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taining to some M. S. which the sly, obese
�Pierce Pungent� as he dubs himself volunteered to
take down to Harpers.     Old Powell, � wily old dog! �
always contrives to get his salary of $10 or $12
per week in advance, by hook, crook ad half-dollars.
Well, he might be honester, perhaps, did he not find
it hard to keep Mrs Micawber and the family. But
the man is so sly, slanderous and treacherous, �a speaker
against dignities� whom I honor.    Watson, Leslie�s
other editor, is a decent man enough as far as I 
know, has some musical pretensions, no literary abili-
ty worth speaking of, but writes prettyish rhymes.
He, very conscientiously, reads through every M.S. sent
in to the paper, believes in such novelists as �J. Smith�
of the London Journal &c, is goodnatured, always
praises books sent into review and has never rejected
anything I have sent in                    A rather thought-
ful, depressed-looking man, has done a good deal
of editing in his time, once in companionship with Ed-
gar Poe.  (Apropos of the author of the �Raven� I once
heard Powell speak of meeting him, adding, �poor Poe,
how drunk he got that evening!�   Now Poe died
some years before Powell�s appearance in this country.
Such an inveterate liar the man is!)   To return to
Watson.   He is shortish, bearded and mustached,
red haired � that sort of hair which always looks ra-
ther wet.   Altogether, I should say, he fills his
position well enough.      I�ve heard Sol Eytinge talk