AFTER a dogged silence of long months, in which there have been scores of anxious inquiries on the part of our readers, as to his whereabout, whatabout, and whenabout, -and when-to-be-about, - the INDIFFERENT MAN has at length, in the cool indifference of his own good time, 'forked over' the stanzas below, composed on the daguerrotype shado of a sweetheart whom he had never seen.