Naught was there so bulky, but there it would lay,
And naught so ethereal, but there it would stay,
And naught so reluctant, but in it must go;

All which some examples more clearly will show.

The first thing he weighed was the head of Voltaire,*
Which retained all the wit that had ever been there;
As a weight, he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf,
Containing the prayer of the penitent thief;
When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell,
That it bounced like a ball on the roof of the cell.

One time, he put in Alexander the Great,

With the garment that Dorcast had made, for a weight,
And, though clad in armor from sandals to crown,
The hero rose up, and the garment went down.

A long row of alms-houses, amply endowed
By a well-esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud,
Next loaded one scale; while the other was pressed
By those mites the poor widow dropped into the chest;
Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce,
And down, down the farthing-worth came with a bounce.

By further experiments (no matter how),

He found that ten chariots weighed less than one plow;
A sword with gilt-trapping rose up in the scale,
Though balanced by only a ten-penny nail;
A shield and a helmet, a buckler and spear,
Weighed less than a widow's uncrystallized tear.

A lord and a lady went up at full sail,

When a bee chanced to light on the opposite scale;

A famous French infidel writer.

Dorcas, called, also, Tabitha, celebrated for her charitable deeds. See Acts ix., 36-42.

Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl,
Ten counselor's wigs, full of powder and curl,
All heaped in one balance, and swinging from thence,
Weighed less than a few grains of candor and sense;
A first-water diamond, with brilliants begirt,
Than one good potato, just washed from the dirt:
Yet not mountains of silver and gold could suffice,
One pearl to outweigh,-'twas THE PEARL OF GREAT PRICE.

Last of all, the whole world was bowled in at the grate,
With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight,
When the former sprang up with so strong a rebuff,
That it made a vast rent and escaped at the roof!
When balanced in air, it ascended on high,
And sailed up aloft, a balloon in the sky;
While the scale with the soul in't so mightily fell,
That it jerked the philosopher out of his cell.

CAPTAIN BROWN'S SPEECH TO THE MACKEREL BRIGADE. ORPHEUS C. KERR PAPERS.

FELLOW-SOLDATS! (which is French.)

It was originally

intended to present you with a stand of colors; but the fellowcitizen who was to present it, has only got as far as the hundred and fifty-second page of the remarks he intended to make on the occasion, and it is a military necessity not to wait for him.

I have but few words to say, and these are them. Should any of you happen to be killed in the coming battle, let me implore you to die without a groan. It sounds better in history, as well as in the great, heart-stirring romances of the weekly palladiums of freedom. How well it reads, that “Private Muggins received a shot in the neck, and died without a groan!"

Soldats! Bullets have been known to pass through the thickest trees, and so I may be shot myself. Should such a calamity befall our distracted country, I shall die without a groan, even though I am a grown person. Therefore, fear nothing. The eyes of the whole civilized world are upon you; and History and Domestic Romance expect to write that you died without a groan !

MR. CRANE'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF HIS COMPANION. WIDOW BEDOTT PAPERS.

TRYPHENY CRANE! Trypheny Crane!
And shan't we never meet no more?
My buzzum heaves with turrible pain,
While I thy ontimely loss deplore.

I used to frequently grumble at my fate,
And be afeerd I was a gwine to suffer sorrer;
But since you died my trouble is so great,
I hain't got no occasion for to borrer.

The birds is singin' in the trees,

The flowers is blowin' on the plain;
But they hain't got no power to please
Without my dear Trypheny Crane.

I can't submit to't, though I must;
It is a dretful blow;

My heart is ready for to bust-
I shall give up, I know.

And, although undoubtedly my loss
Is my dear pardner's gain,

I can't be reconciled, because
I've lost Trypheny Crane.

"

SPEECH OF ORATOR CLIMAX.-ANON.

MR. PRESIDENT,-Happiness is like a crow perched upon the neighboring top of a far distant mountain, which some fisherman vainly strives, to no purpose, to ensnare. He looks at the crow, Mr. President,-and-Mr. President, the crow looks at him; and, sir, they both look at each other. But the moment he attempts to reproach him, he banishes away like the schismatic taints of the rainbow, the cause of which, it was the astonishing and perspiring genius of a Newton, who first deplored and enveloped the cause of it. Can not the poor man, sir, precipitate into all the beauties of nature, from the loftiest mounting up to the most humblest valley, as well as the man prepossessed of indigence? Yes, sir; while trilling transports crown his view, and rosy hours allure his sanguinary youth, he can raise his mind up to the laws of nature, incompressible as they are, while viewing the lawless storm that kindleth up the tremenjious roaring thunder, and fireth up the dark and rapid lightenings, and causeth it to fly through the intensity of space, that belches forth those awful and sublime meteors, and roll-abolly-aliases, through the unfathomable regions of fiery hemispheres. Sometimes, sir, seated in some lovely retreat, beneath the shadowy shades of an umbrageous tree, at whose venal foot flows some limping stagnant stream, he gathers around him his wife and the rest of his orphan children. He there takes a retrospective view upon the diagram of futurity, and casts his eye like a flashing meteor forward into the past. Seated in their midst, aggravated and exhaled by the dignity and independence coincident with honorable poverty, his countenance irrigated with an intense glow of self-sufficiency and excommunicated knowledge, he quietly turns to instruct his little assemblage. He there endeavors to distill into their young, youthful minds, useless lessons to guard their juvenile youths against vice and immortality. There, on a clear sunny evening, when the silvery moon is shining forth in all her indulgence and ubiquity, he teaches the first sediments

of gastronomy, by pointing out to them the bear, the lion, and many other fixed invisible consternations, which are continually involving upon their axletrees, though the blue cerulean fundamus above. From this vast ethereal he dives with them to the very bottom of the unfathomable oceans, bringing up from thence liquid treasures of earth and air. He then courses with them on the imaginable wing of fancy through the boundless regions of unimaginable either, until, swelling into impalpable immensity, he is for ever lost in the infinite radiation of his own overwhelming genius.

MY POOR CRACKED HEART!-S. E.

Он dear, oh dear, what shall I do?
There's something wrong, I'm sure!
What makes me oft so restless feel,
So absent-so demure?

I sigh a hundred times a day,
Slight noises make me start;
My thoughts are often miles away-
Alas! my poor cracked heart!

Companions, friends, I have a score;
I'm à la mode* in dress;

I've health and competence,-what more
Could single maiden bless?

I'm young, they say I'm pretty too,
All study me to please;

cd to mohadAnd yet such sorry symptoms show
A heart that's ill at ease.