Now it may be, that sometimes, when we "have gone it rather strong" (as we are very apt to do,) and offended the reader, our scraps of poetry may answer the purpose of the Abolition songs, and soothe and propitiate him. Besides, they afford a sort of interlude or by-play, like that of Sancho where he slipped off from the flying horse, Clavileno, just as he and the Don had reached the constellation of the Goat, and went to playing with the little goats to relieve the giddiness of his head. I am sure, when we have, as we often do, mounted with our reader into the highest regions of metaphysics, that his head becomes a little giddy, (at least ours does,) and that he is thankful for a little poetry or a turn at play with our Abolition Goats. "Goats, indeed!" quoth Mr. G----, "Lions, you had better say." Well, be it lions! We are no more afraid of you than if you were lambs; and you will no sooner dare to attack us than you did the Knight of La Mancha when he vainly challenged you to mortal combat. Let not the reader suppose that we either emulate the chivalry of the Don or the wisdom of his Squire. A Northern clime has congealed the courage of our lions and they are afraid of the "paper bullets of the brain;" yet they are vastly fond of shooting them at others, provided they are sure the shot will not be returned. As for Sancho, we think him the wisest man we ever read after, except Solomon. Indeed, in the world of Fiction, all the wisdom issues from the mouths of fools--as witness Shakspeare's Falstaff and his fools. There is at least vraisemblance in all this; for, as in the Real world, the philosophers (e. g. our Masters in the art of war) have monopolized all the folly,--where so likely to find the wisdom as among the fools? We fear our "Little Cannibals" are growing impatient, and may be, a little jealous of our seeming preference for our goats. They are young yet and require nursing. But they are young Herculeses, born with teeth, and if any Abolition serpents attempt to strangle them in the cradle, they'll be apt to get the worst of it. The danger is, however, that the Abolitionists will steal and adopt them--for they are vastly fond of young cannibals, and employ much of their time in sewing and knitting and getting up subscriptions, to send shirts and trowsers to the little fellows away over in Africa, who as indignantly repel them as old King Lear did when he stripped in the storm and resolved to be his "unsophisticated self."