Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;

Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;

Ring in the love of truth and right;
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land ; Ring in the Christ that is to be.

FISH-WOMEN AT CALAIS.

'Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold
The likeness of whate'er on land is seen;
But, if the Nereid Sisters and their Queen,
Above whose heads the tide so long hath roll'd,
The Dames resemble whom we here behold,
How fearful were it down through opening waves
To sink and meet them in their fretted caves,
Wither'd, grotesque, immeasurably old,

And shrill and fierce in accent! - Fear it not:

For they Earth's fairest daughters do excel;
Pure undecaying beauty is their lot;

Their voices into liquid music swell,

Thrilling each pearly cleft and sparry grot,

The undisturb'd abodes where Sea-nymphs dwell!

IX.

HUMOROUS, COMIC.

AUNT TABITHA.

O. W. HOLMES.

WHATEVER I do and whatever I say,
Aunt Tabitha tells me that isn't the way;
When she was a girl, (forty Summers ago,)
Aunt Tabitha tells me they never did so.

Dear aunt! if I only would take her advice, — But I like my own way, and I find it so nice! And besides I forget half the things I am told; But they will come back to me, when I am old.

If a youth passes by, it may happen, no doubt,
He
may chance to look in as I chance to look out:
She would never endure an impertinent stare;
It is horrid, she says, and I mustn't sit there.

A walk in the moonlight has pleasure, I own,
But it isn't quite safe to be walking alone;

So I take a lad's arm, just for safety, you know; But Aunt Tabitha tells me, they didn't do so.

How wicked we are, and how good they were then! They kept at arm's length those detestable men: What an era of virtue she lived in! but stay, Were the men such rogues in Aunt Tabitha's day?

If the men were so wicked, I'll ask my papa
How he dared to propose to my darling mamma?
Was he like the rest of them? goodness! who knows?
And what shall I say, if a wretch should propose?

I am thinking if aunt knew so little of sin,

What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been!
And her grand-aunt,-it scares me,-how shockingly sad
That we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad!

A martyr will save us, and nothing else can ;
Let us perish to rescue some wretched young man!
Though, when to the altar a victim I go,
Aunt Tabitha'll tell me - she never did so.

AWFULLY LOVELY PHILOSOPHY.

A FEW days ago a Boston girl, who had been attending the School of Philosophy at Concord, arrived in Brooklyn, on a visit to a seminary chum. After canvassing thoroughly the fun and gum-drops that made up their education in the seat of learning at which their early scholastic efforts were made, the Brooklyn girl began to inquire the nature of the Concord entertainment.

And so you are taking lessons in philosophy! How do you like it?"

66

"O, it's perfectly lovely! It's about science, you know, and we all just dote on science."

"It must be nice. What is it about?"

"It's about molecules as much as any thing else, and molecules are just too awfully nice for any thing. If there's any thing I really enjoy it's molecules.”

"Tell me about them, my dear. What are molecules?"

"O, molecules! They are little wee things, and it takes ever so many of them. They are splendid things. Do you know, there ain't anything but what's got molecules in it. And Mr. Cook is just as sweet as he can be, and Mr. Emerson too. They explain everything so beautifully."

"How I'd like to go there!" said the Brooklyn girl, enviously.

“You'd enjoy it ever so much. They teach protoplasm, too; and if there is one thing perfectly heavenly it's protoplasm. I really don't know which I like best, protoplasm or molecules."

"Tell me about protoplasm. I know I should adore it."

""Deed you would. It's just too sweet to live. You know it's about how things get started, or something of that kind. You ought to hear Mr. Emerson tell about it. It would stir your very soul. The first time he explained about protoplasm there wasn't a dry eye in the house. We named our hats after him. This is an Emerson hat. You see the ribbon is drawn over the crown and caught with a buckle and a bunch of flowers. Then you turn up the side with a spray of forget-menots. Ain't it just too sweet? All the girls in the school have them."

“How exquisitely lovely! Tell me some more science."

"O, I almost forgot about differentiation. I am really and truly positively in love with differentiation. It's different from molecules and protoplasm, but it's every bit as nice. And Mr. Cook! You should hear him go on about it. I really believe he's perfectly bound up in it. This scarf is the Cook scarf. All the girls wear them, and we named them after him, just on account of the interest he takes in differentiation."

350

66

.. What is it, anyway?"

This is mull, trimmed with Languedoc lace—” "I don't mean that, that other."

"O, differentiation! Ain't it sweet? It's got something to do with species. It's the way you tell one hat from another, so you'll know which is becoming. And we learn all about ascidians too. They are the divinest things! I'm absolutely enraptured with ascidians. If I only had an ascidian of my own I wouldn't ask anything else in the world."

"What do they look like, dear? Did you ever see one?" asked the Brooklyn girl, deeply interested.

66

"O, no; nobody ever saw one except Mr. Cook and Mr. Emerson; but they are something like an oyster with a reticule hung on its belt. I think they are just heavenly."

"Do you learn any thing else besides?"

66

"O, yes.

We learn about common philosophy and logic, and those common things like metaphysics; but the girls don't care anything about those. We are just in ecstasies over differentiations and molecules, and Mr. Cook and protoplasms, and ascidians and Mr. Emerson, and I really don't see why they put in those vulgar branches. If anybody besides Mr. Cook and Mr. Emerson had done it, we should have told him to his face that he was too terribly, awfully mean." And the Brooklyn girl went to bed that night in the dumps, because fortune had not vouchsafed her the advantages enjoyed by her friend.

THE BALD-HEADED MAN.

THE other day a lady, accompanied by her son, a very small boy, boarded a train at Little Rock.

The