Thy vot'ries crowd from every place,
With vast importance in their face,
To find for what their minds are fit,
And for a guinea buy a wit.-
They kindly offer, it is said,
Their polls to be examined;
And closely cut or shave their hair,
To find what wit is lurking there.-
Thy temples rise in every street,
So often sought by anxious feet:
Their doors the attractive notice bear
"Cracked skulls replaced or mended here;"
And heads, arranged in many a row,

A grinning recognition show.

Thy harmless priests, with aspect sage,

Seek our attention to engage:

66

Pray enter here," cries one," and stop
To view the glories of the shop."

A second says, "I, sir, can tell
How Bacon earned his fame so well;
And how Napoleon's glorious head
Is shrunk to nothing now he's dead."
A third, with many a crafty smile,
Exerts a far superior wile.

You raise your hat-" Dear me!" shouts he,

"I never such a head did see!

Sure Bacon was a fool to you-
I know it, and I'll prove it too.
Behold th' aspiring forehead rise,
(Believe me, sir-I tell no lies,)
Causality-(I see it all)—
As large as is a cricket ball;—
Your intellect astounds me quite !
Each rival you must put to flight.

See! the resources of your mind!

Here's power of thought and wit combined! Comparison-no egg so large

A forehead broad as any targe:

A second Buonaparte you'll be,

As sure as one and two make three.

Lo! here!"-but there the speaker paused;
Though what the brief suspension caused
The muse unable is to tell-

To let it rest would be as well.-
And thus the poor unlucky wight,
Unless he takes himself to flight,
Is victimized, and turned about;

And well besmeared with praise, no doubt.

THE ROBBERS.

(Translated from the German of Friedrich Von Schiller.)

ACT II.-SCENE I.

FRANCIS VON MOOR (meditating in his chamber).

It lasts so long—the life of an old man is an eternity! And now there would be a free, even path, but for this worrying, tough lump of flesh, which, like the magic dog in the ghost-story, blocks up the way to my treasures. Must, then, my designs bow themselves under the iron yoke of mechanism? Shall my high-flying spirit let itself be chained to the snail's path of matter? A light blown out, that yet glimmers with the last drop of oil— more is it not. And yet I would not willingly have done that myself for the world's sake. I would not willingly have killed

him, but that he should have ceased to live. I would do it as a clever physician-not by a cross stroke have wrested nature from her way, but furthered her in her own path. And as we can actually prolong the conditions of life, why should we not also be able to shorten them? Philosophers and doctors teach me how closely the humours of the spirit harmonize with the movements of the machine. Gouty sensations are always accompanied by a discordance of the mechanical vibrations. Passions misuse the powers of life-the overladen spirit presses its house to the ground. How now, then? Who may understand how to smooth for death this untrodden path to the castle of life? To destroy the body by the spirit-ha! an original work-who can accomplish it? A work without compare! Think yet, Moor! That were an art worthy of thee for its inventor. Have men raised the mixing of poisons almost to the rank of a regular science, and by experiments forced nature to give up her limits, that one can now count the heart's beatings for a year before, and say to the pulse, So far, and no farther? Who should not also try his wings here ?—And now, how must I go to work to disturb this sweet peaceful unity of the soul with the body? What kind of feelings must I choose?

* A woman at Paris, by regularly-performed experiments on poisons, has gone so far, that she can, with tolerable certainty, prophesy the most remote day of death. Fie upon our physicians, who are shamed by this woman in their prognostications !-Note, in Schiller.

me.

Which are the most fiercely hostile to the flower of life? Rage? -this hungry wolf gorges itself full too quickly. Care?-this worm gnaws too slowly. Grief?-this viper creeps too idly for Fear?-hope suffers it not to clutch its victim. What! are these all the executioners of men? Is the arsenal of death so soon exhausted? (Thinking,) How?-how ?-What?—No. -Ha! (starting) Horror?—what cannot Horror do? What power hath reason or religion against the ice-cold embraces of this giant? And yet, if he should even stand this storm? Oh! so come thou to my aid, Misery! and thou, Remorse, hellish Eumenides, burrowing snake, that cheweth the cud of bitterness, eternal destroyer and eternal creator of thy poison! and thou, howling Self-accusation, that layest waste thine own house, and woundest thine own mother! And come ye, too, to my help, ye beneficent Graces, softly-smiling Memory! and thou, with thine overflowing horn of plenty, blooming Futurity, hold before him, in your mirror, the joys of heaven, while your flying feet glide from his grasping arms! So I fall, stroke upon stroke, storm upon storm, upon this frail life, till at last the troop of furies is closed by-Despair. Triumph! triumph! The plan is completeweighty and skilful as no other-sure-safe: then (satirically) the dissector's knife finds no trace of wound or of corrosive poison. (Determinedly,) Well then! (Enter HERMAN.) Deus ex

machina! Herman!

HER. At your service, gracious lord.

FRAN. (gives him his hand.) Whom you have proved to be no unthankful one.

HER. I have proofs of it.

FRAN. You shall have more soon-soon, Herman! I have something to say to thee, Herman.

HER. I hear with a thousand ears.

FRAN. I know thee-thou art a determined fellow-a soldier's

heart-a hairy man. My father hath much injured thee,

Herman.

HER. Devil take me, if I forget it!
FRAN. That is the tone of a man!

Revenge well suits a manly
Take this purse, Herman.

breast. You please me, Herman.
It should be heavier if I were first lord.

HER. That is my constant wish, gracious sir; I thank you. FRAN. Truly, Herman? Dost thou wish truly that I were lord?-but my father hath the marrow of a lion, and I am the younger son.

HER. I would you were the elder son, and your father had the marrow of a consumptive girl.

FRAN. How would the elder son then reward thee! how he would raise thee into the light, from this ignoble dust that so ill suits thy spirit and nobility! Then shouldest thou, just as thou art there, be covered with gold, and rattle through the streets with four horses-truly that shouldest thou!-But I forget of what I would speak to thee-hast thou already forgotten the Lady of Edelreich, Herman?

HER. Storms! Why do you remind me of that?

FRAN. My brother snatched her away from you.
HER. He shall pay for it.

FRAN. She refused you. I believe he threw you down stairs.
HER. I'll kick him into hell for it.

FRAN. He said it was whispered that you were a left-handed work, and that your father could never look on you without striking on his breast and sighing, God be merciful to me a sinner! HER. (wildly.) Lightning, thunder, and hail! be still! FRAN. He advised you to sell your patent of nobility by auction, and mend your stockings with its profits.

my

nails.

HER. All the devils! I will scratch his out with eyes FRAN. What are you angry? How can you be angry with him? What harm can you do him? What power hath a rat against a lion? Your rage but sweetens his triumph. You can do nothing but gnash your teeth, and vent your rage upon dry bread. HER. (stamping on the ground.) I will grind him to dust. FRAN. (claps him on the shoulder.) Fie, Herman! Thou art a cavalier. Thou must not let this dishonour rest upon thee; thou must not let the lady go; no, that must thou not do for all the world, Herman! Hail and storms! I would attempt the uttermost if I were in thy place.

HER. I will not rest till I have him, and him under the ground. FRAN. Gently, Herman. Come nearer-you shall have Amelia.

HER. That must I, in spite of the devil! that must I.

FRAN. You shall have her, I say, and that from my hand. Come nearer, I say. You know not, perhaps, that Charles is as good as disinherited?

HER. (coming nearer.) Impossible! The first word that I

have heard of it.

FRAN. Be quiet and hear further. You shall hear more of it another time. Yes, I tell you, eleven months ago, as good as