Similia Similibus.

"There was a man in our town,

And he was wondrous wise:

He jumped into a bramble-bush,

And scratched out both his eyes.

But when he saw his eyes were out,

With all his might and main

He jumped into another bush,

And scratched them in again!"

|Old Dr. Hahnemann read the tale,

(And he was wondrous wise,)

Of the man who, in the bramble-bush,

Had scratched out both his eyes.

And the fancy tickled mightily

His misty German brain,

That, by jumping in another bush,

He got them back again.

So he called it "homo-hop-athy".

And soon it came about,

That a curious crowd among the thorns

Was hopping in and out.

Yet, disguise it by the longest name

They may, it is no use;

For the world knows the discovery

Was made by Mother Goose!

And not alone in medicine

Doth the theory hold good;

In Life and in Philosophy,

The maxim still hath stood:

A morsel more of anything,

When one has got enough,

And Nature's energy disowns

The whole unkindly stuff.

A second negative affirms;

And two magnetic poles

Of charge identical, repel,--

A s sameness sunders souls.

Touched with a first, fresh suffering,

All solace is despised;

But gathered sorrows grow serene,

And grief is neutralized.

And he who, in the world's mêlée,

Hath chanced the worse to catch,

May mend the matter, if he come

Back, boldly, to the scratch;

Minding the lesson he received

In boyhood, from his mother.

Whose cheery word, for many a bump,

Was, Up and take another!

HOBBY-HORSES.

"I had a little pony,

His name was Dapple Gray:

I lent him to a lady

To ride a mile away.

She whipped him,

She lashed him,

She rode him through the mire;

I would n't lend my pony now,

For all the lady's hire."

|Our hobbies, of whatever sort

They be, mine honest friend,

Of fancy, enterprise, or thought,

'T is hardly wise to lend.

Some fair imagination, shrined

In form poetic, maybe,

You fondly trusted to the World,--

That most capricious Lady.

Or a high, romantic theory,

Magnificently planned,

In flush of eager confidence

You bade her take in hand.

But she whipped it, and she lashed it,

And bespattered it with mire,

Till your very soul felt stained within,

And scourged with stripes of fire.

Yet take this thought, and hold it fast,

Ye Martyrs of To-day!

That same great World, with all its scorn,

You 've lifted on its way!

MISSIONS.

"Hogs in the garden,--

Catch 'em, Towser!

Cows in the cornfield,--

Run, boys, run!

Fire on the mountains,--

Run, boys, run boys!

Cats in the cream-pot,--

Run, girls, run!"

I don't stand up for Woman's Right

Not I,--no, no!

The real lionesses fight,--

I let it go.

Yet, somehow, as I catch the call

Of the world's voice,

That speaks a summons unto all

Its girls and boys;

In such strange contrast still it rings

As church-bells' bome

To the pert sound of tinkling things

One hears at home;

And wakes an impulse, not germane

Perhaps, to woman,

Yet with a thrill that makes it plain

'T is truly human;--

A sudden tingle at the springs

Of noble feeling,

The spirit-power for valiant things

Clearly revealing.

But Eden's curse doth daily deal

Its certain dole,--

And the old grasp upon the heel

Holds back the soul!

So, when some rousing deed's to do,

To save a nation,

Or, on the mountains, to subdue

A conflagration,

Woman! the work is not for you;

Mind your vocation!

Out from the cream-pot comes a mew

Of tribulation!

Meekly the world's great exploits leave

Unto your betters;

So bear the punishment of Eve,

Spirit in fetters!

Only, the hidden fires will glow,

And, now and then,

A beacon blazeth out below

That startles men!

Some Joan, through battle-field to stake,

Danger embracing;

Some Florence, for sweet mercy's sake

Pestilence facing;

Whose holy valor vindicates

The royal birth

That, for its crowning, only waits

The end of earth;

And, haply, when we all stand freed,

In strength immortal,

Such virgin-lamps the host shall lead

Through heaven's portal!