Latest spam-mail poetry I received today:

first who was picked out to be my bedfellow, declined the honour without thanks. He was an old, heavy, IV There is a pleasant tale of some worthless, phrasing Frenchman, who was taxed with ingratitude: "IL FAUT SAVOIR GARDER L'INDEPENDANCE DU COEUR," cried he. I own I feel with him. Gratitude without familarity,

slow-spoken man, I think from Yankeeland, looked me all over with great timidity, and then began to excuse gratitude otherwise than as a nameless element in a seeship, is a thing so near to hatred that I do not care to split the difference. Until I find a man who is pleased to receive obligations, I shall continue to question the tact of those who are eager to confer them. What an art it is, to give, even

to our nearest sees! and what a test of manners, to receive! How, upon either side, we smuggle away the obligation, blushing for each other; how bluff and dull we make the giver; how hasty, how falsely cheerful, the receiver! And yet an act of such difficulty and distress between near sees, it is supposed