FOOTNOTES: 

[3] See Guesses at Truth.  First series.

[4] A Selection of English Synonyms.  Second Edition.  Parker, London:  1852.

[5] See Whately’s Logic, book iv., chap. 3, Sec. 1, in which the above is illustrated by the difference between the road from London to York and the road from York to London.

[6] The nouns are used here instead of the verbs for convenience sake, as they precisely correspond.

‘CHAPTER ON CATS.’

In No. 419 of this Journal, an article with the above heading mentions among the exports from New York to New Granada 100 cats.  Wherever our contributor may have picked up his intelligence, the original source is the New York Herald; but, unluckily, a paper of a more practical character—­if we may judge from its title—­The Dry-Goods Reporter, gives the custom-house entry in full, in which the change of a single vowel makes a prodigious difference.  The entry is this:  ’100 cots—­125 dollars—­to Granada.’

A MARINER’S WIFE.

    ‘Ah me, my dream!’ pale Helen cried,
      With hectic cheeks aglow: 
    ’Why wake me?  Hide that cruel beam! 
    I’ll not win such another dream
      On this side heaven, I know.

    ’I almost feel the leaping waves,
      The wet spray on my hair,
    The salt breeze singing in the sail,
    The kind arms, strong as iron-mail,
      That held me safely there.

    ’I’ll tell thee:—­On some shore I stood,
      Or sea, or inland bay,
    Or river broad, I know not—­save
    There seemed no boundary to the wave
      That chafed and moaned alway.

    ’The shore was lone—­the wave was lone—­
      The horizon lone; no sail
    Broke the dim line ’twixt sea and sky,
    Till slowly, slowly one came by,
      Half ghostlike, gray and pale.

    ’It was a very little boat,
      Had neither oars nor crew;
    But as it shoreward bounded fast,
    One form seemed leaning by the mast—­
      And Norman’s face I knew!

    ’He never looked nor smiled at me,
      Though I stood there alone;
    His brow was very grave and high,
    Lit with a glory from the sky—­
      The wild bark bounded on.

    ’I shrieked:  “Oh, take me—­take me, love! 
      The night is falling dread.”—­
    “My boat may come no nearer shore;
    And, hark! how mad the billows roar! 
      Art thou afraid?” he said.

    ’"Afraid! with thee?”—­“The wind sweeps fierce
      The foamy rocks among;
    A perilous voyage waiteth me.”—­
    “Then, then, indeed, I go with thee,”
      I cried, and forward sprung.

    ’All drenched with brine, all pale with fear—­
      Ah no, not fear; ’twas bliss!—­
    I felt the strong arms draw me in: 
    If after death to heaven I win,
      ’Twill be such joy as this!