"Sir, I have no books, and no internal resources. I can not draw, and if I could, there's nothing that I want to sketch. I don't play the flute, and if I did there's nobody that I should like to have listen to me. I never wrote a tragedy, but I think I am in that state of mind in which tragedies are written. Any thing lighter is out of the question. I whistle four hours a day, yawn five, smoke six, and sleep the rest of the twenty-four, with a running accompaniment of swearing to all these occupations except the last, and I'm not quite sure that I don't sometimes swear in my dreams. "In one word, sir, I'm getting desperate, for the want of _something to do_." * * * * * There is a good deal of humor in the sudden contrast of sentiment and language exhibited in the verses below. They purport to be the tragi-comical tale of a deserted sailor-wife, who, with a baby in her arms, comes often to a rock that overlooks the main, to catch, if possible, a glimpse of a returning sail. At length, in despair, she throws her infant into the sea: "A gush of tears fell fast and warm, As she cried, with dread emotion, Rest, baby! rest that fairy form Beneath the rush of ocean; 'Tis calmer than the world's rude storm, And kinder--I've a notion! * * * * * "Now oft the simple country folk To this sad spot repair, When wearied with their weekly yoke, They steal an hour from care; And they that have a pipe to smoke, They go and smoke it there! "When soon a little pearly bark Skims o'er the level brine, Whose sails, when it is not too dark, With misty brightness shine: Though they who these strange visions mark Have sharper eyes than mine! "And, beauteous as the morn, is seen A baby on the prow, Deck'd in a robe of silver sheen, With corals round his brow-- A style of head-dress not, I ween, Much worn by babies now!" What somebody of the transcendental school of these latter days calls the "element of unexpectedness," is very forcibly exemplified by the writer from whom we have quoted. * * * * * We have often laughed over the following scene, but couldn't tell where it is recorded to save our reputation for "general knowledge." All that we _do_ know is, that it is a clever sketch by a clever writer _whoever_ he may be. The scene is a military station; and it should be premised that a certain surly, ill-tempered major, whose wife and sister are in the habit of visiting him at the barracks, gives orders, out of spite to subordinate officers, whose families have hitherto enjoyed the same privilege, that "no females are to be allowed in barracks after tattoo, under any pretense whatever:"