dignitaries of France, are not ashamed to partake, in the public streets, of tripe with a common workman--and a hundred other little particulars, which throw a vast light into the chinks and crevices of our social system. I therefore, Smith, have the highest satisfaction in greeting you, not only as an accomplished author, but as a great national benefactor. Go on, my dear fellow, steadfastly and cheerfully, as you have begun. The glories of our country were all very well in their way, but the subject is a hackneyed one, and it is scarcely worth while to revive it. Be it yours to chronicle the weaknesses and peculiarities of that society which you frequent--no man can do it better. Draw on for ever with the same felicitous pencil. Do not fear to repeat yourself over and over again; to indulge in the same style of one-sided caricature; and to harp upon the same string of pathos so long as it will vibrate pleasantly to the public ear. What we want, after all, is sale, and I am sure that you will not be disappointed. Use these hints as freely as you please, in the composition of that part of Silas Spavinhitch which is not yet completed; and be assured that I have offered them not in an arrogant spirit, but, as some of our friends would say, with an earnest tendency and a serious oneness of purpose. Good-by, my dear Smith! It is a positive pain to me to break off this letter, but I must conclude. Adieu! and pray, for all our sakes and your own, take care of yourself. A NEW SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY. ON A STONE. I have been toiling up this long steep road, under that broiling sun, for more than an hour; my cabriolet is I know not where. The last time I saw it was at the turn of the road, full half-a-mile behind me, and the lean postilion trying to put something comfortable into that lanky carcase of his at the auberge. "Içi on loge à pied et à cheval;" so said the sign: why did not I, who was literally _à pied_, stop and enjoy myself a little? whereas I stalked proudly by: and now that rogue of the big boots and the powdered queue, and the short jacket and the noisy whip, is getting still more and more slowness out of his sorry horses, and is the man _à cheval_, treated by the busy little woman of the house as her worthiest customer. The Marquis will be at least two hours in advance of me: I shall not see Madame till night: positively I will run down the hill again and pull that rascal off his horse. Am I not paying for the accommodation of posting? have I not a right to get on? do I not fee him like a prince? I'll try a shout at him. "Hilloa! hilloa! come along there!"--I might as well shout in the middle of the Atlantic; and as for running back again, why, I shall have to come over the same ground once more: the tariff shall be his fate: not a liard more: and I'll write him down in the post-book; I will crush the reptile: I'll annihilate him!