although I did not tell him so, was that he would not succeed in realizing the million of dollars; and, accordingly, when admitted as a great favor into his sanctum sanctorum, the work shop, to witness his machine put in motion, it stood most perversely still after one revolution, and "_some slight alteration_" remained to be made to the end of the chapter,--until hope became extinct in every breast save that of the projector. I could fill a volume with anecdotes of this sort, but will add only one, as descriptive of the very great height to which visionary notions may be carried. My uncle was a federalist, and of course hated Buonaparte from the bottom of his soul. He told me as a most profound secret, that he had discovered the means of making an old man young again, by removing from him the atmospheric pressure, and that nothing deterred him from patenting his discovery, but the fear that Buonaparte would attach his machinery to a body of soldiers and fly across the British Channel, and thus light down in the midst of England, and make an easy conquest of the only barrier left upon earth to secure the liberties of mankind. Eheu! jam satis! thought I. In this way did my poor uncle spend his time, to the utter ruin of a fine estate, which was surrendered to the management of that most pestilent of the human race, an overseer,--who would not at last be at the trouble of furnishing the old gentleman with wood enough to keep him warm in his spacious edifice. The means he resorted to, to reprove the overseer, were not less characteristic and laughable than many of his singular notions. One very cold day he sent for him; the man attended, and was ushered with much solemnity into an apartment where a single chump was burning feebly in the chimney place, and a table was standing in the centre of the room, covered with papers, pen and ink. My uncle received him with unusual courtesy, and ordered the servant to set a chair for Mr. Corncob by the _fire_,--with a peculiar emphasis on the word. "I have sent for you, Mr. Corncob," said he, "to get you to witness my will. You see, sir," pointing at the same time to the fire--"you see, sir, how small a probability there is that I shall survive the present winter. I am anxious to settle my affairs previous to my being attacked by the pleurisy, and have therefore sent for you to aid me in doing so." This was a severe reproof, and the man having done as he was bid, retired with an air the most sheepish imaginable. I fill up the picture by stating that I married my cousin, and inherited the estate in due course of time; but a mortgage swallowed it up as effectually as an earthquake--and poor old Simon died of a broken heart when Regulus was knocked off at the sale of his master's property at twenty dollars, to the man whom he hated of all others, Christopher Corncob, Esquire. NUGATOR. For the Southern Literary Messenger. LINES WRITTEN IMPROMPTU,