Resigning to thought his chimerical brain,

He formed the contrivance we now shall explain:
But whether by magic, or alchymy's powers,
We know not-indeed 't is no business of ours:
Perhaps it was only by patience and care,
At last, that he brought his invention to bear.
In youth 't was projected; but years stole away,
And ere 't was complete he was wrinkled and gray:
But success is secure unless energy fails;

And at length he produced The Philosopher's Scales.

What were they?-you ask: you shall presently see;
These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea;
O no;-for such properties wondrous had they,
That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they could weigh;
Together with articles small or immense,

From mountains or planets, to atoms of sense:
Nought was there so bulky, but there it could lay;
And nought so ethereal, but there it would stay;
And nought so reluctant, but in it must go;
All which some examples more clearly will show.

The first thing he tried 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, As to bound like a ball on the roof of the cell.

Next time he put in Alexander the Great, With a garment that Dorcas 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,

Now loaded one scale, while the other was prest
By those mites the poor widow dropped into the chest ;-
Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce,

And down, down, the farthing's worth came with a bounce.

Again, he performed an experiment rare;
A monk, with austerities bleeding and bare,
Climbed into his scale; in the other was laid
The heart of our Howard, now partly decayed;

When he found, with surprise, that the whole of his brother

Weighed less, by some pounds, than this bit of the other.

By further experiments (no matter how)

He found that ten chariots weighed less than one plough;
A sword, with gilt trappings, 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.
Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl,
Ten counsellors' wigs full of powder and curl,
All heaped in one balance, and swinging from thence,
Weighed less than some atoms 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 would suffice
One pearl to outweigh—'t was the "pearl of great price."

At last 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;

Whence, balanced in air, it ascended on high,
And sailed up aloft a balloon in the sky;

While the scale with the soul in so mightily fell,
That it jerked the philosopher out of his cell.

MORAL.

Dear reader, if e'er self-deception prevails,
We pray you to try The Philosopher's Scales.
But if they are lost in the ruins around,
Perhaps a good substitute thus may be found:-
Let judgment and conscience in circles be cut,
To which strings of thought may be carefully put:
Let these be made even with caution extreme,
And impartiality use for a beam:

Then bring those good actions which pride overrates, And tear up your motives to serve for the weights.

A modest violet grew;

Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,

As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its color bright and fair;

It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;

And there it sheds its sweet perfume,
Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility.

LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.

MISS LANDON began to write at a very early period. "Improvisatrice," her first work, was published in 1824, when, as it is now reported, she was only fourteen years of age. This volume contains some of her brightest gems. Here are those exquisite stanzas, commencing"Of all the months that fill the year,

Give April's month to me,

For earth and sky are then so filled
With sweet variety!"

A madrigal, this, which, among the countless strains the spring calls forth, has never been surpassed. The "Violet" is another beautiful poem; and "The Eve of St. John" is one of those fanciful, fascinating legends, in which this poetess is inimitable. The principal poem is a story of passionate genius and disappointed lovethemes in which Miss Landon seemed to find the inspiration of her muse. The scope of the poem allowed the introduction of many episodes; and it is in the variety of these, and the profusion of imagery thrown over the scenes, as though the young mind which created them could not rest till every beautiful fancy had been invoked, and every flower had been heaped on its first offering to the public, that we detect the youth of the writer. Still there are in this poem, and throughout the volume, touches of nature, and revelations of feeling and imagination, combined with a judgment and taste, which are