SONG. I. A PHILOSOPHER once, to the mountain Of Helicon came, to explore The cause of the wonderful fountain That gushed from its summit of yore. II. Disbelieving, until he had tried it, That water the Fancy could raise, Ere he tasted its freshness, he eyed it With a most philosophical gaze. III. Then dipping his fore-finger in it, He just wet the tip of his tongue; He sipped and he sucked; in a minute Beside it his full length he flung. IV. He swallowed his fill, O delicious! Sure never was Chian like this! He was drunk! yet the ass was ambitious To find out the _cause_ of his bliss. V. So he dug, all the morning, around it With his long, philosophical paws; Eureka! cried he; I have found it! This black-looking root is the cause. VI. He pulled up the fibre; he smelt it, And bit it, and kneeling again, Kissed the liquid, and fancied he felt it Had ceased to enliven his brain. VII. Home took he the plant, and sawed it asunder-- Analyzed it with acids and brine; And found it at last, to his wonder, Nothing more than the root of--a vine! VIII. Then he doubted, the more he reflected; And the question to this day is moot, If the grape-vine the fount had affected, Or the fount gave its force to the fruit. THE DEVIL-TAVERN. A TALE OF TINNECUM 'THE day being fair, and the sun shining bright, I thought of Far-Rockaway, which causes me to write; I thought of Cow-Neck which will ever be dear, Though I should be away from there these full twenty year. The place of one's birth he always thinks the best. Though we should have to live there half clothed, and half dress, What then must it be, to one in my case, Who had whatever he wanted when I was into the place't?' COPIED FROM MRS. PETTIT'S ALBUM AT ROCKAWAY.