NOTE BY THE EDITOR.

GENTLE READER,-I have altered my mind with respect to the necessity of a Preface. I think the foregoing correspondence will sufficiently explain matters. You will be good enough to take them instead of an Introductory Chapter. They are genu-ine,-not made up, believe me. I have a shrewd notion that when this book gets across the water, a great many of our English cousins, who are accustomed to spend their summers at watering places, will be induced to pay something more than a flying visit to the Tremont. Z. P. V.

NOVEMBER 10th, 1832.

A FEW WORDS ABOUT MYSELF.

I AM the LAST OF ALL THE SLYS! My father was the celebrated Dr. SOLOMON SLY, of Slowton, in Staffordshire, who rendered himself at one time, so famous, by his cheeses made of MARES' MILK.

He was found dead, (poor man!) about twenty years ago, in the cellar of one Mr. Thrum, a winemerchant, his near neighbor, and particular friend. How he got there, remains to this day a mystery! But his decease was supposed to have been accelerated by his taking an over dose of some white brandy; of which Mr. Thrum was known to possess a small stock. Two empty bottles were found within an arm's length of my father's corpse! My poor mother soon followed him to the grave. My uncle Christopher, then, took my two brothers and myself under his protection. He was a man of some fortune; and, being a bachelor, resolved to educate us himself. He professed a great horror of private tutors;-and equally abominated public

schools. Moreover, he thought the blood of the SLYS much too precious to be shed by any hand but his own. For ten years, the family rod was constantly in his hand!

Every morning, (Sundays not excepted,) he was wont to address us thus," Jack, my boy, (to my eldest brother,) you shall take your flogging after breakfast; Age before honesty, my dear. Dick, (to my second brother,) Dick, my hearty, come to me an hour after dinner, and you shall have your turn; the second always before the third, my child. Costard, (to me) Costard, my darling, as soon as I have taken my afternoon's nap, I will give you your warming-always give place to your elders, my pet!"

Unfortunately, however, Jack, (he was fourteen years old at the time,) was brought home one day with a drop too much in one of his eyes. A poacher, it afterwards came out, had fired at him, supposing he was some hanger-on, or spy, of the gamekeeper's. The ball went right through his left eye, and penetrated his brain!

A short time after that, my brother Dick disappeared!

"Poor Dick was lost,

And never was found!"

(as the old ballad says,) although a reward of five pounds sterling, was offered by uncle Christopher,

to any one who would bring him back to his disconsolate friends. It was generally believed that (SLY-like,) he had gone too near the edge of a coal-pit, and fallen in. However, his body was never discovered.

My uncle Christopher, to console himself, I suppose, for the loss of his two elder nephews, married soon afterwards, a Mrs. Jones—(she was a widow, with two small Joneses.)

Until this marriage I had led a comparatively happy life. Such is the effect of habit-I had grown used to the floggings, and went daily, with a sort of appetite, for my taste of the rod !

Widow Jones, however, (I never could call her aunt Christopher,) as soon as she came home, set every thing at sixes and sevens between me and my uncle. The Master Joneses engrossed all his smiles and caresses-whilst I came in for all the frowns and whippings! Mrs. Jones told me every day that she hated the very sight of me; and the little Joneses were forever singing in my cars that abominable school boy's song beginning

Cowardly, cowardly Custard,

Ate his father's mustard," &c.

I was obliged to put up with the worst bed in the house; my clothes were never fit to be seen;-at breakfast, the first of the tea and the last of the coffee were sure to be my portion;-at