7. A long row of alms-houses, amply endowed
By a well esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud,
Next loaded one scale; while the other was prest
By those mites the Poor Widow* dropt into the chest;
Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce,
And down, down the farthing-worth went with a bounce.
8. 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 the bit of the other.
9. 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-
10. 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 Counsellor'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;
11. A first water Diamond, with brilliants begirt,
Than one good potatoe, just washed from the dirt: Yet not mountains of silver and gold could suffice, One pearl to outweigh-'twas the Pearl of great price! 12. Last of all, the whole world was bowled in at the grate, With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weightWhen the former sprang up with so strong a rebuff, That it made a vast rent and escaped at the roofWhen balanced in air, it ascended on high, And sailed up aloft, a balloon in the skyWhile the scale with the soul in, so mightily fell, That it jerked the Philosopher out of his cell. MORAL.
13. Dear Reader, if e'er self-deception prevails, We pray you to try the Philosopher's Scales
* See St. Mark, chap. xii. 42. + Religion-see Matthew, chap. xiii. 46.
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 serve for a beam.
Then bring those good actions, which pride overrates,
And tear up your motives, in bits, for the Weights.
In the Zoonomia of Dr. Darwin, among various instances recorded by that philosophical physician of what he calls maniacal hallucination, or mental delusion, is the case of a young farmer of Warwickshire, whose story was well authenticated in the public papers of the time. A poor elderly woman in his neighborhood was in the habit, urged by the pinching necessi ties of an inclement winter, of taking a few sticks from his grounds and his hedge, to preserve the fading fire in her forlorn cottage. Suspecting the delinquent, the hard-hearted hind watched and detected her. After wrenching from her the scanty faggot, blows and reproaches succeeded. Struck with the misery of her situation, and the cruelty of her oppressor, she kneeled, and, rearing her withered hands to the cold moon, prayed that "he might never again know the blessing of warmth." The consciousness of wrong, the solemnity of the hour, the pathetic tone, "sharp misery,” and impassioned gesture of the miserable matron, at once extinguished the dim reason of the rustic. He immediately complained of a preternatural chilness, was continually calling for more fire and clothes, and conceived himself to be in a freezing state, till the time of his death, which happened shortly after. On this singular story is founded the following ballad, which is in the genuine spirit of ancient English song, and shows, by proof irrefragable, that simplicity, and the language of ordinary life, may be connected with the most exquisite poetry.-Farmer's Museum.]
Goody Blake and Harry Gill.-WORDSWORTH,
1. OH! what's the matter? what's the matter?
What is't that ails young Harry Gill?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still.
Of waistcoats Harry has no lack,
Good duffle gray, and flannel fine;
He has a blanket on his back,
And coats enough to smother nine.
2. In March, December, and in July,
"Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
The neighbors tell, and tell you truly,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
At night, at morning, and at noon,
'Tis all the same with Harry Gill;
Beneath the sun, beneath the moon,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still.
3. Young Harry was a lusty drover,
And who so stout of limb as he?
His cheeks were red as ruddy clover,
His voice was like the voice of three.
Auld Goody Blake was old and poor
Ill fed she was, and thinly clad :
And any man who passed her door,
Might see how poor a hut she had.
4. All day she spun in her poor dwelling,
And then her three hours' work at night!
Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling,
It would not pay for candle-light.
-This woman dwelt in Dorsetshire,
Her hut was on a cold hill side,
And in that country coals are dear,
For they come far by wind and tide.
5. By the same fire to boil their pottage,
Two poor
old dames, as I have known,
Will often live in one small cottage,-
But she, poor woman, dwelt alone.
'Twas well enough when summer came,
The long warm lightsome summer day,
Then at her door the canty dame
Would sit, as any linnet gay.
6. But when the ice our streams did fetter,
Oh! then how her old bones would shake:
You would have said, if you had met her,
'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake.
Her evenings then were dull and dead;
Sad case it was as you may think,
For very cold to go to bed,
And then for cold not sleep a wink.
7. O joy for her! whene'er in winter,
The winds at night had made a rout,
And scattered many a lusty splinter,
And many a rotten bough about.
Yet never had she, well or sick,
As every man who knew her says,
A pile before hand, wood or stick,
Enough to warm her for three days.
8. Now when the frost was past enduring,
And made her poor old bones to ache,
Could any thing be more alluring,
Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?
And now and then it must be said,
When her old bones were cold and chill,
She left her fire, or left her bed,
To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.
9. Now Harry he had long suspected
This trespass of old Goody Blake,
And vow'd that she should be detected,
And he on her would vengeance take.
And oft from his warm fire he'd go, ́
And to the fields his road would take,
And there, at night, in frost and snow,
He watch'd to seize old Goody Blake.
10. And once behind a rick* of barley,
Thus looking out did Harry stand;
The moon was full and shining clearly,
And crisp with frost the stubble land.
-He hears a noise-he's all awake-
Again!-on tiptoe down the hill
He softly creeps-'Tis Goody Blake!
She's at the hedge of Harry Gill.
11. Right glad was he when he beheld her :
Stick after stick did Goody pull,
He stood behind a bush of elder,
Till she had fill'd her apron full.
When with her load she turn'd about,
The by-road back again to take,
He started forward with a shout,
And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.
12. And fiercely by the arm he took her,
And by the arm he held her fast,
And fiercely by the arm he shook her,
And cry'd, "I've caught you then at last!"
Then Goody, who had nothing said,
Her bundle from her lap let fall;
* Rick, a pile, or stack.
And kneeling on the sticks, she pray'd
To God that is the Judge of all.
13. She pray'd, her withered hand uprearing,
While Harry held her by the arm—
"God! who art never out of hearing,
O may he never more be warm !”
The cold, cold moon above her head,
Thus on her knees did Goody pray,
Young Harry heard what she had said,
And icy cold he turn'd away.
14. He went complaining all the morrow,
That he was cold and very chill :
His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow,
Alas that day for Harry Gill!
That day he wore a riding coat,
But not a whit the warmer he:
Another was on Thursday brought,
And ere the Sabbath he had three.
15. 'Twas all in vain, a useless matter,
And blankets were about him pinn'd :
Yet still his jaws and teeth they clatter,
Like a loose casement in the wind.
And Harry's flesh it fell away;
And all who see him say 'tis plain,
That live as long as live he may,
He never will be warm again.
16. No word to any man he utters,
Abed or up, to young or old;
But ever to himself he mutters,
"Poor Harry Gill is very cold.”
Abed or up, by night or day,
His teeth they chatter, chatter still;
Now think, ye farmers all, I pray,
Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill.
The Three Warnings.-MRs. Thrale. 1. THE tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground. 'Twas therefore said by ancient sages,
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