* Since the above was written, I have been informed that it has been found, on examining Lord Macaulay’s papers, that he was in the habit of giving away more than A fourth part of his annual income.

If any young man of letters reads this little sermon—­and to him, indeed, it is addressed—­I would say to him, “Bear Scott’s words in your mind, and ‘be good, my dear.’” Here are two literary men gone to their account, and, laus Deo, as far as we know, it is fair, and open, and clean.  Here is no need of apologies for shortcomings, or explanations of vices which would have been virtues but for unavoidable &c.  Here are two examples of men most differently gifted:  each pursuing his calling; each speaking his truth as God bade him; each honest in his life; just and irreproachable in his dealings; dear to his friends; honored by his country; beloved at his fireside.  It has been the fortunate lot of both to give incalculable happiness and delight to the world, which thanks them in return with an immense kindliness, respect, affection.  It may not be our chance, brother scribe, to be endowed with such merit, or rewarded with such fame.  But the rewards of these men are rewards paid to our service.  We may not win the baton or epaulettes; but God give us strength to guard the honor of the flag!

ON HALF A LOAF.

A letter to Messrs.  Broadway, Battery and Co., Of new York, bankers.

Is it all over?  May we lock up the case of instruments?  Have we signed our wills; settled up our affairs; pretended to talk and rattle quite cheerfully to the women at dinner, so that they should not be alarmed; sneaked away under some pretext, and looked at the children sleeping in their beds with their little unconscious thumbs in their months, and a flush on the soft-pillowed cheek; made every arrangement with Colonel MacTurk, who acts as our second, and knows the other principal a great deal too well to think he will ever give in; invented a monstrous figment about going to shoot pheasants with Mac in the morning, so as to soothe the anxious fears of the dear mistress of the house; early as the hour appointed for the—­the little affair—­was, have we been awake hours and hours sooner; risen before daylight, with a faint hope, perhaps, that MacTurk might have come to some arrangement with the other side; at seven o’clock (confound his punctuality!) heard his cab-wheel at the door, and let him in looking perfectly trim, fresh, jolly, and well shaved; driven off with him in the cold morning, after a very unsatisfactory breakfast of coffee and stale bread-and-butter (which choke, somehow, in the swallowing); driven off to Wormwood Scrubs in the cold, muddy, misty, moonshiny morning; stepped out of the cab, where Mac has bid the man to halt on a retired spot in the common; in one minute