What he would have thought--if you can fancy it--would be very proper for you also to think, and much to our eventual purpose. But the part of the contents of the 'Pall Mall' which I found to bear on the subject of this letter, was the address by a mangled convict to a benevolent gentleman. The Third Fors must assuredly have determined that this letter should be pleasing to the Touchstone mind,--the gods will have it poetical; it ends already with rhyme, and must begin in like manner, for these first twelve verses of the address are much too precious to be lost among "news," whether of morning or evening. "Mr. P. Taylor, honnered Sir, Accept these verses I indict, Thanks to a gentle mother dear Whitch taught these infant hands to rite. "And thanks unto the Chaplin here, A heminent relidjous man, As kind a one as ever dipt A beke into the flowing can. "He pointes out to me most clear How sad and sinfull is my ways, And numerous is the briney tear Which for that man I nigtly prays. "'Cohen,' he ses, in sech a voice! 'Your lot is hard, your stripes is sore; But Cohen,' he ses, 'rejoice! rejoice! And never never steale no more!' "His langwidge is so kind and good, It works so strong on me inside, I woold not do it if I could, I coold not do it if I tryed. "Ah, wence this moisteur in my eye? Whot make me turn agin my food? O, Mister Taylor, arsk not why, Ime so cut up with gratitood. "Fansy a gentleman like you, No paultry Beak, but a M.P., A riggling in your heasy chair The riggles they put onto me. "I see thee shudderin ore thy wine,-- You hardly know what you are at, Whenere you think of Us emplyin The bloody and unhenglish Cat. "Well may your indigernation rise! I call it Manley what you feeled At seein Briton's n-k-d b-cks By brutial jalors acked and weald. "Habolish these yere torchiers! Dont have no horgies any more Of arf a dozen orficers All wallerin in a fellers goar. "Inprisonment alone is not A thing of whitch we would complane; Add ill-conwenience to our lot, But do not give the convick pain. "And well you know that's not the wust, Not if you went and biled us whole; The Lash's degeradation!--that's What cuts us to the wery soul!" The questions respecting punishment and reformation, which these verses incidentally propose, are precisely the same which had to be determined three thousand years ago in the city of Athens--(the only difference of any importance being that the instrument of execution discussed was club instead of cat); and their determination gave rise to the peculiar form in which the history of the great Athenian Squire, Theseus,--our to-day's subject--was presented to mankind.