is ashamed of, or ought
to be. Middle, and more than middle-aged people, who know family
histories, generally see through it. An official of standing was rude
to me once. Oh, that is the maternal grandfather,--said a wise old
friend to me,--he was a boor.--Better too few words, from the woman we
love, than too many: while she is silent, Nature is working for her;
while she talks, she is working for herself.--Love is sparingly
soluble in the words of men; therefore they speak much of it; but one
syllable of woman's speech can dissolve more of it than a man's heart
can hold.

--Whether I said any or all of these things to the schoolmistress, or
not,--whether I stole them out of Lord Bacon,--whether I cribbed them
from Balzac,--whether I dipped them from the ocean of Tupperian
wisdom,--or whether I have just found them in my head, laid there by
that solemn fowl, Experience, (who, according to my observation,
cackles oftener than she drops real live eggs,) I cannot say. Wise men
have said more foolish things,--and foolish men, I don't doubt, have
said as wise things. Anyhow, the schoolmistress and I had pleasant
walks and long talks, all of which I do not feel bound to report.

--You are a stranger to me, Ma'am.--I don't doubt you would like to
know all I said to the schoolmistress.--I sha'n't do it;--I had rather
get the publishers to return the money you have invested in this.
Besides, I have forgotten a good deal of it. I shall tell only what I
like of what I remember.

--My idea was, in the first place, to search out the picturesque spots
which the city affords a sight of, to those who have eyes. I know a
good many, and it was a pleasure to look at them in company with my
young friend. There were the shrubs and flowers in the Franklin-Place
front-yards or borders; Commerce is just putting his granite foot upon
them. Then there are certain small seraglio-gardens, into which one
can get a peep through the crevices of high fences,--one in Myrtle
Street, or backing on it,--here and there one at the North and South
Ends. Then the great elms in Essex Street. Then the stately
horse-chestnuts in that vacant lot in Chambers Street, which hold
their outspread hands over your head, (as I said in my poem the other
day,) and look as if they were whispering, "May grace, mercy, and
peace be with you!"--and the rest of that benediction. Nay, there are
certain patches of ground, which, having lain neglected for a time,
Nature, who a