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not long before her last illness; and she left with me instructions for the publication of the whole.'

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Should the contents be as new to our readers as they were to us, they will receive with no ordinary gratification this interesting legacy. Had Miss Taylor never published any thing before, these papers would be sufficient to entitle her to rank very high among our best moral writers. Many of them would have been esteemed acceptable contributions in the days of the Spectator, or the Rambler. It ought, indeed, to be recollected, that they were written for young persons; that the choice of subject, as well as the unpretending style, has been determined by this circumstance; that the medium through which they found their way to the public, was a very humble one, and such as did not hold out to its contributors any inducement to extraordinary effort. But, with Miss Taylor, the prospect of efficient usefulness was an adequate stimulus; and in writing for the Youth's Magazine, she appears never to have excused herself from taking all the pains that could have been inspired by a trembling solicitude for fame.

The papers are seventy-nine in number. As a mere list of the contents would give little idea of their nature, we shall at once proceed to select a few specimens of their varied character. The first that we shall take, is of a sportive cast,

THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM.

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 an ineffectual effort to cons tinue 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, But now a faint tick was heard below, protested their innocence.

from the pendulum, who thus spoke:

"I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking." Upon hearing this, the old elock became so enraged that it was on the point of strikingl 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 every body 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 wag backwards and forwards, year after year, as I do.”

"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 instant, to look out. Besides, I am really weary of my way of life; and if you please, I'll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. This morning I happened to be calculating how many times I should have to tick in the course only of the next twenty-four hours: perhaps some of you, above there, can give me the exact sum."

The minute hand, being quick at figures, instantly replied, "eighty-six thousand four hundred times."

"Exactly so," replied the pendulum: " well, I appeal to you all, if the 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."

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 suggestion. It is true you have done a great deal of work in your time. So we have all, and are likely to do; and, although this may fatigue us to think of, the question is, whether it will fatigue us to do: would you, now, do me the favour to give about half a dozen strokes, to illustrate my argument."

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The pendulum complied, and ticked six times at 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 although 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 till noon if we stand idling thus.”

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 wag, and, to its credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a beam of the rising sun that streamed through a hole in the kitchen shutter, shining full upon the dial-plate, it brightened up as if nothing had been the matter.

• 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.

It is said by a celebrated modern writer," take care of the minutes, and the hours will take care of themselves." This is an admirable hint; and might be very seasonably recollected when we begin to be" weary in well-doing," from the thought of having a great deal to do. The present is all we have to manage: the past is irrecoverable; 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 still need 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.

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 burden, then flies, and is succeeded by another no heavier than the last; if one could be sustained, so can another, and another.

Even in looking forward to a single day, the spirit may sometimes faint from an anticipation of the duties, the labours, 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 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 err. But the common error is, to resolve to act right to-morrow, or next time, but now, just this once, we must go on the same as ever.

It seems easier to do right to-morrow than to-day, merely because we forget that when to-morrow comes, then will be now. Thus life passes, with many, in resolutions for the future, which the present

never fulfils.

It is not thus with those, who "by patient continuance in welldoing, seek for glory, honour, and immortality:"-day by day, minute by minute, they execute the appointed task, to which the requisite measure of time and strength is proportioned: and thus, having worked while it was called day, they at length rest from their labours, and their works follow them."

Let us then, "whatever our hands find to do, do it with all our might,” recollecting, that now is the proper and the accepted time.'

pp. 9-14. The Author of "Essays in Rhyme" will be recognised in

THE PHILOSOPHER'S SCALES.

In days of yore, as Gothic fable tells,
When learning dimly gleam'd from grated cells,

When wild Astrology's distorted eye

Shunn'd the fair field of true philosophy,

And wand'ring through the depths of mental night,
Sought dark predictions mid the worlds of light:-
When curious Alchymy, with puzzled brow,
Attempted things that Science laughs at now,
Losing the useful purpose she consults,

In vain chimeras and unknown results:
In those grey times there lived a reverend sage,
Whose wisdom shed its lustre on the age.
A monk he was, immured in cloister'd walls,
Where now the ivy'd ruin crumbling falls.
'Twas a profound seclusion that he chose;
The noisy world disturb'd not that repose:
The flow of murmuring waters, day by day,
And whistling winds, that forced their tardy way
Thro' reverend trees, of ages' growth, that made,
Around the holy pile, a deep monastic shade;
The chanted psalm, or solitary prayer,—

Such were the sounds that broke the silence there.

"Twas here, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er,
In the depth of his cell with its stone-covered floor,
Resigning to thought his chimerical brain,

He formed the contrivance we now shall explain:
But whether by magic or alchymy's powers,
We know not, indeed 'tis no business of ours:
Perhaps it was only by patience and care,
At last that he brought his invention to bear.
In youth 'twas projected; but years stole away,
And ere 'twas complete he was wrinkled and grey.
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:
Nought was there so bulky, but there it could lay;
And nought so ethereal but there it would stay;
And nought so reluctant but in it must go;
All which some examples more clearly will show.

The first thing he tried was the head of Voltaire, Which retain'd 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,
As to bound like a ball, on the roof of the cell.

Next time he put in Alexander the Great,
With a garment that Dorcas had made-for a weight;
And tho' clad in armour from sandals to crown,

The hero rose up, and the garment went down.

A long row of alms-houses, amply endow'd

By a well-esteem'd pharisee, busy and proud,
Now loaded one scale, while the other was prest
By those mites the poor widow dropp'd into the chest:
Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce,

And down, down, the farthing's worth came with a bounce.

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
Weigh'd less, by some pounds, than this bit of the other.

"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.

A lord and a lady went up at tull sail,

When a bee chanced to light on the opposite scale.
Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl,
Ten counsellors' wigs, full of powder and curl,

All heaped in one balance, and swinging from thence,
Weigh'd less than some atoms of candour and sense ;-
A first-water diamond, with brilliants begirt,

Than one good potatoe just washed from the dirt;
Yet, not mountains of silver and gold would suffice,

One pearl to outweigh,-'twas the "pearl of great price."

At last the whole world was bowl'd 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;
Whence, balanced in air, it ascended on high,
And sail'd up aloft-a balloon in the sky:
While the scale with the soul in, so mightily fell,
That it jerk'd the philosopher out of his cell.

'MORAL.

"Dear reader, if e'er self deception prevails, We pray you to try The Philosopher's Scales: But if they are lost in the ruins around, Perhaps a good substitute thus may be found :