'There is something very pitiable in these humors, Mr. EDITOR; indeed very laughable, if your mouth is shaped to that effect; but as it happens with me to-night, my mouth refuses to twitch except in one direction. Its corners have what Prof. P---- used to call the 'downward tendencies.' Perhaps it is because this is with me the anniversary of a day upon the events of which are hanging the movements of all after-life; it may be this, and there may be thereto added the coloring of a winter's day. The wind howls about the house-tops, and the air pierces like needles; even the stars, when they look down in thousands, as the rack goes by, seem to shiver in their high places; yet perhaps there is nothing so personal in all that, considering that just so the wind howled last night, and may for a month to come; but oh! as I am a nervous man, and look back upon the circling months, and feel the sting here and the stab there, in that galvanic battery; and as I look forward with eager eye, and ear open to the faintest whisper of the dim to-morrow, it is not as the stars shiver from excess of light, but with a shudder at the heart from the cooler blood of----Good night, my kind EDITOR; that sentence is quite too long already, and there are some things too personal to tell. * * * * * 'P. S.--Whoop! hurrah! Light upon the world again! Where are you, my fine EDITOR? I say Sir, I was an ass--do you hear?--an _ass_, premature, wise before my time, a brute, a blockhead! Did I talk of dust and ashes? Oh! Sir, I lied multitudinously. Every nerve, every muscle that didn't try to strangle me in that utterance, _lied_. No, Sir; let me tell you it's a great world; glorious--magnificent; a world that can't be beat! Talk of the stars and a better world, but don't invite me there yet. Make my regrets, my apology to Death, but say that I can't come; 'positive engagement; happy some other time, but not now.' Oh, no; this morning is quite too beautiful to leave; and beside, I would rather stay, if only to thank GOD a little longer for this glorious light, this pure air that can echo back my loudest hurrah. And then, my boy----But haven't I told you? Why Sir, I've got a boy!--_a boy_--ha, ha! I shout it out to you--A BOY; fourteen pounds, and the mother a great deal _better_ than could be expected! And I say, Mr. EDITOR, it's _mine!_ hurrah and hallelujah forever! Oh, Sir! such legs, and such arms, and such a head!--and Oh my GOD! _he has his mother's lips!_ I can kiss them forever! And then, Sir, look at his feet, his hands, his chin, his eyes, his every thing, in fact--so '_perfectly O. K.!_' Give me joy, Sir; no you needn't either. I am full now; I run over; and they say that I ran over a number of old women, half killed the mother, pulled the doctor by the nose, and upset a 'pothecary-shop in the corner; and then didn't I ring the tea-bell? Didn't I blow the horn? Didn't I dance, shout, laugh, and cry altogether? The