have received only insult and vexation. I have been advised by my lawyer
to institute a suit at law against the miscreant, and matters are now in
progress toward that desirable result.

In the mean time I have thought proper to apply to your sense of justice
for a partial compensation of the trouble you have caused me. My character
has been assailed, my tranquillity disturbed, and my valuable time taken
up, without a penny of remuneration. Now, Sir, if you think fit to
transmit to the address of 'M. R.,' through the post-office, a hundred
dollars ($100), I will overlook what is past, and resign solely to
yourself what interest I possess in your epistolary intercourse through
the pages of that infamous Magazine. With sentiments of esteem,

Yours, as before,
M. R.

'So shaken as we are, so wan with care,' we begin to wish that we had
never undertaken the publication of these letters. Between two impending
law-suits how shall we muster courage to keep on the even tenor of our
way? Even our staunch friend, the anonymous Public, torments us with
frequent accusatory epistles, charging us with dulness, impiety, and
irreverence for American institutions. All these we must lay on the back
of our Englishman, whose compatriots we confess are apt to assume a
latitude of style hardly tolerated among us. In the mean time, gentle
Public, respected Cockney, and worthy Mail-Robber, we cry you mercy all
round!

ED. KNICKERBOCKER.

LETTER SIXTH.

TO CHARLES KEMBLE, ESQUIRE, LONDON.

Good Cassio, Charles, Mercutio, Benedick,
(Of all your names I scarce know which to pick,)
Colossal relic of the nobler time
When great JOHN PHILIP trod the scene sublime;
Ay, true Colossus, for like that which strode
From shore to shore, while seas beneath him flowed,
You seem to stand between two generations,
High o'er the tide of Time and its mutations;
Be not alarmed; this comes not from a dun,
Nor any scheming, transatlantic BUNN,
Tempting with golden hopes your waning years,
Like 'certain stars shot madly from their spheres,'
Like MATHEWS or old DOWTON, to expose
The shank all shrunken from its youthful hose;
So boldly read, howe'er it make you sigh,
Nor manager nor creditor am I;
Yet in some sort you are indeed my debtor,
And owe me for my pains at least a lett