his is accounted for by the
fact, that the _clique_ (contemptible in numbers as in everything else)
were overruled by the rest of the assembly. These malignants did not
_dare_ to interrupt by their preconcerted hisses, the respectful and
profound attention of the majority. We have been told, indeed, that as
many as three or four of the personal friends of the little old lady
entitled Miss Walter, did actually leave the hall during the
recitation--but, upon the whole, this was the very best thing they could
do. We have been told this, we say--we did not _see_ them take their
departure:--the fact is, they belong to a class of people that we make it
a point _never to see_. The poem being thus well received, in spite of
this ridiculous little cabal--the next thing to be done was to abuse it
in the papers. Here, they imagined, they were sure of their game. But
what have they accomplished? The poem, they say, is bad. We admit it. We
insisted upon this fact in our prefatory remarks, and we insist upon it
now, over and over again. It _is_ bad--it is wretched--and what then? We
wrote it at ten years of age--had it been worth even a pumpkin-pie,
undoubtedly we should not have 'delivered' it to _them_. To demonstrate
its utter worthlessness, _The Boston Star_ has copied the poem in full,
with two or three columns of criticism (we suppose), by way of explaining
that we should have been hanged for its perpetration. There is no doubt
of it whatever--we should. The _Star_, however, (a dull luminary,) has
done us more honor than it intended; it has copied our _third_ edition of
the poem, revised and improved. We considered this too good for the
occasion by one-half, and so 'delivered' our _first_ edition with all its
imperfections on its head. It is the first--the original edition--the
_delivered_ edition--which we now republish in our collection of Poems."

When he accepted the invitation of the Lyceum he intended to write an
original poem, upon a subject which he said had haunted his imagination
for years; but cares, anxieties, and feebleness of will, prevented; and a
week before the appointed night he wrote to a friend imploring
assistance. "You compose with such astonishing facility," he urged in his
letter, "that you can easily furnish me, quite soon enough, a poem that
shall be equal to my reputation. For the love of God I beseech you to
help me in this extremity." The lady wrote him kindly, advising him
judiciously, but promising