“Flow on, bright shining Thames. A good brave man hath walked aforetime on your margent, himself as bright, and useful, and delightsome as be you, sweet river. And like you, he never murmured; like you, he upbore the weary, and gave drink to the thirsty, and reflected heaven in his face. I’ll not swell your full current with any more fruitless tears. There’s a river whose streams make glad the city of our God. He now rests beside it. Good Christian folks, as they hereafter pass this spot, upborne on thy gentle tide, will, maybe, point this way, and say—‘There dwelt Sir Thomas More;’ but whether they doe or not, _vox populi_ is a very inconsiderable matter, for the majority are evil, and ‘_the people_ sayd, Let him be crucified!’ Who would live on theire breath? They hailed St. Paul as Jupiter, and then stoned him and cast him out of the city, supposing him to be dead. Theire favourite of to-day may, for what they care, goe hang himself to-morrow in his surcingle. Thus it must be while the world lasts; and the very racks and scrues wherewith they aim to overcome the nobler spiritt, onlie test and reveal its power of exaltation above the heaviest gloom of circumstance. _“Interfecistis, interfecistis hominem omnium Anglorum optimum._” ----- [27] Published respectively by Charles Scribner and Appleton Bros. New York: 1852. * * * * * GRAHAM’S SMALL-TALK. Held in his idle moments, with his Readers, Correspondents and Exchanges. Our New Suit.—It is not our purpose to show off—to take airs, to be proud, to refuse to speak to anybody, simply because our new suit has come home, and we are giving it its first holyday airing—but our new type, our new coat which covers it, and the very superior quality of our whole rig is rather stared at, we know—or we should not mention the fact. Excessive modesty has been our weakness—it is the besetting frailty of most Magazine publishers, as is fully evinced in their prospectuses. Humility is tenderly nursed and taken out riding, until it has a consumptive look, and is pronounced “too good for this world.” Yet it is the fashion. Nobody—least of all Godey—or Sartain or Harper—presumes to say a word in self-praise—then why should Graham set himself up and play Captain Grand, even if he is a little stouter and haler, and has a greater extent of territory over which he can gaze like Selkirk, “Monarch of all he surveys;”