"The Sphinx, at which you pleasantly affirm I came home laughing from Egypt, never propounded a darker puzzle to any of its victims than you have to me. From last week's _Spectator_ I learn, for the first time, that I was at a Protection meeting at Wallingford on some particular day, and that I wept at the prices of 1845. Allow me to assure you that I never was at Wallingford in my life: nor, indeed, did I ever attend a public meeting anywhere. I have not the slightest notion what the prices--I presume of corn--were in 1845; and I should never think of expressing an opinion, in any way, upon politics, except against that school which abuses respectability and philanthropizes mischievous rift-raff." * * * * * R.H. Stoddard is preparing for the press of Ticknor, Reed & Fields, a collection of his Poems, to include most of those he has contributed to the periodicals since the appearance of his "Footprints," two years ago. The book will be welcomed by the lovers of genuine poetry. Mr. Stoddard is a young man of unquestionable genius, and we have been pleased to observe that there is a decided improvement from time to time in his compositions, indicating the industry and wise direction of his studies, in refinement of taste, elegance of finish, and a rapid and vigorous expansion of his imagination. His masterpiece, thus far, is The _Castle in the Air_, fitly praised by our neighbor of the _Albion_, as one of the finest productions of the present time. We do not know of any poet at home or abroad to whose fame it would not have added new luster. In the July number of the _Knickerbocker_ we find the following "Dirge," which is not unworthy of him: There's a new grave in the old church-yard, Another mound in the snow; And a maid whose soul was whiter far, Sleeps in her shroud below. The winds of March are piping loud, And the snow comes down for hours; But by-and-by the April rains Will bring the sweet May flowers. The sweet May flowers will cover her grave Made green by the April rain; But blight will lie on our memories. And our tears will fall in vain! * * * * *