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metaphysicians, travellers, Empedocleses, spies, the various societies for promoting Rhinothism, Columbuses, Yankees, discoverers, and men of science, who present themselves to the mind as so many marks of interrogation wandering up and down the world, or sitting in studies and laboratories. The second class I should again subdivide into four. In the first subdivision I would rank those who have an itch to tell us about themselves, -as keepers of diaries, insignificant persons generally, Montaignes, Horace Walpoles, autobiographers, poets. The second includes those who are anxious to impart information concerning other people,-as historians, barbers, and such. To the third belong those who labor to give us intelligence about nothing at all,—as novelists, political orators, the large majority of authors, preachers, lecturers, and the like. In the fourth come those who are communicative from motives of public benevolence, -as finders of mares’-nests and bringers of ill news. Each of us two-legged fowls without feathers embraces all these subdivisions in himself to a greater or less degree, for none of us so much as lays an egg, or incubates a chalk one, bụt straightway the whole barn-yard shall know it by our cackle or our cluck. Omnibus hoc vitium est. There are different grades in all these classes. One will turn his telescope toward a back-yard, another toward Uranus; one will tell you that he dined with Smith, another that he supped with Plato. In one particular, all men may be considered as belonging to the first grand division, inasmuch as they all seem equally desirous of discovering the mote in their neighbor's eye.

To one or another of these species every human being may safely be referred. I think it beyond a peradventure that Jonah prosecuted some inquiries into the digestive apparatus of whales, and that Noah sealed up a letter in an empty bottle, that news in regard to him might not be wanting in case of the worst. They had else been super or subter human. I conceive, also, that, as there are certain persons who continually peep and pry at the keyhole of that mysterious door through which, sooner or later, we all make our exits, so there are doubtless ghosts fidgetting and fretting on the other side of it, because they have no means of conveying back to this world the scraps of news they have picked up in that. For there is an answer ready somewhere to every question, the great law of give and take runs through all nature, and if we see a hook, we may be sure that an eye is waiting for it. I read in every face I meet a standing advertisement of information wanted in regard to A. B., or that the friends of C. D. can hear something to his disadvantage by application to such a one.

It was to gratify the two great passions of asking and answering that epistolary correspondence was first invented. Letters (for by this usurped title epistles are now commonly known) are of several kinds. First, there are those which are not letters at all,

-as letters-patent, letters dimissory, letters inclosing bills, letters of administration, Pliny's letters, letters of diplomacy, of Cato, of Mentor, of Lords Lyttelton, Chesterfield, and Orrery, of Jacob Behmen, Seneca (whom St. Jerome includes in his list of sacred writers), letters from abroad, from sons in college to their fathers, letters of marque, and letters generally, which are in nowise letters of mark. Second, are real letters, such as those of Gray, Cowper, Walpole, Howel, Lamb, D. Y., the first letters from children, (printed in staggering capitals,) Letters from New York, letters of credit, and others, interesting for the sake of the writer or the thing written. I have read also letters from Europe by a gentleman named Pinto, containing some curious gossip, and which I hope to see collected for the benefit of the curious. There are, besides, letters

addressed to posterity,---as epitaphs, for example, written for their own monuments by monarchs, whereby we have lately become possessed of the names of several great conquerors and kings of kings, hitherto unheard of and still unpronounceable, but valuable to the student of the entirely dark ages. The letter which St. Peter sent to King Pepin in the year of grace 755, that of the Virgin to the magistrates of Messina, that of St. Gregory Thaumaturgus to the D-1, and that of this last-mentioned active police-magistrate to a nun of Girgenti, I would place in a class by themselves, as also the letters of candidates, concerning which I shall dilate more fully in a note at the end of the following poem. At present; sat prata biberunt. Only, concerning the shape of letters, they are all either square or oblong, to which general figures circular letters and round-robins also conform themselves.-H. W.]

DEER SIR its gut to be the fashun now to rite letters to the candid 8s and i wus chose at a publick Meetin in Jaalam to du wut wus nessary fur that town. i writ to 271 ginerals and gut ansers to 209. tha air called candid 8s but I don't see nothin candid about em. this here 1 wich I send wus thought satty's factory. I dunno as it's ushle to print Poscrips, but as all the ansers I got hed the saim, I sposed it wus best. times has gretly changed. Formaly to knock a man into a cocked hat wus to use him up, but now it ony gives him a chance fur the cheef madgustracy.—H. B.

DEAR SIR,—You wish to know my notions

On sartin pints thet rile the land;

There's nothin' thet my natur so shuns

Ez bein' mum or underhand;
I'm a straight-spoken kind o' creetur

Thet blurts right out wuts in his head,
An' ef I've one pecooler feetur,

It is a nose thet wunt be led.

So, to begin at the beginnin',

An' come direcly to the pint,
I think the country's underpinnin'

Is some consid'ble out o' jint;
I aint agoin' to try your patience

By tellin' who done this or thet, I don't make no insinooations,

I jest let on I smell a rat.

Thet is, I mean, it seems to me so,

But, ef the public think I'm wrong, I wunt deny but wut I be so,

An', fact, it don't smell very strong ; My mind's tu fair to lose its balance

An’ say wich party hez most sense ; There may be folks o' greater talence

Thet can't set stiddier on the fence."

I'm an eclectic; ez to choosin'

'Twixt this an' thet, I'm plaguy lawth; I leave a side thet looks like losin',

But (wile there's doubt) I stick to both ; I stan' upon the Constitution,

Ez preudunt statesmun say, who've planned A way to git the most profusion

O'chances ez to ware they'll stand.

Ez fer the war, I go agin it,

I mean to say I kind o' du,

Thet is, I mean thet, bein' in it,

The best way wuz to fight it thru; Not but wut abstract war is horrid,

I sign to thet with all my heart, — But civlyzation doos git forrid

Sometimes upon a powder-cart. About thet darned Proviso matter

I never hed a grain o' doubt, Nor I aint one my sense to scatter

So'st no one couldn't pick it out; My love fer North an' South is equil,

So I'll jest answer plump an' frank,No matter wut may be the sequil, —

Yes, Sir, I am agin a Bank.
Ez to the answerin' o' questions,

I'm an off ox at bein' druv,
Though I aint one thet ary test shuns

'll give our folks a helpin' shove; Kind o’ promiscoous I go it

Fer the holl country, an' the ground
I take, ez nigh ez I can show it,

Is pooty gen’ally all round.
I don't appruve o'givin' pledges ;

You'd ough' to leave a feller free,
An’ not go knockin' out the wedges

To ketch his fingers in the tree; Pledges air awfle breachy cattle

Thet preudunt farmers don't turn out,Ez long 'z the people git their rattle,

Wut is there fer’m to grout about ?

Ez to the slaves, there's no confusion

In my idees consarnin' them,

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