M. d'Herbois, confused and crest-fallen, hung down his head, and by his silence confessed that the trial had been too severe for his philosophy. Being, however, fortunately possessed of a large stock of good-nature, which is sometimes better than philosophy, he did not think it worth his while to quarrel with his friend. Poor Gustavus alone suffered from the trial. M. d'Herbois from that time forth could no more trace in his features that resemblance to himself of which he had formerly been so proud; and when the young man spoke, 'That is not my voice,' said he to himself; 'it is the very tone of Pithou.' And so Gustavus, although suitably married, did not get possession of the country-house at Sussy, which was so agreeable to M. d'Herbois during the summer season. Neither did the old folks discommode themselves in town, and the young couple resided on the second floor. Convinced in this manner of the vanity of his philosophy, M. d'Herbois quietly resumed his position as father and husband. 'It is impossible,' said he, 'to preserve one's serenity, if our happiness is placed upon objects out of ourselves, and depends upon a wife or child. So when the mother of Thales besought him to marry, the sage replied, 'It is not yet time.' After a while she renewed her entreaties; 'It is now too late,' said Thales. In our days, the philosophy of most people commences the day after marriage. LINES TO A CANARY BIRD. WRITTEN during the difficulties of the boundary question in Maine, when Sir JOHN HARVEY, Governor of the provinces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia was deterred from actual hostility by the judicious conduct of General SCOTT, his personal friend. PRESCOTT'S noble work of 'Ferdinand and Isabella' had just appeared, and the 'Crayon Papers' were in course of publication. GOD bless thee! and thy joyous throat! Thy trill, thy churr, thy piercing note, My sweet canary! Thou gush of song, thou waterbrook Of joy, thou poem, doctrine, book, Vocabulary! Thou caged-up treasure of delight! That know'st to make a prison bright Through music's mystery! To swell thy rich notes in full tide, Or highest reach of sound divide Like Paganini! Where didst thou gain this wondrous lore? Where that, (which I admire yet more,) The glad Philosophy, That smiles at iron bars and doors? In loneliness a spirit pours Of mirthful minstrelsy? Wert ever old? or broken-hearted? Hast ever from thy mate been parted To meet hereafter? It cannot be; that gleesome strain Springs from a heart that ne'er knew pain-- 'Tis almost Laughter! Now thou art still; thy chaunt is o'er; Thou seem'st intent on something more Important to thee. Hast any thing to lose? or gain? What think'st thou of the war in Maine? And Sir John Harvey?