He held his snuff-box,-" Now then, if you pleaso !" Woman! thy falchion is a glittering eye; If death lurks in it, oh, how sweet to die! 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 criticize the poems one sends them, and suggest all 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 celebration. I understood that it was to be a festive and convivial occasion, and ordered myself accordingly. It seems the president of the day was what is called a "teetotaller." 1 received a note from him in the following words, containing the copy subjoined, with the emendations annexed to it. "Dear Sir,-your poem gives good satisfaction to the committee. The sentiments expressed with ref erence to liquor are not, however, those generally entertained by this community. I have therefore con sulted the clergyman of this place, who has made some slight changes, which he thinks will remove all objections, and keep the valuable portions of the poem. Please to inform me of your charge for said poem. Our means are limited, etc., etc., etc. "Yours with respect." HERE IT IS, WITH THE slight alteRATIONS! Come! fill a fresh bumper,-for why should we go logwood While the nectar still reddens our cups as they flow? decoction Pour out the rich juices still bright with the sun, dye-stuff Till o'er the brimmed crystal the rubies shall run. half-ripened apples The purple glebed-clusters their life-dews have bled; How sweet is the breath of the fragrance-they-shed-! For summer's last-roses lie hid in the wines stable-boys smoking long-nines. That were garnered by maidene who laughed through the vines. Then a smile, and a glass, and a toast, and a eheer, strychnine and whiskey, and ratsbane and beer For all the geed wine, and we're some of it here! In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall, Down, down, with the tyrant that masters us all! Leng live the gay servant that laughs for us all! The company said I had been shabbily treated, and advised me to charge the committee double,—which I did. But as 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. A misprint kills a sensitive author. An intentional change of his text murders him. No wonder 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 grieve to say is sometimes heard even 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. 1 III. [THE " Atlantic" obeys the moon, and its LuniVERSARY has come round again. I have gathered up some hasty notes of my remarks made since the last high tides, which I respectfully submit. Please to remember this is talk; just as easy and just as formal as I choose to make it.] -I never saw an author in my life-saving, perhaps, one-that did not purr as audibly as a fullgrown domestic cat, (Felis Cutus, LINN.,) on having his fur smoothed in the right way by a skilful hand. · But let me give you a caution. Be very careful hov- you tell an author he is droll. Ten to one he will hate you; and if he does, be sure he can do you a mischief, and very probably will. Say you cried over his romance or his verses, and he will love you and send you a copy. You can laugh over that as much as you like-in private. Wonder why authors and actors are ashamed of being funny?—Why, there are obvious reasons, and deep philosophical ones. The clown knows very well that the women are not in love with him, but with Hamlet, the fellow in the black cloak and plumed hat. Passion never laughs. The wit knows that his place is at the tail of a procession. If you want the deep underlying reason, I must take more time to tell it. There is a perfect consciousness in every form of wit-using that term in its general sense-that its essence cor.sists in a partial and incomplete view of whatever it touches. It throws a single ray, separated from the rest,-red yellow, blue, or any intermediate shade,-upon an object; never white light; that is the province of wisdom. We get beautiful effects from wit,-all the prismatic colors,—but never the object as it is in fair daylight. A pun, which is a kind of wit, is a different and much shallower trick in mental optics throwing the shadows of two objects so that one overlies the other. Poetry uses the rainbow tints for special effects, but always keeps its essential object in the purest white light of truth.-Will you allow me to pursue this subject a little further? [They didn't allow me at that time, for somebody happened to scrape the floor with his chair just then; which accidental sound, as all must have noticed, has the instantaneous effect that the cutting of the yellow hair by Iris had upon infelix Dido. It broke the charm, and that breakfast was over.] -Don't flatter yourselves that friendship authorizes you to say disagreeable things to your intimates. On the contrary, the nearer you come into relation with a person, the more necessary do tact and courtesy become. Except in cases of necessity, which are rare, leave your friend to learn unpleasanttruths from his enemies; they are ready enough to tell them. Good-breeding never forgets that amourpropre is universal. When you read the story of the Archbishop and Gil Blas, you may laugh, if you will, at the poor old man's delusion; but don't forget that the youth was the greater fool of the two, and that his master served such a booby rightly in turning him out of doors. -You need not get up a rebellion against what I say, if you find everything in my sayings is not exactly. new. You can't possibly mistake a man |
