ness; and they have a cheering, reviving beam for the afflicted and despairing a beam that speaks of constancy and hope. But morning approaches; the wearied powers demand repose; and it is sweet to lie down like a cradled child, and sleep with the ceaseless wash of waters, for a lullaby, and rocked by their ceaseless roll! SIR: Being now located at the Springs, amid all the gayety and elegance and aristocracy of the land, I found last evening, among the ladies in the drawing-room, the July number of your periodical. Again was I shocked and overwhelmed at the gross impudence with which you persist in the promulgation of my private affairs. That you should have published my second personal epistle to yourself, is a tremendous aggravation of your audacity. I shall take care to frame this in a style which will preclude all possibility of your printing it, and disclosing your own rascality. I have heard moreover that well-known individuals in England have been highly disgusted at the cool, hyena-like, editorial ferocity with which you and your greedy subscribers feed upon this foul dish of scandal. Such heartless conduct cannot fail to confirm our neighbors across the 'great Atlantic privilege' in their uncomplimentary opinion of American probity. Repudiation was a virtue compared with this infamous violation of the rights of man. Even here, amid all the soothing magnificence of the surroundings; in the solemn stillness of the woods, or by the stainless bosom of Saratoga Lake, or by that salubrious fount of which half a dozen tumblers are so invigorating to the spirits and beneficial to the bowels, I am sick at soul when I realize the wickedness and worldly-mindedness of Magazine Editors. You have not hinted one syllable about pecuniary compensation; and how, under such a load of ingratitude, can you expect that you will be long permitted to pursue your fiendish career? A reasonable sum would satisfy me; but I forbear to urge it, for I doubt if you are a Christian. This is the last time I shall address you; nor should I now write, except to charge you immediately to return the remaining manuscripts, or to forward the customary fee for articles of equal value. You will not dare to publish this letter, I am sure, unless you are a fool as well as a fraudulent and evil-minded person. Yours, by no means, Ar the risk of our reputation, we have ventured to publish the above severe remonstrance; and in reply, we take pleasure in soothing the lacerated nerves of our financial friend by the following statement: Some days ago, about sherry-cobbler time, a middle-aged indi vidual, between five and six feet high, not very stout, although far from slim; of an open countenance; a nose Greco-Gothic, inclining to the Roman, and eyes neither light nor dark, called at our sanctum, and claimed to be the author of the poetical epistles in question. Before we had time to apologize for our part in this curious affair, the stranger, so far from producing a horse-whip, assured us, with a benignant smile, that he forgave the liberty we had assumed, and moreover, that he wished to extend his pardon to the gentleman whose late indiscretion had put us in possession of the papers. Far be it from himself, the stranger said, to remain behind the age; he supposed it was the custom of the country; and this apology, as in the aforementioned case of Repudiation, must content his friends in London. It was true, he added, that some offence had been taken abroad by this truly American proceeding; but on the whole, as he found the KNICKERBOCKER a conveyance considerably safer than the steamboat-mail, and as it was beside an immense saving in the matter of postage, he would permit us to continue the correspondence. As for those letters which we still retained in our keeping, he assured us that we were perfectly free to enlighten with them our 'Principes' or the public. Beside all this, he placed in our hands a fresh epistle, which he had intended to have sent by the next packet, but which, by his generous permission, we are happy to insert in the present number. We trust that this will quiet the sensibilities of our Saratoga friend, and that he will return to the city with an invigorated conscience, a healthful moral sense, and a stomach improved by the In all the strange events that Rumor sends, To the dark realm, and still are hastening on, That one small tradesman should have joined the throng Yet such is Fame! and such the pow'r of books, • In England there is but one Duke who is universally and deservedly known as THE Duke.' Yes, the same volume that recordeth you, Ev'n here, in Scythia, where the slighted Muse Ah, that Childe Harold's accoucheur should die! Methinks I see his melancholy ghost And now his bones the sculptured slab lie under, For all the golden guineas that he paid; For all the fame his counter could afford The rev'rend pamphleteer and author-lord; For all the tricks he taught the friendless muse; CAMPBELL's too proud the compliment to grant : ROGERS' blank verse so very blank has grown, In truth I'm sad, although I seem to laugh, Ne'er seemed on earth well suited with their place, We know their being but begins with death: So winter ushers in the new-born year, So the flowers perish ere the fruits appear. When common men, when men like MURRAY, thus Are snatched away, 't is taking one of us; And more in his we feel our own decay Who'd not give more to bring back GILBERT GURNEY, Or SMITH OF MATTHEWS from their nether journey, Than all your MILTONS or your BACONS dead, Or all the BONAPARTES that ever bled? So, were the blue rotundity of heaven By some muck-running, outlawed comet riven, Be blotted from the muster-roll of stars, HERSCHEL might groan, or SOMERVILLE might sigh, Should some starved earthquake gulp a slice of Kent. Now let no pigmy poet, in his pride, The humble mem'ry of our friend deride : Or when some doubtful bantling of your brain, A fresh, warm epic, or new-laid romance, When men of taste, men always made of ice, And oh how oft when some dyspeptic swain |