, says, "I have
received the past year some twenty-five thousand _ses terces_ more than
yourself--in the way of legacies--but don't be jealous!"

The truth is, that a rich man rarely died in Rome, without leaving some
token to the author who had beguiled the hours of solitude--enlarged his
ideas, or consoled him in affliction. Cicero speaks of a large
inheritance, which he possessed, of statues and beautiful objects. In
short, Roman literature and the history of antiquity grew out of those
princely endowments, which independence and strength of opinion did not
fail to secure.

But nowadays, says the French author, a writer is paid like a starveling;
and picks up such crumbs of charity as fall only from the tables of the
publishers. And he goes on pleasantly, to suggest a change in this matter;
which, if it gain footing on the other side of the water, we shall take
the liberty of welcoming very kindly in America. When the custom of
leaving legacies to writers is in vogue, we shall take the liberty of
suggesting, in our own behalf, such objects of art as would be agreeable
to us; and such stocks as we should prefer as a permanent investment.

Meantime, we suck our quill in our Easy Chair, with as much forbearance as
we can readily command.

EDITOR'S DRAWER.

That was a dignified and graceful entertainment which recently took place
in the gay capital of France. Some two hundred of the "nobility and
gentry," including a sprinkling of English aristocracy, assembled in a
prominent hall of the city, to see a _Rat and Owl Fight_! And while they
were getting ready the combatants, which went by sundry fancy or favorite
names, they had a _poet_ in leash, who "improvised a _strophe_" for the
occasion! Think of a "poet" apostrophizing, in studied measures, twelve
rats and four old owls! But that's "the way they _do_ things in France."

They have another very sensible and dramatic amusement there, which they
call the "_Mat de Cocagne_." This is a long pole, of about eighteen inches
diameter at the base, well polished and greased from top to bottom, with
soft soap, tallow, and other slippery ingredients. To climb up this pole
to the top is an eminent exploit, which crowns the victorious adventurer
with a rich prize, and gains him the acclamations of ten thousand
spectators. The "pretenders" strip off their upper gear altogether, and
roll up their trowsers mid-thigh, and thus accoutred, present themselves
at the bottom