I do sincerely wish it were in my power to mount the aforesaid gay streamer, and long Tom, on your gallant little barque. I will try in the spring and summer to contribute a stripe or two, and a blank cartridge or so; but I shall not tell you when I do, that it is I, for it is proper you should have it in your power to say truly, "I do not know who it is." I have already got credit for much that I never wrote, and much that I never said. The guessers have an uncommon propensity to attribute all galling personalities to me, all sketches of character that touch the quick, and make some readers wince. I have, in truth, in times gone by, been a little wanton and imprudent in this particular, and I deserve to smart a little in my turn. But I never wrote a line wickedly or maliciously. There is nothing in the Spy that deserves this imputation, and nothing in the Old Bachelor, which, give me leave to tell you, "_venia deter verbo_," you and your magazine, and your writer, ** have underrated. There is a juster criticism of it in the Analectic Magazine--but this writer, too, has not true taste nor sensibility. He accuses me of extravagance only because he never felt himself, the rapture of inspiration. And you accuse me of redundant figure, because you are not much troubled yourself with the throes of imagination--just as G-- H-- abuses eloquence because there is no chord in his heart that responds to its notes. So take that. And if you abuse me any more, I will belabor your magazine as one of the heaviest, dullest, most drab-colored periodicals extant in these degenerate days. What! shall a Conestoga wagon-horse find fault with a courser of the sun, because he sometimes runs away with the chariot of day, and sets the world on fire? So take that again, and put it in your pocket. But enough of this _badinage_, for if I pursue it much farther you will think me serious--besides it is verging to eleven, and the fire has gone down. I began this scrawl a little after five--walked for health till dark--came in and found company who remained till near ten--and could not go to bed without a little more talk with you. But I shall tire you and catch cold--so with our united love to Mrs. Rice, my dear Harriet, and yourself, good night. Your friend, in truth, WM. WIRT. LIFE OF DR. CALDWELL. _Oration on the Life and Character of the Rev. Joseph Caldwell, D.D. late President of the University of North Carolina, by Walker Anderson, A.M._