THE MIGHTY MAGICIAN. He stood upon the summit of a mount, Waving a wand above his head uplifted; And smote the ground, whence gushed, as from a fount, A sparkling stream, with magic virtues gifted. It fill'd the air with music as it leapt, Merrily bounding over hill and hollow; And swiftly to the distant plain it swept, Gurgling a challenge to the birds to follow. Onward and onward, parting as it ran A thousand streamlets from the parent river, It roll'd among the farthest haunts of man, Wooing the sunlight on its breast to quiver Where'er it flow'd, it fed the desert earth With wholesome aliment, its seeds to nourish; Quickening its treasures into rapid birth, And bidding golden harvests spring and flourish. Fair thriving cities rising on its banks, Gather'd the noble, and enrich'd the humble; Throng'd with the happy in their various ranks, They rear'd proud domes that ages scarce could crumble The Great Magician from his lofty height Beheld the world, with boundless plenty teeming, And his eye kindled with a sense of might, Proudly, yet softly, at the prospect gleaming. "I've wrought," he cried, "rich blessings for mankind I've thrill'd with happiness the hearts of mourners; And Fame will waft upon her wings of wind The deeds of PEACE to earth's remotest corners!" TWO KINDS OF HONESTY. Some few years ago, there resided in Long Acre an eccentric old Jew, named Jacob Benjamin: he kept a seed shop, in which he likewise carried on--not a common thing, we believe, in London--the sale of meal, and had risen from the lowest dregs of poverty, by industry and self-denial, till he grew to be an affluent tradesman. He was, indeed, a rich man; for as he had neither wife nor child to spend his money, nor kith nor kin to borrow it of him, he had a great deal more than he knew what to do with. Lavish it on himself he could not, for his early habits stuck to him, and his wants were few. He was always clean and decent in his dress, but he had no taste for elegance or splendor in any form, nor had even the pleasures of the table any charms for him; so that, though he was no miser, his money kept on accumulating, while it occurred to him now and then to wonder what he should do with it hereafter. One would think he need not have wondered long, when there were so many people suffering from the want of what he abounded in; but Mr. Benjamin, honest man, had his crotchets like other folks. In the first place, he had less sympathy with poverty than might have been expected, considering how poor he had once been himself; but he had a theory, just in the main, though by no means without its exceptions--that the indigent have generally themselves to thank for their privations. Judging from his own experience, he believed that there was bread for every body that would