A remnant of these worshippers of antiquity still holds its seances at Concord, Mass., and publishes its amazingly dry _Journal of Speculative Philosophy_. With the unconscious solemnity of earnestness, it still digs into Aristotle's logic and speculations--the dryest material that was ever used to benumb the brains of young collegians, and teach them how _not to reason_, for Aristotle never had a glimmering conception of what the process of reasoning is. Yet all Concordians are not Aristotelians; some of them have more modern ideas, and a vigorous, though misdirected, mentality. Prof. W. T. Harris, the leader of the Concordians, to whose lucubrations the newspapers give ample space, as those of the representative man, made a second attempt to explore the Aristotelian darkness, in which his first essay was totally lost. If there is but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous, it is not even a step from the absurd to the ludicrous and amusing. The professional wit or joker is never so richly amusing as the man who is utterly unconscious that he is in the least funny, while heroically in earnest. The professed comedian never furnishes so much amusement as the would-be heroic tragedian, who, like the Count Joannes, furnishes uproarious merriment for the whole evening. I have seen nothing in our Boston newspapers quite so amusing as the very friendly and sympathetic report of Prof. Harris' most elaborate and laborious comments on the SYLLOGISMS, which reminds one of Hopkinson's metaphysical and elaborate disquisition on the nature, properties, relations, and essential entity of a salt-box. We do not laugh at the professor as we did at Daniel Pratt, the "Great American Traveller," whose travels are now ended; for, aside from his metaphysical follies, Prof. Harris is a man of real merit and great intellectual industry, whose services in education will entitle him to be remembered; but when the metaphysical impulse seizes him, "Who would not laugh if such a fool there be, Who would not weep if Atticus were he."