7. At last the rootlets of the trees Shall find the prison where she lies, 8. If any, born of kindlier blood, Should ask, What maiden lies below? That tried to blossom in the snow, LXXXV. THE POET AND THE ALCHEMIST ANONYMOUS. 1. Authors of modern date are wealthy fellows ;— The rhymes and novels which cajole us, Not from the Heliconian rill, But from the waters of Pactolus. 2. Before this golden age of writers, Of odes and poems to be twisted For patrons who have heavy purses.— All ticketed from A to Izzard; Kept going backwards all his days. 3. Hard by his attic lived a chemist, And though unflattered by the dimmest To find the art of changing metals, 4. Our starving poet took occasion To seek this conjurer's abode, Not with encomiastic ode, Or laudatory dedication, But with an offer to impart, For twenty pounds, the secret art Of metals, chemistry, and fire, 5. The money paid, our bard was hurried Crowed, capered, giggled, seemed to spurn his And cried, as he secured the door And carefully put to the shutter, 99 6. With grave and solemn look, the poet Cried-"List-O, list! for thus I show it: Let this plain truth those ingrates strike, Who still, though blessed, new blessings crave, That we may all have what we like, Simply by liking what we have." LXXXVI.—THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM. JANE TAYLOR. 1. An old clock that had stood for fifty years in a farmer's kitchen, without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one summer's morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stopped. Upon this, the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable) changed countenance with alarm; the hands made a vain effort to continue their course; the wheels remained motionless with surprise; the weights hung speechless; each member felt disposed to lay the blame on the others. At length the dial instituted a formal inquiry as to the cause of the stagnation, when hands, wheels, weights, with one voice protested their innocence. 2. But now a faint tick was heard below from the pendulum, who thus spoke :-"I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and I am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking." Upon hearing this, the old clock became so enraged, that it was on the very point of striking. 3. "Lazy wire!" exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands. "Very good!" replied the pendulum, "it is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as everybody knows, set yourself up above me,-it is vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness! You, who have had nothing to do all the days of your life, but to stare people in the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitchen! Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and to wag backwards and forwards year after year, as I do.” 4. 66 As to that," said the dial, “is there not a window in your house, on purpose for you to look through?" "For all that," resumed the pendulum, "it is very dark here; and although there is a window, I dare not stop, even for an in stant, to look out at it. Besides, I am really tired of my way of life; and if you wish, I'll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. I happened this morning to be calculating how many times I should have to tick in the course of only the next twenty-four hours; perhaps some of you, above there, can give me the exact sum." "Exactly 5. The minute-hand, being quick at figures, presently replied, "Eighty-six thousand four hundred times." so," replied the pendulum; "well, I appeal to you all, if the very thought of this was not enough to fatigue one; and when I began to multiply the strokes of one day by those of months and years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect; so, after a great deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I to myself, I'll stop." 6. The dial could scarcely keep its countenance during this harangue; but resuming its gravity, thus replied: "Dear, Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious person as yourself, should have been overcome by this sudden action. It is true, you have done a great deal of work in your time ; so have we all, and are likely to do; which, although it may fatigue us to think of, the question is whether it will fatigue us to do. Would you now do me the favor to give about half a dozen strokes to illustrate my argument?" 66 7. The pendulum complied, and ticked six times in its usual pace. Now," resumed the dial, " may I be allowed to inquire, if that exertion was at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?" "Not in the least," replied the pendulum, "it is not of six strokes that I complain, nor of sixty, but of millions." "Very good," replied the dial; "but recollect that though you may think of a million strokes in an instant, you are required to execute but one; and that, however often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will always be given you to swing in." "That consideration staggers me, I confess," said the pendulum. "Then I hope," resumed the dial-plate, we shall all immediately return to our duty; for the maids will lie in bed if we stand idling thus." 66 8. Upon this, the weights, who had never been accused of light conduct, used all their influence in urging him to proceed; when, as with one consent, the wheels began to turn, the hands began to move, the pendulum began to swing, and, to its credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a red beam of the rising sun that streamed through a hole in the kitchen, shining full upon the dial-plate, it brightened up, as if nothing had been the matter. 9. When the farmer came down to breakfast that morning, upon looking at the clock he declared that his watch had gained half an hour in the night. MORAL. 10. A celebrated modern writer says, "Take care of the minutes, and the hours will take care of themselves." This is an admirable remark, and might be very seasonably recollected when we begin to be "weary in well-doing," from the thought of having much to do. The present moment is all we have to do with, in any sense; the past is irrecoverable e; the future is uncertain; nor is it fair to burden one moment with the weight of the next. Sufficient unto the moment is the trouble thereof. If we had to walk a hundred miles, we should still have to set but one step at a time, and this process continued, would infallibly bring us to our journey's end. Fatigue generally begins, and is always increased, by calculating in a minute the exertion of hours. 11. Thus, in looking forward to future life, let us recollect that we have not to sustain all its toil, to endure all its sufferings, or encounter all its crosses, at once. One moment comes laden with its own little burdens, then flies, and is succeeded by another no heavier than the last: if one could be borne, so can another and another. 12. Even looking forward to a single day, the spirit may sometimes faint from an anticipation of the duties, the labors, the trials to temper and patience, that may be expected. Now this is unjustly laying the burden of many thousand moments upon one. Let any one resolve always to do right now, leaving then to do as it can; and if he were to live to the age of Methuselah he would never do wrong. But the common error is to resolve to act right after breakfast, or after dinner, or to-morrow morning, or next time: but now, just now, this once, we must go on the same as ever. 13. It is easy, for instance, for the most ill-tempered person to resolve that the next time he is provoked, he will not let his temper overcome him; but the victory would be to |