I take the opportunity of our proprietor’s pen and ink in the evening, to write this. I shall put it away in a corner—quite sure, as it’s intended for the Post Office, of Mr. Rowland Hill’s getting hold of it somehow, and sending it to somebody. I understand he can do anything with a letter. Though the Owl says (but I don’t believe him), that the present prevalence of measles and chicken-pox among infants in all parts of this country, has been caused by Mr. Rowland Hill. I hope I needn’t add that we Ravens are all good scholars, but that we keep our secret (as the Indians believe the Monkeys do, according to a Parrot of my acquaintance) lest our abilities should be imposed upon. As nothing worse than my present degradation as a member of the Happy Family can happen to me, however, I desert the General Freemasons’ Lodge of Ravens, and express my disgust in writing. A DIALOGUE OF SHADOWS. [_Scene, Purgatory_ (1778). The Shades of an Englishman and a Frenchman are pacing by the side of a gloomy river.] _Englishman._ What bustle is here? Can we not groan in peace? _Frenchman._ There are some new arrivals. One, who comes Straight from the finest kingdom of the earth, Has caused a vast sensation. Here he is! [_The Shade of Voltaire enters._ _Engl._ I never saw a ghost so thin as this. _Volt._ Good day, Messieurs,—if we may call this day! Faith, there’s a pleasant warmth about the place. After our rapid journey thro’ the dark, With cold winds driving us, and jarring atoms Whistling about our ears, ’tis not so bad To reach this hot and twilight land at last. Sir, if’t be not a liberty, may I ask For a pinch of charcoal. _French._ With much pleasure, sir, [_Presents his box._ Any news from France? _Volt._ France, sir, is growing young; Thro’ me, and d’Alembert, and Diderot, And that mad envious watchmaker, who did Good in his own despite. Before the earth Shall have swung a dozen times about the sun, Our dragon’s seed will rise and show some fruit. _French._ We are glad to see you here, sir. _Volt._ Without doubt, sir. A strange place this. Our French geographers Had doubts if such a region were. Nay, some Proved to the satisfaction of their friends, That ’twas impossible. _Eng._ So most things seem, Until they are discovered. _Volt._ That’s well said; Sir, I salute you. _French._ You’ll find some excellent company, Monsieur. _Volt._ You have some famous men here,—doubtless, sir. A priest or two? _French._ A few. _Volt._ I thought so, sir. A king perhaps? _French._ Oh, plenty. Let me see— One, two, three.