friend speaks of Mr.
NEAL'S being 'comparatively little known.' We have good reason to believe
that one great cause of this is, that his name has often been confounded
with that of another and altogether different species of NEAL, whose
infinite twattle--infinite alike in degree and quantity--has prejudiced
the public mind against any thing that may seem to come in 'questionable
shape' from a questionable source. This error has had its advantages to
_one_ party, no doubt, since there was 'every thing to gain and nothing to
lose;' an advantage however which the prefix of the first two initials of
our friend and correspondent to passages from his work which may hereafter
find their way into the newspapers, will transfer to the rightful
recipient. But to the volume in question, from which we are about to make
a few random selections, illustrating the characters of sundry 'city
worthies,' who are 'comprehended as vagrom men' by the 'charleys' or
watchmen of the good City of Brotherly Love. Let us begin with the
soliloquy of the poetical OLYMPUS PUMP:

''GENIUS never feels its oats until after sunset; twilight applies
the spanner to the fire-plug of fancy to give its bubbling
fountains way; and midnight lifts the sluices for the cataracts of
the heart, and cries, 'Pass on the water!' Yes, and economically
considered, night is this world's Spanish cloak; for no matter how
dilapidated or festooned one's apparel may be, the loops and
windows cannot be discovered, and we look as elegant and as
beautiful as get out. Ah!' continued Pump, as he gracefully
reclined upon the stall, 'it's really astonishing how rich I am in
the idea line to-night. But it's no use. I've got no pencil--not
even a piece of chalk to write 'em on my hat for my next poem.
It's a great pity ideas are so much of the soap-bubble order, that
you can't tie 'em up in a pocket handkerchief, like a half peck of
potatoes, or string 'em on a stick like catfish. I often have the
most beautiful notions scampering through my head with the grace,
but alas! the swiftness too, of kittens, especially just before I
get asleep; but they're all lost for the want of a trap; an
intellectual figgery four. I wish we could find out the way of
sprinkling salt on their tails, and make 'em wait till we want to
use 'em. Why can't some of the meaner souls invent an idea-catcher
for the use of genius? I'