e reader would get some idea of the internal
conflicts an honest and not unamiable person has to go through, when he
finds himself driven to the wall by a correspondence which is draining
his vocabulary to find expressions that sound as agreeably, and signify
as little, as the phrases used by a diplomatist in closing an official
communication.

No. 1. Want my autograph, do you? And don't know how to spell my name.
An a for an e in my middle name. Leave out the l in my last name. Do you
know how people hate to have their names misspelled? What do you suppose
are the sentiments entertained by the Thompsons with a p towards those
who address them in writing as Thomson?

No. 2. Think the lines you mention are by far the best I ever wrote,
hey? Well, I didn't write those lines. What is more, I think they are
as detestable a string of rhymes as I could wish my worst enemy had
written. A very pleasant frame of mind I am in for writing a letter,
after reading yours!

No. 3. I am glad to hear that my namesake, whom I never saw and never
expect to see, has cut another tooth; but why write four pages on the
strength of that domestic occurrence?

No. 4. You wish to correct an error in my Broomstick poem, do you? You
give me to understand that Wilmington is not in Essex County, but in
Middlesex. Very well; but are they separated by running water? Because
if they are not, what could hinder a witch from crossing the line that
separates Wilmington from Andover, I should like to know? I never meant
to imply that the witches made no excursions beyond the district which
was more especially their seat of operations.

As I come towards the end of this task which I had set myself, I wish,
of course, that I could have performed it more to my own satisfaction
and that of my readers. This is a feeling which almost every one must
have at the conclusion of any work he has undertaken. A common and very
simple reason for this disappointment is that most of us overrate our
capacity. We expect more of ourselves than we have any right to, in
virtue of our endowments. The figurative descriptions of the last Grand
Assize must no more be taken literally than the golden crowns, which we
do not expect or want to wear on our heads, or the golden harps, which
we do not want or expect to hold in our hands. Is it not too true that
many religious sectaries think of the last tribunal complacently, as
the scene in which they are to have the satisfaction of s