Mr. Pratt was of a different cast. Being closely related to the Miss Melvilles, there was an obvious resemblance, in features and mind, between him and those young ladies. A handsome person, a countenance mild but decisive, and a highly intelligent mind, stored with much useful knowledge, formed some of those recommendations which endeared him to the one sex and caused him to be admired and esteemed by the other. Having now, assisted by the courtesy of the reader, delineated imperfectly the chief objects of my little scene, I shall take a short respite, leaving behind me the assurance that, in my second book, much rare and amusing matter may be expected. * * * * * TO HELEN. BY EDGAR A. POE. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicéan barks of yore That gently, o’er a perfumed sea, The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs, have brought me home To the glory that was Greece— To the grandeur that was Rome. Lo! in that shadowy window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The folded scroll within thy hand— Ah! Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy-Land! * * * * * NEVER BET YOUR HEAD. A MORAL TALE. BY EDGAR A. POE.