I have contrived a sort of ceremonial inclined plane for such visitors, which being lubricated with certain smooth phrases, I back them down, metaphorically speaking, stern-foremost, into their "native element," the great ocean of out-doors.

Well, now, there are poems as hard to get rid of as these rural visitors.

They come in glibly, use up all the serviceable rhymes, DAY, RAY, BEAUTY, DUTY, SKIES, EYES, OTHER, BROTHER, MOUNTAIN, FOUNTAIN, and the like; and so they go on until you think it is time for the wind-up, and the wind-up won't come on any terms.

So they lie about until you get sick of the sight of them, and end by thrusting some cold scrap of a final couplet upon them, and turning them out of doors.

I suspect a good many "impromptus" could tell just such a story as the above .-- Here turning to our landlady, I used an illustration which pleased the company much at the time, and has since been highly commanded.