ile in Germany, of an
introduction to the celebrated Von Humbug, he took the opportunity
to present that eminent man with a copy of the "Biglow Papers." The
next morning he received the following note, which he has kindly
furnished us for publication. We prefer to print _verbatim_, knowing
that our readers will readily forgive the few errors into which the
illustrious writer has fallen, through ignorance of our language.

"HIGH-WORTHY MISTER!

"I shall also now especially happy starve, because I have more or
less a work of one those aboriginal Red-Men seen in which have I so
deaf an interest ever taken fullworthy on the self shelf with our
Gottsched to be upset.

"Pardon my in the English-speech unpractice!

"VON HUMBUG."

He also sent with the above note a copy of his famous work on
"Cosmetics," to be presented to Mr. Biglow; but this was taken from
our friend by the English custom-house officers, probably through a
petty national spite. No doubt, it has by this time found its way
into the British Museum. We trust this outrage will be exposed in
all our American papers. We shall do our best to bring it to the
notice of the State Department. Our numerous readers will share in
the pleasure we experience at seeing our young and vigorous national
literature thus encouragingly patted on the head by this venerable
and world-renowned German. We love to see these reciprocations of
good-feeling between the different branches of the great Anglo-Saxon
race.

* * * * *

_From the Jaalam Independent Blunderbuss._

... But, while we lament to see our young townsman thus mingling in
the heated contests of party politics, we think we detect in him the
presence of talents which, if properly directed, might give an
innocent pleasure to many. As a proof that he is competent to the
production of other kinds of poetry, we copy for our readers a short
fragment of a pastoral by him, the manuscript of which was loaned us
by a friend. The title of it is "The Courtin'."

Zekle crep' up, quite unbeknown,
An' peeked in thru the winder,
An' there sot Huldy all alone,
'ith no one nigh to hender.

Agin' the chimbly crooknecks hung,
An' in amongst 'em rusted
The ole q