t laugh, though, when I saw the true state of the case, at
the comical scene that might have ensued, had he taken my parcel without
explanations. Think of Harry's air of fearless innocence before the
inspectors of imports, till from the depths of an enormous trunk comes
forth a parcel, which those faithful officials at once lay bare, with
the professional dexterity of a private tearing his cartridge. The
officer stares, and Harry looks still more astounded, at the sight of a
familiar visage, peering forth from under the wrapper, and giving mute
but significant expressions of pain and displeasure. It is the head of
Geordy Buchanan! It is Blackwood, imported from New York! The confounded
servant of her Majesty's Customs begins to whisper contraband, and
expresses a wish for the undoubted original, which you, just stepping up
to welcome your friend, are enabled to supply. The fresh number from
your coat-skirts, and the suspicious importation from America, are set
together like the two Dromios before the duke. "Look on this picture,
and on that!" Behold the two Buchanans!

"One of these men is genius to the other
----Which is the natural man,
And which the spirit? Who deciphers them?"

Harry, to prevent the coming crisis, volunteers a confession, but
invites you to a comparison of the heads. With his outrageous Tory
hatred of the Yankees, he, of course, declares there's no comparison;
ridicules the fac-simile, and hastily seizing what he mistakes for the
counterfeit, confounds the company by a quotation from the Latin of
"Terence"--that very small fragment of the Eunuchus which Plunkett
forced into his head through the opposite pole of his person--

"Ne comparandus hic quidem ad illum est, ille erat
Honesta facie, et liberali!"

And finally, disgusted to find that he has ascribed the more gentlemanly
bearing to the American, he tosses the whole parcel into the docks, with
the tardy announcement that it was my friendly consignment to yourself,
as well as the very curiosity of literature which you so much desire to
see. You remember, doubtless, what I did not recollect, that there is no
port of entry in her Majesty's empire for the Icons of British copyright
property. They come with a Frenchified air from the press of Galignani;
they arrive in vulgarised costume from the cheap manufactories of New
England; but the scent of the vermin is familiar to the nose of a
collector of customs, and no rat-ca