Reader! we have determined to be more familiar with you. We shall talk right at you, in defiance of any over nice rules. If you like us, we shall have much to say to you—telling plain truths in our own off-hand way, and occasionally giving you a punch in the ribs with our fore-finger, by way of impressment. _Our_ punch, however, is “our own peculiar”—with but little acid—and may be taken in moderation, without fear of a headache from its excessive strength. It is new, and though not as heady as the imported, it costs us no pains of conscience by way of unpaid duties. Like the old lady’s gingerbread, “it costs nothing to make, for the molasses is already in the house.” So you may make a meal on ours, and spices being hot, you will find yourself comfortable without a bear-skin. Indeed we hope to make “vituals and drink and pretty good clothes” out of it ourself, and to be vulgar and quote a proverb, “What is fat for the goose _ought_ to be fat for the gander.” So you see you are in for a living as long as you read “Graham.” But whether a person of robust constitution could survive long on the viands that are served up at some of the other magazine tables, is a question more in the line of another Graham to answer—who has invented a bran new way of growing gracefully stout, on the shadow of cabbages, by a process of “small by degrees and beautifully less.” It is expected that any fellow who comes to our table shall smoke his cigar, and laugh with the rest of the company, and not mar the general hilarity by looking grave (? stupid) and asking when the fun is over—“What is it all about?” * * * * * THAT BILL AGAIN! [Illustration: A man is seated at a table and a woman presents him with a magazine.] _Wife._ Now here is my Graham for February, with 112 pages, as the editor promised, and you have never sent him that $3. Aint you ashamed of yourself! _Husband._ Don’t bother me—I am busy. _Wife._ Well—the money _shall_ go, as I shall put it in a letter—put a three cent stamp upon it, and post it this very day. _Cross Husband._ Money is worth 2 per cent. a month—let the fellow wait! Reader—that is the very reason we can’t wait. We are poor, and we want every dollar. We have a fancy for _short_ paper ourself, now. “Cash on the nail, or no books.” Having $10,000 at sea, that we should like to see, of last year’s bright prospects, we shall trust no more, and go in debt no deeper. Wisdom and Poverty are Fellows in our college. If Magazine publishers could only, like cotton brokers, draw against shipments, what a delightful business they would have. But who advances cash upon snowed-up mails? Who has an available credit in bank, or can go at the market rates upon over-due subscriptions? Not Graham!