And passers-by asked if the youth were blind;
So ruthlessly he passed, and left behind
The jostling mass:―he dreamed

Think you he fancied visions of the blest,—
Of fond, requited love,-exalted name,―
Himself endowed by fame?

Not so;-for him arose no scenes of rest;
But peaceful death was his sad hope, at best,
To close his life of shame.

O Poverty thy dark and spectral wings
O'er-shadowed all that wretched dreamer's life!
Thou cuttest as a knife!

He felt thy keenness and thy bitter stings;
He gnawed the crusts thy bony finger flings;
He tottered in thy strife!

'Tis true he saw, in his entranced oken,
Some loving hearts, whom friendship bound him to;
But they were young and few;
And he imagined that his trembling pen
Might win renown among renowned men-
But here he faltered, too!

While hastening on, his fancy pictured Home,
And, trembling at the pain the vision brought,
For brighter scenes he sought.

But some dark spirit would not let him roam,
in hope upon the starlit dome-
Of Home, alone, he thought.

Nor gaze

The door was open, and his mother stood,
One hand in sorrow on her infant's head,-
The other grasping bread!

Upon the chilly hearth there was no wood;
He saw her weep, and then, alas! he could
Have wished that she were dead!

And there his father sat, with haggard face,
And meagre hands, and hopeless, friendless look:
Such woe he could not "brook.

His goldless purse had kept him slow of pace;
To him was earth a barren, weary place,
And, thinking thus, he shook.

Then shook the boy! I thought to give his dream;
But êre I tell the half, it all is past,-

Too poignant long to last.

But rather like a reverie did it seem;

No vision, but a kind of daylight dream,
With misery overcast.

Then, lifting up his eyes, he turned his feet
Toward a lone, dismal, and neglected spot,
Behind the wealthy street.

He met his sister,-such her ill-paid lot,-
With well-stitched work; but for this help they'd not
Enough of food to eat.

And then, poor things! with blue and quivering lips,
His younger kin were gathering to their laps
Some workmen's wasted chips,

To carry home, or have no fire, perhaps ;
He hurries by, whilst every neighbor gäpes,
Compressing close his lips.

He raised the latch, and strided to a chair;
His father, mother, desolation, grief-

They all were gathered there!

I would his day-dream had been but thus brief-
It lingered long; the world gave no relief,.

Nor did it care!

J. F. WEISHAMPEL, Jr.

CXLV. THE PLEASURES OF SCIENCE.

To pass our time in the study of the sciences has, in all ages, been reckoned one of the most dignified and happy of human occupations, and the name of Philosopher or Lover of Wisdom, is given to those who lead such a life. But it is by no means necessary that a man should do nothing else than study known truths, and explore new, in order to earn this high title. Some of the greatest philosophers, in all ages, have been engaged in the pursuits of active life; and he who, in whatever station his lot may be cast, prefers the refined and elevating pleasures of knowledge to the low gratification of the senses, richly deserves the name of a philosopher.

It is easy to show, that there is a positive gratification resulting from the study of the sciences. If it be a pleasure to gratify curiosity-to know what we were ignorant of-to have our feelings

of wonder called forth, how pure a delight of this very kind does natural science hold out to its students! Recollect some of the extraordinary discoveries of mechanical philosophy. Is there anything in all the idle books of tales and horrors, with which youthful readers are so much delighted, more truly astonishing than the fact, that a few pounds of water may, without any machinery, by merely being placed in a particular way, produce an irresistible force? What can be more strange, than that an ounce weight should balance hundreds of pounds, by the intervention of a few bars of thin iron? Observe the extraordinary truths which optical science discloses! Can anything surprise us more, than to find that the color of white is a mixture of all others; that red, and blue, and green, and all the rest, merely by being blended into certain proportions, formed what we had fancied rather to be no color at all than all other colors together?

Chemistry is not behind in its wonders. That the diamond should be made of the same material with coal; that water should be chiefly composed of an inflammable substance; that acids should be almost all formed of different kinds of air; and that one of those acids, whose strength can dissolve almost any of the metals, should be made of the self-same ingredients with the common air we breathe: these, surely, are things to excite the wonder of any reflecting mind-nay, of any one but little accustomed to reflect. And yet these are trifling when compared to the prodigies which astronomy opens to our view: the enormous masses of the heavenly bodies; their immense distances; their countless numbers, and their motions, whose swiftness mocks the uttermost efforts of the imagination.

Akin to this pleasure of contemplating new and extraordinary truths, is the gratification of a more learnèd curiosity, by tracing resemblances and relations between things which, to common apprehension, seem widely different. It is surely a satisfaction, for instance, to know that the same thing which causes the sensation of heat causes also fluidity; that electricity, the light which is seen on the back of a cat when slightly rubbed on a frosty evening, is the very same matter with the lightning of the clouds: that plants breathe like ourselves, but differently by day and by night; that the air which burns in our lamps enables a balloon to mount. Nothing can at first sight appear less like, or less likely to be caused by the same thing, than the processes of burning and of breathing,the rust of metals and burning, the influence of a plant on the air it grows in by night, and of an animal on the same air at any time, nay, and of a body burning in that air; and yet all these operations, so unlike to common eyes, when examined by the light of science, are the same. Nothing can be less like than the working of a vast steam-engine and the crawling of a fly upon the window; yet wo

find that these two operations are performed by the same means— the weight of the atmosphere; and that a sea-horse climbs the icehills by no other power.

Can anything be more strange to contemplate? Is there in all the fâiry tales that were ever fancied, anything more calculated to arrest the attention, and to occupy and to gratify the mind, than this most unexpected resemblance between things so unlike to the eyes of ordinary beholders? Then, if we raise our views to the structure of the heavens, we are again gratified with tracing accurate but most unexpected resemblances. Is it not in the highest degree interesting to find, that the power which keeps the earth in its shape and in its path, wheeling round the sun, extends over all the other worlds that compose the universe, and gives to each its proper place and motion; that the same power keeps the moon in her path round the earth; that the same power causes the tides upon our earth, and the peculiar form of the earth itself; and that, after all, it is the same power which makes a stone fall to the ground? To learn these things, and to reflect upon them, fills the mind, and produces certain as well as pure gratification.

The highest of all our gratifications in the study of science remains. We are raised by science to an understanding of the infinite wisdom and goodness which the Creator has displayed in all his works. Not a step can we take in any direction without perceiving the most extraordinary traces of design; and the skill everywhere conspicuous is calculated in so vast a proportion of instances to promote the happiness of living creatures, and especially of ourselves, that we can feel no hesitation in concluding, that if we knew the whole scheme of Providence, every part would appear to be in harmony with a plan of absolute benevolence. Independently, however, of this most consoling influence, the delight is inexpressible, of being able to follow, as it were with our eyes, the marvelous works of the great Architect of Nature, and to trace the unbounded power and exquisite skill which are exhibited in the most minute as well as in the mightiest parts of his system. LORD BROUGHAM.

CXLVI.-A FABLE.

ONE day a 'sage knocked at a chemist's door,
Bringing a curious compound to explore,-

'Behold;" said he, as from his vest he drew it,
"This little treasure in a golden cruet:
A life, a long one, for my locks are gray,
In ceaseless toil has slowly passed away,

To gain that treasure, now my search must stop,
And see, I have but saved this little drop!
To know the worth and nature of the prize,
I bring it here for you to analyze.
The best philosopher could never quite
Its origin and essence bring to light;
But you, they say, by some mysterious arts,
Reduce all substances to simple parts:-
Your nomenclature differs, sir, from his,
We call it happiness,-and here it is."

And now the learnèd chemist strove to guess,
With what this curious stuff would coalesce:
First sprinkled on a layer of gold dust,
But this recoiled, and seemed to gender rust;
Now sundry essences in turn applies,
"Distilled from all that golden dust supplies.
Castles and villas, titles, vassals, land,
Coaches and curricles, and °fours-in-hand;
Silks, jewels, equipage, parties, plays,
'Madeira, venison, turtle-soup, and praise ;—
But strove in vain a union to produce
With one of these, and that small drop of juice;
As though impatient of the vain essay,
It did but effervesce and fume away.

With more success the chemist next imparts
Extracts from the belles lettres and the arts.
No sooner do they reach it, than he sees
It has some small affinity with these;
But yet, his nicest skill could not prevent
A large residuum of discontent.

Two curious phials next he brings to view,
The first bright green, the next of roseate hue;
And first unstopped them with the greatest care,
For when exposed to atmospheric air,
They frequently evaporate, and vain
All efforts then to bottle them again.

Essence of friendship from the former flows;
And though the drop it did not decompose,
The chemist said it rather seemed to fix,
Or float upon the surface, than to mix.

Long from the next a trembling drop suspends,
-That roseate phial-and at last descends;