and dickey right into the soul!
And ye lips which the coral might envy, I ween,
And ye pearl rows that peep from the red lips between,
And that soft-dimpled cheek, with the hue of the rose,
And that smile which bears conquest wherever it goes,
Oh, could I but think that you soon would be mine,
I'd send Marian each morning a sweet valentine.
Feb'y 14, 1844.

(Written a few years later.)

Sweet girl! within whose laughing eye
A thousand little Cupids lie,
While every curl, that floats above
Thy noble brow, seems fraught with love.

Oh, list to me, my loved one, list!
Thy Tellkampf's suit no more resist,
But give to him, to call his own,
A heart where Kings might make their throne.

John Louis Tellkampf, to whom Anthon so facetiously alludes in the
second valentine, was a young German who frequently came to our house,
and who, through my father's aid and influence, in subsequent years
became professor of German in Columbia College. When we first knew him
he spoke English with much difficulty, and it was a standing joke in our
household that once when he desired to say that a certain person had
been born he expressed the fact as "getting alive."

Malcolm Campbell, a younger brother of mine, was graduated in 1850 from
Columbia College near the head of his class. Among his classmates were
Charles Seymour, subsequently Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church
of Illinois, and the distinguished lawyer Frederick R. Coudert, whose
father kept a boys' French school in Bleecker Street. My brother
subsequently studied law in the office of Judge Henry Hilton, and for
many years practiced at the New York bar. Upon a certain occasion he and
Samuel F. Kneeland were opposing counsel in an important suit during
which Mr. Kneeland kept quoting from his own work upon "Mechanics'
Liens." My brother endured this as long as his patience permitted and
then, slowly rising to his feet, said: "I have cited decisions on the
point in controversy, but my learned opponent cites nothing except his
own opinions printed in his own book. With such persistency has he done
this that I have been tempted to write these lines:

"Oh, Kneeland! dear Kneeland, pray what do you mean
By such a fat book on the subject of Lien?
Was it for glory or was it for pelf,
Or just for the pleasure of quoting yourself?"

It seems almost needless to add that this doggerel was followed