Oh, little she cares for the fop who airs
His glove and glass, or the gay array
Of fans and perfumes, of jewels and plumes,
Where wealth and pleasure have met to pay
Their nightly homage to her sweet song;
But over the bravas clear and strong,
Over all the flaunting and fluttering throng,
She smiles my soul away!

Why am I happy? why am I proud?
Oh, can it be true she is all my own?--
I make my way through the ignorant crowd;
I know, I know where my love hath flown.
Again we meet; I am here at her feet,
And with kindling kisses and promises sweet,
Her glowing, victorious lips repeat
That they sing for me alone!




GOTTFRIED WILHELM VON LEIBNITZ.

The philosophic import of this illustrious name, having suffered
temporary eclipse from the Critical Philosophy, with its swift
succession of transcendental dynasties,--the _Wissenschaftslehre_,
the _Naturphilosophie_, and the _Encyclopaedie_,--has recently
emerged into clear and respectful recognition, if not into broad and
effulgent repute. In divers quarters, of late, the attention of the