TWENTY-SECOND, reader; and, _non_-reader, an excellent opportunity for you to commence _your_ subscription,) that one met our noble potronymic 'about town.' How is it _now_? Let the KNICKERBOCKER steamers, bathing-houses, omnibii, restaurants, clubs--aquatic, literary, social, military, scientific, and artistic--and eke the Temperance-halls and root-beer _perambulatories_, make answer! Their reply is triumphant; and yet 'our' children play with the neighbor's children, just the same as if these were not 'parlous facts!' This, however, is one of the tendencies of that republican form of government under which it is our happiness to reside! * * * ARE not these lines of MOTHERWELL very beautiful? Such thoughts have we had a thousand times; and we desire to thank the writer for expressing them for us so well: 'FLOW down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver; No more by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever. Flow softly down, by lawn and lea, A rivulet, then a river: Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever. But here will sigh thine alder-tree, And here thine aspen shiver; And here by thee will hum the bee, For ever and for ever. A hundred suns will stream on thee, A thousand moons will quiver; But not by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever!' * * * * * SMALL game, Mein Herr, of Albany--small game! A 'two-penny dip' would be wasted on it. Our correspondent's critique reminds us of the tailor in Laputa, who being employed in making a suit for the facetious GULLIVER, disdained the vulgar measures of his profession, and took that gentleman's altitude by the help of a quadrant! We can pounce upon _fair_ game, but we cannot 'like French falcons, fly at any thing we see.' Beside, if the satire was 'caviare to the GENERAL' of the '_New-Mirror_,' how should it find a place in _these_ pages? Our friend 'the Brigadier' is a fastidious and a prudent person. Did he not alter a quotation from BYRON, in one of our friend GRAHAM's 'Sketches by a Briefless Lawyer,' wherein '_waistcoat_-pocket' was substituted for that startling indelicacy, '_breeches_-pocket?' Verily, he did! * * * THE following reflections upon the death of friends, and the memories of the departed, which we transcribe from a private letter to the Editor, are too beautiful and true to be confined to one or two readers only: 'I have read the exhortations of PLUTARCH, and SENECA, and JEREMY TAYLOR, and others, all hinging upon the idea that pain and bereavement are natural, necessary, inevitable, in this world of successive bloom and desolation. But pain is to me none the less painful because natural, nor separation less overwhelming for its necessity; nor yet is the blasting of cherished hopes less withering to my heart because the same blight has fallen on the verdure of other hearts, and kindred