* * * * * We commend the following to the scores of dashing "spirited" belles who have just returned disappointed from "the Springs," Newport, and other fashionable resorts. The writer is describing a dashing female character, whose "mission" she considered it to be, to take the world and admiration "by storm:" "With all her blaze of notoriety, did any body _esteem_ her particularly? Was there any one man upon earth who on his pillow could say, 'What a lovely angel is Fanny Wilding!' Had she ever refused an offer of marriage? No; for nobody ever had made her one. She was like a fine fire-work, entertaining to look at, but dangerous to come near to: her bouncing and cracking in the open air gave a lustre to surrounding objects, but there was not a human being who could be tempted to take the dangerous exhibition into his own house! _That_ was a thing not to be thought of for a moment." * * * * * "In your Magazine for July," writes a city correspondent, "I notice in the '_Editor's Drawer_,' an allusion to and quotation from '_The Execution of Montrose_,' the author of which you state is unknown or not named. You seem not to be aware that this is one of Aytoun's Ballads, which, with others, was published in London, under the title of 'Lays of the Cavaliers.' But why did you not give the most beautiful verse: 'He is coming! He is coming! Like a bridegroom from his room, Came the hero from his prison, To the scaffold and the doom. There was glory on his forehead, There was lustre in his eye, And he never went to battle More proudly than to die!' "I quote only from memory, but the original has 'walked to battle'--is not 'went' a better word? The book is full of gems: let me give you one more, which would make a fine subject for an artist. It is from 'Edinburgh after Flodden;' when Randolph Murray returns from the battle, to announce to the old burghers their sad defeat: 'They knew so sad a messenger, Some ghastly news must bring; And all of them were fathers, And their sons were with the King.'" * * * * * "How do you spell Feladelfy?" asked a small city grocer of his partner one day, as he was sprinkling sand upon a letter which he was about to dispatch to the "City of Brotherly Love." "Why, _Fel-a_, Fela, _del_, Feladel, _fy_--Feladelfy." "Then I've got it right," said the partner (in ignorance as well as in business), "I thought I might have made a mistake!" * * * * *