bling, cursing, swearing, drinking, the eating of oysters, and a distaste for mobcaps and the middle-aged virtues. And by the way, let me beg you not to call a trotting match a race, and not to speak of a thoroughbred' as a 'blooded' horse, unless he has been recently phlebotomized. I consent to your saying blood horse,' if you like. Also, if, next year, we sent out Posterior and 10 Posterioress, the winners of the great national four-mile race in 7: 182, and they happen to get beaten, pay your bets, and behave like men and gentlemen about it, if you know how. able augurs of the literary or scientific temple may smile faintly when one of the tribe is mentioned; but the farce is in general kept up as well as the Chi5 nese comic scene of entreating and imploring a man to stay with you, with the implied compact between you that he shall by no means think of doing it. A poor wretch he must be who would wantonly sit down on one of these bandbox reputations. A Prince-Rupert's-drop, which is a tear of unannealed glass, lasts indefinitely, if you keep it from meddling hands; but break its tail off, and it explodes and 15 resolves itself into powder. These celebrities I speak of are the Prince-Rupert's-drops of the learned and polite world. See how the papers treat them! What an array of pleasant kaleidoscopic phrases, that can be arranged in ever so many charming patterns, is at their service! How kind the Critical Notices'where small authorship comes to pick up chips of praise, fragrant, sugary, and sappy always are to them! Well, life would be nothing without paper-credit and other fictions; so let them pass current. Don't steal their chips; don't puncture their swimming-bladders; don't come down on their pasteboard boxes; don't break the ends of their brittle and unstable reputations, you fellows who all feel sure that your names will be household words, a thousand years from now. [I felt a great deal better after blowing off the ill-temper condensed in the above paragraph. To brag little,- to show well, to crow gently, if in luck,- to pay up, to own up, and to shut up, if 20 beaten, are the virtues of a sporting man, and I can't say that I think we have shown them in any great perfection of late.] -Apropos of horses. Do you know how 25 important good jockeying is to authors? Judicious management; letting the public see your animal just enough, and not too much; holding him up hard when the market is too full of him; letting him out 30 at just the right buying intervals; always gently feeling his mouth; never slacking and never jerking the rein; - this is what I mean by jockeying. When an author has a number of 35 books out, a cunning hand will keep them all spinning, as Signor Blitz does his dinner-plates; fetching each one up, as it begins to wabble,' by an advertisement, a puff, or a quotation. - Whenever the extracts from a living writer begin to multiply fast in the papers, without obvious reason, there is a new book or a new edition coming. The extracts are ground-bait. 45 'A thousand years is a good while,' said the old gentleman who sits opposite, thoughtfully. - Where have I been for the last three or four days? Down at the Island, deer40 shooting. How many did I bag? I brought home one buck shot. The Island is where? No matter. It is the most splendid domain that any man looks upon in these latitudes. Blue sea around it, and running up into its heart, so that the little boat slumbers like a baby in lap, while the tall ships are stripping naked to fight the hurricane outside, and stormstay-sails banging and flying in ribbons, Trees, in stretches of miles; beeches, oaks, most numerous; many of them hung with moss, looking like bearded Druids; some coiled in the clasp of huge, darkstemmed grape-vines. Open patches where the sun gets in and goes to sleep, and the winds come so finely sifted that they are as soft as swan's down. Rocks scattered about,- Stonehenge-like mono -Literary life is full of curious phenomena. I don't know that here is anything more noticeable than what we may call conventional reputations. There is a tacit understanding in every com- 50 munity of men of letters that they will not disturb the popular fallacy respecting this or that electro-gilded celebrity. There are various reasons for this forbearance; one is old; one is rich; one is 55 good-natured; one is such a favorite with the pit that it would not be safe to hiss him from the manager's box. The vener liths. Freshwater lakes; one of them, Mary's lake, crystal-clear, full of flashing pickerel lying under the lily-pads like tigers in the jungle. Six pounds of ditto one morning for breakfast. EGO fecit. The divinity-student looked as if he would like to question my Latin. No, sir, I said, you need not trouble yourself. There is a higher law in grammar, not to be put down by Andrews and Stoddard. 10 Then I went on. Such hospitality as that island has seen there has not been the like of in these our New England sovereignties. There is nothing in the shape of kindness and 15 courtesy that can make life beautiful, which has not found its home in that ocean-principality. It has welcomed all who were worthy of welcome, from the pale clergyman who came to breathe the sea-air with its medicinal salt and iodine, to the great statesman who turned his back on the affairs of empire, and smoothed his Olympian forehead, and flashed his white teeth in merriment over 25 the long table, where his wit was the keenest and his story the best. 20 [I don't believe any man ever talked like that in this world. I don't believe I talked just so; but the fact is, in report- 30 ing one's conversation, one cannot help Blair-ing it up more or less, ironing out crumpled paragraphs, starching limp ones, and crimping and plaiting a little sometimes; it is as natural as prinking at the 35 looking-glass.] - How can a man help writing poetry in such a place? Everybody does write poetry that goes there. In the state archives, kept in the library of the Lord 40 of the Isle, are whole volumes of unpublished verse,- some by well-known hands, and others, quite as good, by the last people you would think of as versifiers,- men who could pension off all the 45 genuine poets in the country, and buy ten acres of Boston common, if it was for sale, with what they had left. Of course I had to write my little copy of verses with the rest; here it is, if you will hear so me read it. When the sun is in the west, vessels sailing in an easterly direction look bright or dark to one who observes them from the north or south, according to the tack they are sailing upon. Watching 55 them from one of the windows of the great mansion, I saw these perpetual changes, and moralized thus: 5 - Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtasked. Good mental machinery ought to break its own wheels and levers, if anything is thrust among them suddenly which tends to stop them or reverse their motion. A weak mind does not accumulate force enough to hurt itself; stupidity often saves a man from going mad. We frequently see persons in insane hospitals, sent there in consequence of what are called religious mental disturbances. I confess that I think better of them than of many who hold the same notions, and keep their wits and appear to enjoy life very well, outside of the asylums. Any decent person ought to go mad, if he really holds such or such opinions. It is very much to his discredit in every point of view, if he does not. What is the use of my saying what some of these opinions are? Perhaps [Nobody understood this but the theological student and the schoolmistress. They looked intelligently at each other; 25 but whether they were thinking about my paradox or not, I am not clear. It would be natural enough. Stranger things have happened. Love and Death enter boarding houses without asking the price of 30 board, or whether there is room for them. Alas, these young people are poor and pallid! Love should be both rich and rosy, but must be either rich or rosy. Talk about military duty! What is that to the 35 warfare of a married maid-of-all-work, with the title of mistress, and an American female constitution, which collapses just in the middle third of life, and comes out vulcanized India-rubber, if it happen to 40 live through the period when health and strength are most wanted?] - Have I ever acted in private theatricals? Often. I have played the part of the 'Poor Gentleman,' before a great 45 many audiences, more, I trust, than I shall ever face again. I did not wear a stage-costume, nor a wig, nor mustaches of burnt cork; but I was placarded and announced as a public performer, and at 50 the proper hour I came forward with the ballet-dancer's smile upon my countenance, and made my bow and acted my part. I have seen my name stuck up in letters so big that I was ashamed to show myself 55 in the place by daylight. I have gone to a town with a sober literary essay in my pocket, and seen myself everywhere announced as the most desperate of buffos, one who was obliged to restrain himself in the full exercise of his powers, from prudential considerations. I have been through as many hardships as Ulysses, in the pursuit of my histrionic vocation. I have traveled in cars until the conductors all knew me like a brother. I have run off the rails, and stuck all night in snow-drifts, and sat behind females that would have the window open when one could not wink without his eyelids freezing together. Perhaps I shall give you some of my experiences one of these days; I will not now, for I have something else for you. Private theatricals, as I have figured in them in county lyceum-halls, are one thing,- and private theatricals, as they may be seen in certain gilded and frescoed saloons of our metropolis, are another. Yes, it is pleasant to see real gentlemen and ladies, who do not think it necessary to mouth, and rant, and stride, like most of our stage heroes and heroines, in the characters which show off their graces and talents; most of all to see a fresh, unrouged, unspoiled, high-bred young maiden, with a lithe figure, and a pleasant voice, acting in those love-dramas that make us young again to look upon, when real youth and beauty will play them for us. - Of course I wrote the prologue I was asked to write. I did not see the play, though. I knew there was a young lady in it, and that somebody was in love with her, and she was in love with him, and somebody (an old tutor, I believe) wanted to interfere, and, very naturally, the young lady was too sharp for him. The play of course ends charmingly; there is a general reconciliation, and all concerned form a line and take each others' hands, as people always do after they have made up their quarrels,— and then the curtain falls,- if it does not stick, as it commonly does at private theatrical exhibitions, in which case a boy is detailed to pull it down, which he does, blushing violently. Now, then, for my prologue. I am not going to change my cæsuras and cadences for anybody; so if you do not like the heroic, or iambic trimeter brachy-catalectic, you had better not wait to hear it. THIS IS IT A Prologue? Well, of course the ladies know; -- I have my doubts. No matter, here we go! T is like the harper's prelude on the strings, 'The world's a stage,'-as Shakespeare say. was what he meant to 15 Beats the black giant with his score of slaves. The outside world's a blunder, that is clear; The cheats are taken in the traps they laid; Join hands, so happy at the curtain's fall. art But that one rebel,- woman's wilful heart So, just to picture what her art can do, Rudolph, professor of the headsman's trade, shaggy-browed, Rudolph the headsman rose above the crowd. His falchion lighted with a sudden gleam, As the pike's armor flashes in the stream. He sheathed his blade; he turned as if to go; 35 The victim knelt, still waiting for the blow. 'Why strikest not? Perform thy murderous act,' 40 - When the poor hero flounders in despair, Some dear lost uncle turns up millionaire,Clasps the young scapegrace with paternal 45 joy, Sobs on his neck, 'My boy! MY BOY!! The prisoner said. (His voice was slightly cracked.) 'Friend, I have struck,' the artist straight replied; 'Wait but one moment, and yourself decide.' He held his snuff-box,-' Now then, if you please!' The prisoner sniffed, and, with a crashing sneeze, Off his head tumbled,-bowled along the floor, Ours, then, sweet friends, the real world to- 50 Bounced down the steps; night Of love that conquers in disaster's spite. Ladies, attend! While woeful cares and doubt Wrong the soft passion in the world with- 55 out, Though fortune scowl, though prudence interfere, The prologue went off very well, as I hear. No alterations were suggested by the lady to whom it was sent, so far as I know. Sometimes people criticise the poems one sends them, and suggest all 5 sorts of improvements. Who was that silly body that wanted Burns to alter Scots wha hae,' so as to lengthen the last line thus ?— 'Edward!' Chains and slavery! 10 Here is a little poem I sent a short time since to a committee for a certain celebration. I understood that it was to be a 15 festive and convivial occasion, and ordered myself accordingly. It seems the president of the day was what is called a teetotaller.' I received a note from him in the following words, containing 20 the copy subjoined, with the emendations annexed to it. 'Dear Sir,- Your poem gives good satisfaction to the committee. The sentiments expressed with reference to liquor 25 are not, however, those generally entertained by this community. I have therefore consulted the clergyman of this place, who has made some slight changes, which he thinks will remove all objections, and 30 keep the valuable portions of the poem. Please to inform me of your charge for said poem. Our means are limited, etc., etc., etc. logwood In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall, Down, down, with the tyrant that masters us all! Long live the gay servant that laughs for us att! The company said I had been shabbily treated, and advised me to charge the committee double,— which I did. But as I never got my pay, I don't know that it made much difference. I am a very particular person about having all I write printed as I write it. I require to see a proof, a revise, a re-revise, and a double re-revise, or fourth-proof rectified impression of all my productions, especially Manuscripts are such puzzles! Why, I was reading some lines near the end of the last number of this journal, when I came across one beginning verse. The stream flashes by, It Now as no stream had been mentioned, I was perplexed to know what it meant. proved, on inquiry, to be only a mis-print for dream.' Think of it! No wonder 35 so many poets die young. I have nothing more to report at this time, except two pieces of advice I gave to the young women at table. One relates to a vulgarism of language, which I While the nectar still reddens our cups as 40 grieve to say is sometimes heard even they flow? decoction Pour out the rich juices still bright with the sun, from female lips, the other is of more serious purport, and applies to such as contemplate a change of condition,- matrimony, in fact. The woman who 'calc'lates' is lost. Put not your trust in money, but put your money in trust. The Atlantic Monthly, Dec., 1857. THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, |