In the present number our readers will find a _gem_ called “The Miser and His Daughter,” written by a gentleman of New Orleans—the author of the story of “The Little Family,” which appeared in the November number of “Graham”—a tale which was more widely read and praised than any article in the last volume. We have received the first part of an article by this writer, which we shall give in future numbers, and we do not hesitate to say, for the benefit of those who worship British ability _only_, that no article _equal_ to it has appeared in Blackwood or Frazer for years. It is called “The First Age.” * * * * * Caution.—“My goodness,” says a cautious and gouty old gentleman, who is one of Graham’s friends, “aint you afraid to talk at your subscribers and exchanges the way you do?” _No!_ not a bit of it—Graham will tell “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” to every body who reads his editorial chit-chat. If people don’t like it, they need not read it. In 112 pages there is room and verge enough to dodge around sharp corners and escape the dilemma of reading the few pages in which Graham, kicking off his boots, goes at people with his slippers on. Every body, in 1852, will get _more_ than a full return for what is paid for the book, without counting “The Small-Talk”—and if any editor don’t like it, let him let it alone. “The whole boundless continent is _not_ ours,” but the small-talk _is_—and being monarch sole and absolute in these dominions, we shall submit to no impertinence, but _will_ have our own will and way—and the way is straight and plain. We do not expect to get a decent notice from the Saturday Evening Post, for all this—and we don’t care if we don’t—nor if we do. * * * * * Graham on Dreams.—Did you ever dream you were rich? Is it not delightful!—while it lasts. A prize in the lottery—dreaming of numbers innumerable, is one of the tricks of Morpheus—and of people wide awake, too, sometimes. Then the visions of defunct grand-uncles, beyond the seas, who hearing of our great worth and deservings, die on purpose to make us happy, and bequeath vast estates and lots of three per cents. in the _funds_. It is glorious! And then, too, ponderous mails coming to you, in which each subscriber, who is in debt, sends you the money—and dozens—dozens?—hats full, of letters inclosing the long delayed $3, come like blessings in troops—the notes all new, too, and 6’s instead of 3’s sent by the overjoyed subscriber—not in a mistake either—for he _says_ “the work is worth double the money, and being an honest man, I intend to pay the fair value.” Ah! this is grand! We like to do business with people who know something. “_John_, John!—Call Mr. Graham, and tell him the printer wants copy—_and paper too_!” Pshaw! Look here! We hate to be deceived. Somebody make our “dream come true.” * * * * *