howl Scoff sneer cheer. strychnine and whisky, and ratsbane and The prologue went off very well, as I hear. No alterations were suggested by the lady to whom it was sent, so far as I know. Sometimes people criticise the poems one sends them, and suggest all 5 For all the good wine, and we're some of it sorts of improvements. Who was that silly body that wanted Burns to alter Scots wha hae,' so as to lengthen the last line thus ?— 'Edward!' Chains and slavery! Here is a little poem I sent a short time since to a committee for a certain celebra 10 beer In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall, Down, down, with the tyrant that masters us all! Long live the gay servant that laughs for us att! The company said I had been shabbily treated, and advised me to charge the tion. I understood that it was to be a 15 committee double, which I did. But as festive and convivial occasion, and or- 'Yours with respect.' logwood I never got my pay, I don't know that it made much difference. I am a very particular person about having all I write printed as I write it. I require to see a proof, a revise, a re-revise, and a double re-revise, or fourth-proof rectified impression of all my productions, especially verse. Manuscripts are such puzzles! Why, I was reading some lines near the end of the last number of this journal, when I came across one beginning The stream flashes by,— Now as no stream had been mentioned, I was perplexed to know what it meant. It proved, on inquiry, to be only a mis-print for 'dream.' Think of it! No wonder 35 so many poets die young. I have nothing more to report at this time, except two pieces of advice I gave to the young women at table. One relates to a vulgarism of language, which I While the neeter still reddens our cups as 40 grieve to say is sometimes heard even they flow? from female lips, the other is of more serious purport, and applies to such as contemplate a change of condition,— matrimony, in fact. The woman who 'calc'lates' is lost. Put not your trust in money, but put your money in trust. The Atlantic Monthly, Dec., 1857. THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, The venturous bark that flings 415 10 The smooth, soft air with pulselike waves No rest that throbbing slave may ask, -15 20 25 But warmed with that unchanging flame See how yon beam of seeming white 35 40 Then mark the cloven sphere that holds 45 54 All at once the horse stood still, Just the hour of the Earthquake shock! 110 There is nothing in New England corresponding at all to the feudal aristocracies of the Old World. Whether it be owing to the stock from which we were derived, or to the practical working of our institutions, or to the abrogation of the technical law of honor,' which draws a sharp line between the personally responsible class of 'gentlemen' and the unnamed multitude of those who are not expected to risk their lives for an abstraction, whatever be the cause, we have no such aristocracy here as that which grew up out of the military systems of the Middle Ages. What our people mean by aristocracy' is merely the richer part of the community, that live in the tallest houses, drive real carriages (not 'kerridges'), kidglove their hands, and French-bonnet their ladies' heads, give parties where the persons who call them by the above title are not invited, and have a provokingly easy way of dressing, walking, talking, and nodding to people, as if they felt entirely at home, and would not be embarrassed in the least, if they met the Governor, or even the President of the United States, face to face. Some of these great folks are really well-bred, some |