The other with the 'Morning Post'
To calculate' how long, at most,
'This heavy weather will hold on
So, breakfasts, dines, and sups, Boston.
Oh! pleasant reflections are every where
Except in this cursed atmosphere;
But nothing whatever, unless their priest,
Disturbs your Boston phlegm the least;
Not even a storm, No'th-East by East.

III.

THE iron chariots bowling on
From Albany and Stonington,

Are chiming with their thousand wheels,
And within, the living cargo reels

And nods about familiarly,

Each to the other, as he were a brother,

And all as the mist falls silently.

Five hundred noses point ahead,

And a thousand eye-lids closed, as dead

As already the silver coin had pressed,

And sealed them in their final rest;

So chill, from the mist of the neighboring deep,

Is the nodding, nibbling, icy sleep;

And dreams confusing go and come,

Which blessings are and a curse to some;
But all with a feeling of 'Devil-may-care,'
Peculiar to the rail-road car,

Or such as you fancy a witch's are

On a broom-stick ride in the midnight air;

Some promenade all' at Symms's Hole,

Or, Hands all around' at the Northern Pole;

The spot, where the earth having come to a crisis

The Sun goes around on the tops of the ices,

A weary Anchises;

Ices, like Alps, of all shapes and devices;

The pyramid, dome, the temple, and all

That seemed 'frozen music' to Madame DE STAEL;
While cluster of stars, with their beautiful eyes,
Just peep in between, with a kind of surprise;
Some fading, some flashing, all grouping anew,
Like the lights of a city, when passing in view,
Or laughing young girls, all crowding for places
In windows brim full of (God bless!) their sweet faces;
And thus night and day, vis-à-vis to each other,
Waltz round the horizon like sister and brother;
While deep in the vault, with a hand unseen,
(The unknown God' of the shifting scene.)
From the morning of Time, one star has stood
And ruled that glittering multitude.

Or, some may prefer, as it 's here rather cold,
To mount on a streamer of crimson or gold,
And shooting off in a shaft of light,
Ride tangent up to the top o' the night,
And dip in the slant of the Sun, as he
Wheels up somewhere in the Indian sea;
Or wink to the wink of a new-made star,
Not yet rolled round, and caviare
To the general;' but here with a jar
That murders sleep, old Beelzebub,
With a kind of hip-hurrah!' hubbub,
A snort and a scream, has startled all;
And the lady in the travelling shawl

Has dropped her babe, too drugged to squall ;
And stiff as a shaking Quaker sits
The gentleman in summer fits,'

No'th-East by East, a point too far;

His dream is true, that he left last night
New-York, at eighty of Fahrenheit -
And his coat in the baggage car!

But dreams must change; and now they wake
To run on coffee and beef-steak;
The latest Picayune,' and then
A southern climate, to read it in;
A flower or two, a light and table,
To make the thing more passable;
A sea-coal fire, a Tremont-bath-
All the dear comforts Boston hath
In such rich store; and her's so much,
No other rail-road leads to such:
But some, with stubborn memories
Of last night's ugly-sounding seas,
The few, with stomachs out of tone,
Dream every thing; but, senses gone,
Have no distinct conception what,

Save a fire, and a bed, and something hot,
In (oh, so like a home to one!)
The pleasant rooms at the Albion.

Binds him a chaplet of Thirteen,
And silent, smiles upon the scene.
The mists have gone off silently,
And scarcely whispered their good-bye;
They have crept away with a stealthy roll,
Like the gathering of a noiseless scroll;
You may see them yet, as they glide away,
And hang their curtains about the bay;
While the pointed seas flash out between,
Like the spears of a host, in battle seen;
Or lift their white caps, one by one,
A welcome to the rising sun:
A moment's hush, on sea and air,
Still, as an angel passing were,

To bid them breathe a silent prayer,
And then, all free and gloriously

The Sun comes mounting from the sea,
As lightning had sprang sudden there,
And lingered in the atmosphere!
Again the languid pulses start
Like a rush of joy to a weary heart,
That hardly hath left a hope for such,
So mild its quick but gentle touch :
And now it clasps in warm embrace
All living things, and face to face
And lip to lip, shall cling all day,
Still giving life, unceasingly.
Beneath the clear unclouded sky
All quiet and still the islands lie,
Like monsters of the deep, couchant;
And farther out is cool Nahant,
A finger pointing the sea aslant;
The light-house top, and Nix's Mate,
And tall ships moving by in state,
With top-sails and top-gallants bent

To catch each wandering breeze that's sent;

Some, just come in from Labrador,
Sweep by with the nod of an emperor;

And some are there, have dipped their spars
In waters that flash back of stars

A sky-full from each wave that swells

Its mounting crest in the Dardanelles;
Some, that have iced them at Cape Horn;
And some dash in, with topsails torn

In some such trifling matter as

A rough-and-tumble at Hatteras;

And some, still warm from southern seas
And cotton bags, hail out, Balize;'

A long procession, dashing on,
Like the march of men to a clarion.

THALES O F PARIS.

FROM THE FRENCH.

ONE of the hobbies cherished in the most especial manner by the good citizen of Paris, is Philosophy; not that he takes delight in the cultivation of wisdom, or makes the study of nature his pursuit: but when things go well with him in the world; when his fortune has reached the limit of his desires; when age has abated the ardor of his passions, and in the bosom of his family he finds himself surrounded with every comfort and luxury that heart could wish; he fancies himself beyond the common accidents of life; he becomes a philosopher. His philosophy is his pet, his play-thing, his hobbyhorse upon which he gets astride, and gambols like a frolicsome child. Should his wife scold, should his roast-beef be burnt, should a sudden shower break up a party of pleasure, he alone preserves his equanimity; is smiling, soothing, and consolatory; he is a philos. opher. Philosophy is his sovereign panacea; with the understanding that no precautions have been neglected to secure him as far as possible against the weightier mishaps of life. His houses and fur

niture are insured, and his money, instead of being exposed to the hazards of joint stock companies or rail-roads, is safely invested in the royal funds.

Monsieur d'Herbois was a happy example of this consolatory system, and seemed to have been sent into the world expressly for the purpose of sounding the praises of philosophy, without ever being obliged to test its efficacy in his own case. Wealthy by a paternal inheritance, which thrift on his part had increased, he had early in life married the woman of his choice; and his only son, about twenty-two years of age, was now in his turn about to espouse a young lady, whose character, fortune, and family all exactly suited the fortunate father. And so Monsieur d'Herbois, a man of a natu rally placid and even temper, was now busying himself in preparing the dower, or if you please the appanage of Gustavus, with the benignity and disinterested solicitude of a sage.

'My friend,' said he to Monsieur Durand, who was not a philosopher, I shall give to Gustavus my house at Sussy. I well know that this will be a great sacrifice, and that we cannot pass the summers there any more, because it is possible that my wife cannot agree on all points with her daughter-in-law; but we love Gustavus so dearly-and beside, one must be a philosopher. We shall therefore live in Paris on the second floor; the first will be occupied by the young folks. My wife grumbles a little at this; but says I to her: My dear, suppose some unexpected calamity should occur, to sweep away all our property?-what would then become of us? Then we should have to climb up into the garret, and would be

forced to summon up all our philosophy, of which we shall scarcely stand in need, merely to ascend a few additional steps. Thales of Miletus acted in this manner, one of the seven wise men of Greece, who endured all sorts of troubles without complaint, and in fact defied all mankind to disturb the serenity of his soul and the tranquillity of his spirit.'

'And do you give the same defiance to men as Thales did?' asked Monsieur Durand.

You, my friend, ought to know whether I have

Have you ever known me to depart from my

'I know,' replied M. Durand, 'that during the time since you and I left college together, which is now upward of thirty years, I have never known you to be afflicted with any personal misfortune; and if Thales of Miletus, whose story I do not now remember, was always as lucky, his philosophy would not have cost him more than yours does.'

To speak candidly,' replied M. d'Herbois, with a good-natured smile, 'I think that I am a little more of a philosopher than Thales himself was; for I have never been inconsistent with my profes sions, although a husband and a father, while Thales was a bachelor.' 'But still,' said his friend Durand to him, 'you have never been put to the test.'

Let the test come; I am ready.'

Suppose your wife should prove false to you, or your son not turn out in accordance with your expectations? do you think you would support these misfortunes with the constancy of Job?' 'Of Thales, my dear friend, of Thales, if you please; do not confound them:

For all events the wise man is prepared.'

Thus said a poet who talked Greek, and not an Arab like your Job.' M. d'Herbois, proud of Thales, of himself, and of philosophy, proceeded to make careful preparations for the nuptials of his wellbeloved son; and already in his mind's eye beheld himself dandling his little grand-children that were to be.

One morning he was about entering the apartment of Gustavus, for the purpose of consulting him on the purchase of some jewels, intended as a present for the bride. The chamber of the young man was situated at one end of the room of M. d'Herbois. The entrance to it was through this latter, and also by a private staircase, which allowed the young man to go in and out without disturbing any body. D'Herbois, just as he was about turning the handle of the glass door, the curtain of which was on his side, checked himself, on hearing the sound of voices. His son, he found, was not alone.

'Oh, ho!' thought he, Gustavus is perhaps bidding farewell to the bachelor's life. Can he be consoling some little beauty, who is reminding my young master of his broken vows?'

He raised the corner of the curtain, and was a little tranquillized.