Not a cheap literature, even then; nor pleasing to my friend the 'Glasgow Herald,' who writes to me indignantly, but very civilly, (and I am obliged to him,) to declare that he is a Herald, and not a Chronicle. I am delighted to hear it; for my lectures on heraldry are just beginning at Oxford, and a Glaswegian opinion may be useful to me, when I am not sure of my blazon. Also he tells me good leather may be had in Glasgow. Let Glasgow flourish, and I will assuredly make trial of the same: but touching this cheap literature question, I cannot speak much in this letter, for I must keep to our especial subject of April--this Fools' Paradise of Cloud-begotten Gold. Cloud-begotten--and self-begotten--as some would have it. But it is not so, friends. Do you remember the questioning to Job? The pretty letter R stopped me just now at the Response of Zophar; but look on to the thirty-eighth chapter, and read down to the question concerning this April time:--"Hath the rain a Father--and who hath begotten the drops of dew,--the hoary Frost of Heaven--who hath gendered it?" That rain and frost of heaven; and the earth which they loose and bind: these, and the labour of your hands to divide them, and subdue, are your wealth, for ever--unincreasable. The fruit of Earth, and its waters, and its light--such as the strength of the pure rock can grow--such as the unthwarted sun in his season brings--these are your inheritance. You can diminish it, but cannot increase: that your barns should be filled with plenty--your presses burst with new wine,--is your blessing; and every year--when it is full--it must be new; and every year, no more. And this money, which you think so multipliable, is only to be increased in the hands of some, by the loss of others. The sum of it, in the end, represents, and can represent, only what is in the barn and winepress. It may represent less, but cannot more. These ten pounds, for instance, which I am grumbling at having to pay my lawyer--what are they? whence came they? They were once, (and could be nothing now, unless they had been) so many skins of Xeres wine--grown and mellowed by pure chalk rock and unafflicted sunshine. Wine drunk, indeed, long ago--but the drinkers gave the vineyard dressers these tokens, which we call pounds, signifying, that having had so much good from them they would return them as much, in future time. And, indeed, for my ten pounds, if my lawyer didn't take it, I could still get my Xeres, if Xeres wine exists anywhere. But, if not, what matters it how many pounds I have, or think I have, or you either? It is meat and drink we want--not pounds.