ress of
thirty millions, half of whose men at least are much more intelligent
and larger hearted than himself. With narrow, petty Tory instinct, he
clings to 'aristocracy' in whatever form it occurs, and instinctively
wars on the masses. The noblest struggle in history--the greatest effort
to advance labor in the scale of social dignity and practical value is
all as naught in his eyes and in those of his clan; they flippantly
ignore all that is noble in this noble war, and repeat, after CARLYLE,
his brutal, beastly joke--that America has long been the dirtiest of
political chimneys, and requires a good burning out. Take care, Master
CARLYLE, that from this burning no sparks are wafted England-ward. You,
too, will some day have a chimney on fire, and when it burns the heat
will be felt through every brick in Britain.

YE NEW YORKE YOUNGE LADYE

Is a peculyar Institution.

Iff there had a been no suche place as Paris, ye New Yorke Younge Ladye
would have invented itt.

As itt is, shee is thankfull thatt shee hathe been sparyed ye trouble of
having that towne builte. For itt is verie usefull to hir; sendying her
bonetes, robes, shoos, bootees, parasoletts, skirtes, pettycoates, and
chemi--cal preparations--suche as LUBIN hys violette and vitivert;
RIMMEL, hys bandoline; PIVER hys _Nohiba de la Mecque_; MAUGENET and
CONDRAYE, their _savon imperiale;_ MONPELAS hys _eau de toilette_, wyth
othir lyttle thinges too numerouse to mentyon. BOIVIN or JOUVIN, or some
other _vin_, hath long since hadd hir hande--in plaster of Paris--from
which he makyth hir gloves, whych are smuggled home unto hir--I wyll not
saye howe. But Ive hearde in mye tyme of a state dispatch wyth a bigg
redd seale, whych dyd containe four dozen paire of number sixe, ladye's
syze.

Whan thatt shee is arayed in these gaye clothynges and other thynges she
hathe verament a fyne style suche as yee can see none fyner not in ye
Rue Helder ittself. And att a balle shee wereth splendyd jewels, so that
oft-tymes yee wold veralye think she were ye image of Notre Dame de
Loretto wyth all hir braverye. Wyth suche a one dyd I fall yn love at a
hopp at Neweporte--yea, even into a _moulte graunte passion de haulte
degrez_, and wolde gladlie have marryd hir, hadd shee not in frennshe
said '_Per ma fey, beau Sire_, I wyll gladlie bee engagyd to ye, for itt
is ye fashion to bee betrothed, but do not talke of marryage, since I
woulde not have folks thinke I am of age to