MISCELLANEOUS.

THE POINT OF IDENTITY.

THE seat of sensation hath long been disputed,
And puzzled Philosophers labour'd in vain,
To find out a something that might be computed
The point of Identity, certain and plain.

That something, which proves a man's personal being,

And serves from the rest to distinguish him so, That still his own self he might know he is seeing, Altho' he's so chang'd, he can scarce himself know.

Of old, it was thought the umbilical regions

Were meant for the palace where Self held its throne;

And still it appears there are numberless legions, Whose souls seem to dwell in their stomachs alone.

As man became polish'd, enlighten'd, and tender,

It rose from the stomach, and fix'd in the heart; Then love was the very best proof they could render, And each in another's existence had part.

The Point of Identity.

Then Learning look'd higher, and rais'd in its season Self-consciousness up from the heart to the brain; Then man was prov'd something, by Knowledge and Reason,

And he who knew nothing, did nothing remain.

But we who live later, have made more improvement,

Have found out the puzzle which plagued the

folk past;

Distinction among us has made a new movement, And weightily dwells in the pocket at last.

Some notion the Ancients had got of the matter, And in an old maxim threw light on the plan; The adage is true, be it solid or satire,

"'Tis money that makes and identifies man."

No modern Illuminé ever need doubt it,

For he who is learned, and virtuous, and wise, Is only a shadow, a scarecrow without it,

For knaves to impose on, or fools to despise.

But he who possesses importance of pocket,

His tangible excellence ev'ry one knows ; Though dim as a rushlight that burns in the socket,

He shines like a comet wherever he goes.

I don't care.

Thus wealth is the substance of self-demonstration;

It shews who are rotten or sound at the core; When it alters the man, as it alters his station, And lets out a character hidden before.

For some it proves cunning, who once were thought sappy,

And some it proves cruel, who once were thought

kind,

And some it proves wretched, who us'd to be happy, And some it proves mad-men who seem'd of

sound mind.

How cheering the symptoms, what pleasure revealing,

The mind which expands as the pockets extend! More noble and generous, gentle and feeling, To riches a pattern, and poverty's friend.

I DON'T CARE.

Written on hearing that Reply made to a gentle Reproof.

JACK Thoughtless was a silly lad,

Who was in ev'ry thing so bad,

He griev'd whatever friends he had,
And still grew worse for wear;

I don't care.

His neighbours drove him off by force, His parents talk'd till they were hoarse,

He laugh'd, and still pursu'd his course With- I don't care."

As Jack advanc'd, he stubborn grew,
He nothing learn'd, and nothing knew,
In nothing shone, but outward shew,
That made the simple stare;
Scorn'd by the virtuous and the wise,
Who knew a fool in gay disguise,
He still would all reproof despise
With-"I don't care."

He nothing did but play and sport,
And mischief lov'd of ev'ry sort,

But found his days and nights too short,
For mirth and riot rare;

Yet often he was homeward led,

With bruised bones and broken head, But tired, and sick, and almost dead, Cry'd-1 don't care.".

Jack lost his company apace,

For some were banish'd from the place, And some were hang'd before his face, And some in wild despair,

Short Answers.

Not having aught beside to spend,
With rope or pistol made their end;
Jack shook his head, and like a friend,
Cry'd I don't care."

He feasted, gambled, drank, and swore,
And spent whate'er he had, and more,
Till he was wasted, weak, and poor,
And friendless, cold, and bare;
Care came at last, but came too late
To mend his health, or his estate;
He, dying, curs'd the bitter fate
Of "I don't care."

SHORT ANSWERS.

A MODERN Philosopher full of inflation,
Had stroll'd to the valley below;

And thus to himself he began an oration:

"I'll humble the Priests, and enlighten the nation, "I'll cover the blockheads with scorn and confu

sion,

"And prove that religion is only delusion,

"The world shall the hypocrites know." So strong and emphatic had been his conclusion, That Echo return'd it with-"Oh!"