Nine meta ph y Pie i ana, perched aloft Un tlie top of a tlry piue-tree, Have talked all day iu a niarvolous way Of divine philoeophy No wild Coleridgean ramblers they All over the re&lmof laws - They stick to their text, ho wever perplexed, The doctrine (and practice) of caws. The biggelt crow, on the uearest lirnb, Grave lirst, with never a pause, A clear, profouud, delibérate, sound Discourse of proximatc cawa. A theologne Ín a caseock ciad, With a choker under hifi jaws And a cold in his head, eitlier sung or said A treatise of secondcawe. A fieh-hawk lit on the top-moet limb Wlth a pickerel in his claws, When small and preat began to deoate Ooncerning eflicient caws. And when, atthe close, the congress rose, I eaw the oíd crows pause, And whatthey eaid, aa theyflew o'erhead, Had the sound of final caws. No longer in me, oh Philosophy, Thy devotee expect ; In spite of thy lawe, here'e a chain of caws, And not one single effect. - Harper'n Magazine for Februari.