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John Littlejohn maintained the right,

Through storm and shine, in the world's despite :
When fools or quacks desired his vote,
Dosed him with arguments, learned by rote,
Or by coaxing, threats, or promise, tried

To gain his support to the wrongful side,

Nay, nay," said John, with an angry frown, "Your coin is spurious, nail it down."

When told that kings had a right divine,
And that the people were herds of swine,
That nobles alone were fit to rule,

That the poor were unimproved by school,
That ceaseless toil was the proper fate
Of all but the wealthy and the great,

John shook his head, and said, with a frown,— "The coin is spurious, nail it down."

When told, that events might justify
A false and crooked policy;
That a decent hope of future good

Might excuse departure from rectitude;

That a lie, if white, was a small offense,
To be forgiven by men of sense,

"Nay, nay," said John, with a sigh and a frown, "The coin is spurious, nail it down."

[Charles Mackay.

THE PHILOSOPHER'S SCALES.

A MONK, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er,

In the depth of his cell, with his stone-covered floor,
Resigning to thought his chimerical brain,
Once formed the contrivance we now shall explain;
But whether by magic's or alchemy'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.

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 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,
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 tenpenny 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 counselors' 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,—'t was 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.

[Jane Taylor

PHAETHON, OR THE AMATEUR COACHMAN.

DAN PHAETHON,- -so the histories run,

Was a jolly young chap, and a son of the Sun;
Or rather of Phoebus,-but as to his mother,
Genealogists make a deuce of a pother,
Some going for one and some for another!
For myself, I must say, as a careful explorer,
This roaring young blade was the son of Aurora !

Now old Father Phoebus, ere railways begun

To elevate funds and depreciate fun,

Drove a very fast coach by the name of "The Sun;" Running, they say,

Trips every day,

(On Sundays and all, in a heathenish way),

All lighted up with a famous array

Of lanterns that shone with a brilliant display,
And dashing along like a gentleman's shay,
With never a fare, and nothing to pay!

Now Phaethon begged of his doting old father,
To grant him a favor, and this the rather,
Since some one had hinted, the youth to annoy,
That he was n't, by any means, Phoebus's boy!
Intending, the rascally son of a gun,

To darken the brow of the son of the Sun!
"By the terrible Styx!" said the angry sire,
While his eyes flashed volumes of fury and fire,
"To prove your reviler an infamous liar,

I swear I will grant you whate'er you desire!

"Then by my head,"
The youngest said,

"I'll mount the coach when the horses are fed !For there's nothing I'd choose, as I'm alive, Like a seat on the box, and a dashing drive!"

Just stop a moment and think upon 't!

You're quite too young," continued the sage, "To tend a coach at your tender age!

Besides, you see,

'Twill really be

Your first appearance on any stage!

Desist, my child,

The cattle are wild,

And when their mettle is thoroughly riled,'
Depend upon 't, the coach will be 'spiled:'
They're not the fellows to draw it mild!
Desist, I say,

You'll rue the day,

So mind, and don't be foolish, Pha!"

But the youth was proud,

And swore aloud,

'Twas just the thing to astonish the crowd,He'd have the horses, and wouldn't be cowed!

In vain the boy was cautioned at large,

He called for the chargers, unheeding the charge,
And vowed that any young fellow of force,
Could manage a dozen coursers, of course!
Now Phoebus felt exceedingly sorry

He had given his word in such a hurry;
But having sworn by the Styx, no doubt
He was in for it now, and couldn't back out.

So calling Phaethon up in a trice,

He gave the youth a bit of advice :—

"Parce stimulis, utere loris!'

(A stage direction," of which the core is, Don't use the whip,-they're ticklish things,But, whatever you do, hold on to the strings!) Remember, the rule of the Jehu-tribe is, 'Medio tutissimus ibis,'*

As the judge remarked to a rowdy Scotchman, (Who was going to quod between two watchmen !) So mind your eye and spare your goad,

Be shy of the stones, and keep in the road!"

"In the middle you'll go most safely."