Book 2 — GRAHAM’S SMALL-TALK.

Held in his idle moments, with his Readers, Correspondents and Exchanges.

Our Small-Talk has afforded food for infinite jest to a few unfledged wits and cubs of critics, clever word-snappers, who keep reiterating the joke that the Small-Talk is small—very. Of course it is, goslings! it was so called and set down originally in the bills. So do not imagine that you are discoverers, and set yourselves off to the Polar regions in search of Sir John Franklin. The Small-Talk is more than small—it is pert, impudent, audacious, outrageous, insolent, and, cool. More than that, it is—“to be continued.”

Ah! now, isn’t this delightful? We were wondering whether we should ever get another love-letter, when lo! in comes the mail, from which we extract the following delicious epistle from a young lady, who, we know, would love us, if we were only a bachelor:

“To Graham.

“A ‘bachelor,’ thou sayest?—ha-ha—have a care—

A target too tempting—I bid thee beware!

Now stand and deliver, thou ‘knave of the heart!’

Thy ‘clubs’ shall not parry the aim of my dart.

“Thy armor—thy pleading, and dodging is vain,

Wry faces uncalled for! ’tis hymenial chain

We wish to throw round thee—surrender! I bid—

All woven of roses, the thorns are quite hid.

“A net-work of love shall enshroud thee forever—

(‘Enshroud’ is too icy, it makes Cupid shiver—

Imprison is better—I like the word best—)

When the heart’s taken captive the spirit’s at rest.

“Two short little weeks, out of fifty or more,

Is all we can claim—and one year out of four—

We must make up in speed, what we lack for in time,

And make a bold push or have no Valentine.

“An abrupt, ringing laugh, from a friend standing near,

And—‘I read you it wrong!’ he says, ‘Benedict!’ do ye hear?

How horrid provoking to play me this game!

I don’t care, I will send it subscribed with my name.”

H. H.

We wont give the name in full, or we should never receive another love token. But—what have we here? as we live—another Valentine! and with a sprig of geranium, too, pressed loving between the paper—and love verses! No—we will not print these, they are too confidingly tender and hardly “allowable” rhyme.

But here comes one, with a full, round superscription, for all the world like the hand of a lady we used to love when we were a boy—adoringly, wildly, most insanely. She was older than we were, and didn’t take the matter so much to heart. Some other fellow took her off—a cadet, or something of that sort from West Point—and she never returned our love letter. But what is this? Ha! $3— there is something in this, that is a cure for the twinges of an old love wound:

“Fort Meade, Florida, Feb. 10th, 1852.

“Dear Graham—The February number of your Magazine has this day come to hand, and acting on the hint you give in your Small-Talk, i. e. ‘Money is worth 2 per cent. a month,’ I herewith inclose the $3 for this year’s subscription to your book. I showed that portion of your Small-Talk(?) headed ‘That bill again,’ to my wife; and what do you think? Why, instead of calling you a good-for-nothing-impertinent man, she said, ‘Why don’t you give the man his money? Graham is a dear, good fellow and he deserves it,’ etc. Of course, I had to back down, and here is the tin.

“Truly yours,

G. D.”

Now we like that woman, and will bet she was just the girl that would go off with a soldier—full of all brave and good thoughts, and loving as a southern wind in an orange grove. If we ever do go to Florida, we shall stop at the Fort and see this lady, and shake hands all round with the G. D.’s.

Thanks.—Our space is limited, in this number, although we have much to say to our friends and readers; but we shall take room enough to thank most sincerely and heartily, the many editors who have sent us clubs and single subscribers for the year 1852. We had intended to notice, by letter, the many kind expressions of regard for our business welfare, but so many and rapidly sent were these missives of good-will, that we abandoned the undertaking, and must here content ourself with saying—to one and all—Thanks!

We can get up no theatrical speech for the occasion, and can only promise to devote such abilities as we have been blessed with, be they poor or rich, to making “Graham”—what we hope it can be made, under our administration—“the best Magazine in the country.” We can only say, that our whole time and thought are freely bestowed upon the work—that we have no other avocation, similar, or adverse, to distract our attention, and if we fail to realize our aim, in the opinion of our readers and friends, that our ability comes short of our ambition. So said—so done. This number is a fair sample of what we can do; and we think we can do better, and shall try.

The Saturday Gazette.—This well-known Family Paper is now under the charge of Alexander Cummings and Mrs. Joseph C. Neal, and has been, both in typographical execution and in literary excellence, much improved. Mrs. Neal’s delightful Letters from the South, are a very decided addition to the intellectual attractions of the Gazette—the Foreign Correspondence is more complete than ever, and the Stories and Essays to be found in its ample pages are of the very highest order.

A prospectus of the paper, setting forth in detail the advantages of the Gazette, will be found upon the third page of our cover, and a specimen copy of the paper will be sent to such of our readers as desire to see it, upon application to A. Cummings & Co.

The News-Letter, at Galesburg, gives us a notice of a column, full of all sorts of hits and good things. The Cynthiana News and the Rifle must buck up or they will lose the stakes. Although the metal of Rifle is good, and the bore perfect, we can beat the editor with pistols, at ten paces, for a Turkey! We send Atkinson of the News a sheet—Wilcox will supply and suit you—cash or approved paper—samples forwarded. We accept the Sandy Hill Herald’s invitation! said shall look at those “acres” until our heart aches.