitality, which entitle him to a position among those who contribute largely to the fund of human happiness.

Mr. Shillaber was born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, July 12th, 1814. His parents were poor but respectable. They educated their son according to their ability, and permitted him to enter a printing-office at the age of sixteen. In 1832, he paid his first visit to Boston. He did not dream that he could write anything save a weekly letter to his parents. In 1847, however, he made his début with the sobriquet of Mrs. Partington. Soon after that, he awoke one fine morning and found himself famous. Recently a volume of his sayings and songs has been published, to which I refer the reader for specimens of his style. I have room for only one or two para graphs of a later date than the book.

Formerly edited the Carpet Bag.