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 'Tis 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!

GOING BACK TO OUR MUTTONS.

“There was an old man of Tobago,

Who lived on rice, gruel, and sago,

Till, much to his bliss,

His physician said this:

To a leg, sir, of mutton, you may go.
He set a monkey to baste the mutton,
And ten pounds of butter he put on.”

"CHAIN up a child, and away he will go "; I have heard of the proverb interpreted so; The spendthrift is son to the miser,—and still,

When the Devil would work his most pitiless will,