at night,
For, if your palings are not tight,
He may, to gratify his spite,
Let in the Little Bear to 'em.

Then he's so quarrelsome, we've fears
He'll set the very Twins by the ears,--
So mad, if you resist him,
He'd get Aquarius to play
A milkman's trick, some cloudy day,
And water all the Milky Way
To starve some sucking system.

But plaints are vain! through wrath or pride,
The Council all espouse his side
And will our missives con no more;
And who that knows what _savants_ are,
Each snappish as a Leyden jar,
Will hope to soothe the wordy war
'Twixt Ologist and Onomer?

Search a Reform Convention, where
He- and she-resiarehs prepare
To get the world in _their_ power,
You will not, when 'tis loudest, find
Such gifts to hug and snarl combined
As drive each astronomic mind
With fifty-score Great-Bear-power!

No! put the Bootees on your foot,
Elope with Virgo, strive to shoot
That arrow of O'Ryan's,
Drain Georgian Ciders to the lees,
Attempt what crackbrained thing you please,
But dream not you can e'er appease
An angry man of science!

Ah, would I were, as I was once,
To fair Astronomy a dunce,
Or launching _jeux d'esprit_ at her,
Of light zodiacal making light,
Deaf to all tales of comets bright,
And knowing but such stars as might
Roll r-rs at our theatre!

Then calm I drew my night-cap on,
Nor bondsman was for what went on
Ere morning in the heavens;
Twas no concern of mine to fix
The Pleiades at seven or six,--
But now the _omnium genitrix_
Seems all at sixes and sevens.

Alas, 'twas in an evil hour
We signed the paper for the tower,
With Mrs. D. to head it!
For, if the Council have their way,
We've merely had, as Frenchmen say,
The painful _maladie du_ pay,
While they get all the credit!

Boys, henceforth doomed to spell Trustees,
Think not it ends in double ease
To those who hold the office;
Shun Science as you would Despair,
Sit not in Cassiopeia's chair,
Nor hope from Berenice's hair
To bring away your trophies!

THE POCKET-CELEBRATION OF THE FOURTH.

Well, it has happened, and we have survived it pretty well. The
Democratic Almanacs predicted a torrent, a whirlwind, and we know not
what meteoric phenomena,--but the next day Nature gave no sign, the
dome of the State-House was in its