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,—­
Bounced down the steps;—­the prisoner said no more!

Woman! thy falchion is a glittering eye;
If death lurks in it, oh, how sweet to die! 
Thou takest hearts as Rudolph took the head;
We die with love, and never dream we’re dead!

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 criticize the poems one sends them, and suggest all 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!

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 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 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 are not, however, those generally entertained by this community.  I have therefore consulted the clergyman of this place, who has made come slight changes, which he thinks will remove all objections, and keep the valuable portions of the poem.  Please to inform me of your charge for said poem.  Our means are limited, etc., etc., etc.

Yours with respect,”

HERE IT IS—­WITH THE SLIGHT ALTERATIONS!

Come! fill a fresh bumper,—­for why should we go
While the [nectar] [logwood] still reddens our cups as they flow? 
Pour out the [rich juices] [decoction] still bright with the sun,
Till o’er the brimmed crystal the [rubies] [dye-stuff] shall run.

The [purple glebed clusters] [half-ripened apples] their life-dews have bled; How sweet is the [breath] [taste] of the [fragrance they shed] [sugar of lead]!  For summer’s [last roses] [rank poisons] lie hid in the [wines] [wines!!!] That were garnered by [maidens who laughed through the vines.] [stable-boys smoking long-nines.]

Then a [smile] [scowl], and a [glass] [howl], and a [toast] [scoff], and a [cheer] [sneer], For all [the good wine, and we’ve some of it here] [strychnine and whiskey, and ratsbane and beer] In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall, [Long live the gay servant that laughs for us all!] [Down, down, with the tyrant that masters us all!]

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 verse.  A misprint kills a sensitive author.  An intentional change of his text murders him.  No wonder so many poets die young!