uence as
ever.

I assert it for an astonishing fact,--Philip Withers married
Josephine! Truly, the ways of Providence are as just as they are
inscrutable. The meanness of Withers, mated to the selfish, helpless,
peevish stupidity of Josephine, made an ingenious retribution.

When I was at the opera, a few nights since, I saw in a private box
a benevolent-looking gentleman of middle age, evidently well-born
and accustomed to wealth. He was accompanied by a lady in elegant
mourning,--a lady of decided beauty and distinguished appearance.

Miss Flora McFlimsey was there:--"That," said she, "is Mrs. Morris,
of Fourteenth Street,--a mysterious governess in the family of
Mr. Osgood; and the gentleman is Mr. Osgood."

NATURE AND THE PHILOSOPHER.

What dost thou here, pale chemist, with thy brow
Knotted with pains of thought, nigh hump-backed o'er
Thy alembics and thy stills? These garden-flowers,
Whose perfumes spice the balmy summer-air,
Teach us as well as thee. Thou dost condense
Healthy aromas into poison-drops,
Narcotic drugs of dangerous strength and power,--
And wines of paradise to thee become
Intoxicating essences of hell.
Cold crystallizer of the warm heaven's gold!
Thou rigorous analyst! thou subtile brain!
Gathering thought's sunshine to a focus heat
That blinds and burns and maddens! What, my friend!
Are we, then, salamanders? Do we live
A charmed life? Do gases feed like air?
Pray you, pack up your crucibles and go!
Your statements are too awfully abstract;
Your logic strikes too near our warm tap-roots:
We shall breathe freer in our natural air
Of common sense. What are your gallipots
And Latin labels to this fresh bouquet?--
Friend, 'tis a pure June morning. Ask the bees,
The butterflies, the birds, the little girls.
We are after flowers. You are after--what?
Aconite, hellebore, pulsatilla, rheum.
Take them and go! and take your burning lens!
We dare not bask in the sun's genial beams
Drawn to that spear-like point. Truth comes and goes,
Life-giving in diffusion. Nature flows, extends,
And veils us with herself,--herself God's veil.
But you persist in opening your bladders,
And the three gases that compose the air
You bid us take a breath of, one by one.
For Mother Nature you should have respect:
She does not like these teasings and these jokes.
Philosopher you seem; you'd state all fair;
You would go deep and br