s
and comments, the reader would get some idea of the internal conflicts an
honest and not unamiable person has to go through, when he finds himself
driven to the wall by a correspondence which is draining his vocabulary
to find expressions that sound as agreeably, and signify as little, as
the phrases used by a diplomatist in closing an official communication.

No. 1. Want my autograph, do you? And don't know how to spell my name.
An a for an e in my middle name. Leave out the l in my last name. Do
you know how people hate to have their names misspelled? What do you
suppose are the sentiments entertained by the Thompsons with a p towards
those who address them in writing as Thomson?

No. 2. Think the lines you mention are by far the best I ever wrote,
hey? Well, I didn't write those lines. What is more, I think they are
as detestable a string of rhymes as I could wish my worst enemy had
written. A very pleasant frame of mind I am in for writing a letter,
after reading yours!

No. 3. I am glad to hear that my namesake, whom I never saw and never
expect to see, has cut another tooth; but why write four pages on the
strength of that domestic occurrence?

No. 4. You wish to correct an error in my Broomstick poem, do you? You
give me to understand that Wilmington is not in Essex County, but in
Middlesex. Very well; but are they separated by running water? Because
if they are not, what could hinder a witch from crossing the line that
separates Wilmington from Andover, I should like to know? I never meant
to imply that the witches made no excursions beyond the district which
was more especially their seat of operations.

As I come towards the end of this task which I had set myself, I wish, of
course, that I could have performed it more to my own satisfaction and
that of my readers. This is a feeling which almost every one must have
at the conclusion of any work he has undertaken. A common and very simple
reason for this disappointment is that most of us overrate our capacity.
We expect more of ourselves than we have any right to, in virtue of our
endowments. The figurative descriptions of the last Grand Assize must no
more be taken literally than the golden crowns, which we do not expect or
want to wear on our heads, or the golden harps, which we do not want or
expect to hold in our hands. Is it not too true that many religious
sectaries think of the last tribunal complacently, as the scene in which
they are to have the