; but
as I then felt, I think I would sooner have gone, if I could have taken
with me the fragrance of that incomparable regalia.'' . . . OUR new
friend, the writer of the '_Lines to an Early Robin_,' who desires us to
send him six numbers of the KNICKERBOCKER containing his article, inquires
'which kind of his writing we should prefer, prose or poetry?' We hardly
know what to say, in answer to this categorical query. It will not perhaps
be amiss, however, to adopt the _in medio tutissimus ibis_ style of the
traveller, who, upon calling for a cup of tea at breakfast, handed it back
to the servant, after tasting it, with the remark: 'If this is tea, bring
me coffee--if it is coffee, bring me tea; _I want a change_.' If what 'M.'
sends us is poetry, let him send us prose; if it is prose, (and it
certainly 'has that look,') let him send us poetry, by all means. . . .
JUDGES and other legal functionaries, though ostensibly 'sage, grave men,'
are oftentimes sad wags, and fond of fun and frolic. From one of this
class we derive the annexed: 'A few months since, in a neighboring town, a
knight of the yard-stick was paying his addresses to a Miss INCHES, who,
beside some personal attraction, was reputed to be mistress of a snug
fortune. At first, the lady encouraged his addresses, but afterward jilted
him. Rendered desperate by his double loss, the young man went home and
deliberately shot himself; and the coroner's jury next morning brought in
a verdict of '_Died by Inches_!'' . . . HOW very beautiful are these lines
upon the death of a young and lovely girl, the bloom of whose fair cheek
refused to wither at the blighting touch of the Destroyer:

'HER eye-lids as in sleep were closed,
Her brow was white like snow;
A smile still lingered on her cheek,
As if 'twas loth to go!

'And it may be a smile so sweet,
So quiet and serene,
Was never on the healthy brow
Of living maiden seen.

'Perchance the wondrous bliss which burst
Upon her raptured mind,
When first she woke in glory's courts,
Now left its trace behind.

'Her end was peace. I thought that they
Who loved her, should not grieve;
For these last words they heard her say,
'My spirit, LORD, receive!'

'And when they laid her in the earth,
Her cheek still held the bloom;
That smile so sweet, the gentle maid
Bore with her to the tomb.

'Think it not strange that brighter tints
Upon the blossoms cre