crush a butterfly or brain a gnat;
Creates a whirlwind from the earth to draw
A goose's feather or exalt a straw;
Sets wheels on wheels in motion--such a clatter!
To force up one poor nipperkin of water;
Bids ocean labour with tremendous roar,
To heave a cockle-shell upon the shore.
Alike in every theme his pompous art,
Heaven's awful thunder, or a rumbling cart!

_New Monthly Magazine._

* * * * *

GAS LIGHTS.

We have now been so long accustomed to this new light in the streets,
that, like all other terrene goods, we have almost become insensible to
its blessings. Yet let him who desires to know what he owes to chemistry
and "Old Murdoch," turn into any of the streets still lighted with oil,
and then come back to the nocturnal day of the Strand or Pall Mall. The
parish oil lamps were like light-houses on the ocean; guides, not
lights; the gas has become a perpetual full moon; and it may assuredly
be pronounced one of the most splendid and valuable applications of
chemistry. Why has not old Murdoch his statue? He deserves it even
better than his master; for the master was well paid in solid pudding.
In other days, that statue would have equalled the Colossus at Rhodes,
and the demi-philosopher would have breathed flame like the Chimera; in
the fabulous ages before that, he would have come down to us a god, or a
demi-god, the rival of Prometheus, Hercules, and Atlas. Why not cast him
in Achillean brass, the rival of the great hero of gunpowder and
Waterloo, and make him breathe gas like the Dragon of Wantley, to
illuminate the triumphal arch. Ingrata Patria!

The new light! yes, much has been heard of its power and influence; but
what has the new light of all the preachers done for the morality and
order of London, compared to what has been effected by this new light.
Old Murdoch alone, has suppressed more vice than the Suppression
Society; and has been a greater police officer into the bargain than old
Colquhoun and Sir Richard Birnie united. It is not only that men are
afraid to be wicked when light is looking at them, but they are ashamed
also; the reformation is applied to the right place. Where does vice
resort? Where it can hide; in darkness, says the preacher, because its
deeds are deeds of darkness. Seek it in Pudding-lane, and Dyot-street,
and the abysses of Westminster. Why was not this new light preached to
them long ago: twenty bushels of it would h