self is alone with the selfhood; then the undertone of character is heard, the 'still small voice' speaking audibly to the soul above all the roaring din of the mighty Babylon of which so many of us are in such cowardly dread.
That now aged man with whom Thoreau was then corresponding is indeed a most remarkable man. But I question if he is at all adapted for the latitude and longitude of . . . . . [The editor takes the liberty of suppressing the name.] No; we are like the Baltimore oysters labelled "extra selects." We should only mortify in a can of common oysters; so we have an uncommon can of our own. The name, it is true, isn't 'blown in the bottle'; but it is stamped on our "tin." I do not believe we would allow such an one as Thoreau's corre-
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