A human being, in the lowest state of penury and distress, is a treasure to the reasoner of this cast. He contemplates, he examines, he turns him in every possible light, with a view of extracting from the variety of his wretchedness new topics of invective against the pride of property. He, indeed (if he is a true Jacobin), refrains from _relieving_ the object of his compassionate contemplation; as well knowing that every diminution from the general mass of human misery must proportionably diminish the force of his argument. This principle is treated at large by many authors. It is versified in sonnets and elegies without end. We trace it particularly in a poem by the same author [SOUTHEY] from whom we borrowed our former illustration of the Jacobin doctrine of crimes and punishments. In this poem, the pathos of the matter is not a little relieved by the absurdity of the metre. We shall not think it necessary to transcribe the whole of it, as our imitation does not pretend to be so literal as in the last instance, but merely aspires to convey some idea of the manner and sentiment of the original. One stanza, however, we must give, lest we should be suspected of painting from fancy, and not from life. The learned reader will perceive that the metre is SAPPHIC, and affords a fine opportunity for his _scanning_ and _proving_, if he has not forgotten them. Cōld wăs thē nīght wīnd; drĭftĭng fāst thĕ snōws fĕll; Wīde wĕre thē dōwns, ānd shĕltĕrlēss ănd nākēd: Whēn ă poōr wānd’rēr strŭgglĕd ōn hĕr joūrnĕy, Wēāry ănd wāy-sōre.[9] [Illustration: ] This is enough; unless the reader should wish to be informed how Fāst o’ĕr thē blēāk hēāth răttlĭng drōve ă chārīōt; Or how, not long after, Loūd blĕw thē wīnd, ūnhēārd wăs hēr cŏmplāinĭng— Ōn wĕnt thĕ hōrsemān. We proceed to give our IMITATION, which is of the _Amœbæan_ or _Collocutory_ kind. SAPPHICS. THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER. FRIEND OF HUMANITY.[10] “Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going? Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order— Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in’t, So have your breeches! “Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones, Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike- -road what hard work ’tis crying all day “Knives and Scissars to grind O!” “Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives? Did some rich man tyrannically use you? Was it the squire? or parson of the parish? Or the attorney?