and Thou goest forth to Thy Purification at the hands of the local Steam Laundry! Nor are Mrs. Todgers's borders alone in this matter. The gentle Longfellow too raises in our bosums at each perusal of his poignant words a chaos of emotions. Consider awhile! the poet, with hair dis-hevelled, the fires of ecstasy exhausted by the composition of "Excel-sior"[sp], has kept dinner waiting. Haggard with expectancy, he raises the cover ....... shudders shake his frame ........he gazes upon the Roast ...... upon Thee, no [?] longer brown with the oven's heat, but simming white with clammy fat. His eyes roll, he foams ........ ah, the poetic frenzy is upon him. Summoning the house-keeper, in a ringing voice he declaims the grand, rolling lines ..... "The Gravy's cold ..... ([?]) What depths, what heights, are here attained! In this poem Longfellow has raised to Thee, oh Gravy, a shrine of words, a lasting Memorial, which shall not be forgotten. 'Tis clear to the nice observer that Thou wast Shelley's inspira-tion, when he wrote..... "Hail to thee, blithe spirit, Bird thou never wert."