In yonder green meadow, to Memory dear,

He slaps a mosquito and brushes a tear;
The dew-drops hang round him on blossoms and shoots,
He breathes but one sigh for his youth and his boots.

O, sweet were the days of his juvenile tricks,
Though the prairie of youth had so many "big licks!"

There stands the old school-house, hard by the old church;
That tree at its side had the flavor of birch:

By the side of yon river he weeps and he slumps,
The boots fill with water, as if they were pumps;
Till, sated with rapture, he steals to his bed,
With a glow in his heart and a cold in his head.

'Tis past, he is dreaming, I see him again;
The ledger returns as by legerdemain ;
His neckcloth is damp with an easterly flaw,
And he holds in his fingers an omnibus straw.

He dreams the chill gust is a blossomy gale,
That the straw is a rose from his dear native vale;
And murmurs, unconscious of space and of time,
"A. 1. — Extra super. Ah, is n't it prime!"

O, what are the prizes we perish to win,

To the first little "shiner ""
we caught with a pin!
No soil upon earth is as dear to our eyes
As the soil we first stirred in terrestrial pies!

Then come from all parties, and parts, to our feast;
Though not at the "Astor," we'll give you, at least,
A bite at an apple, a seat on the grass,
And the best of old- water

at nothing a glass.

7. FUSS AT FIRES.-Anonymous.

Ir having been announced to me, my young friends, that you were about forming a fire-company, I have called you together to give you such directions as long experience in a first-quality engine company qualifies me to communicate. The moment you hear an alarm of fire, scream like a pair of panthers. Run any way, except the right way, for the furthest way round is the nearest way to the fire. If you happen to run on the top of a wood-pile, so much the better; you can then get a good view of the neighborhood. If a light breaks on your view, "break" for it immediately; but be sure you don't jump into a bow window. Keep yelling, all the time; and, if you can't make night hideous enough yourself, kick all the dogs you come across, and set them yelling, too; 't will help amazingly. A brace of cats dragged up stairs by the tail would be a "powerful

auxiliary." When you reach the scene of the fire, do all you can to convert it into a scene of destruction. Tear down all the fences in the vicinity. If it be a chimney on fire, throw salt down it; or, if you can't do that, perhaps the best plan would be to jerk off the pump-handle and pound it down. Don't forget to yell, all the while, as it will have a prodigious effect in frightening off the fire. The louder the better, of course; and the more ladies in the vicinity, the greater necessity for "doing it brown." Should the roof begin to smoke, get to work in good earnest, and make any man "smoke" that · interrupts you. If it is summer, and there are fruit-trees in the lot, cut them down, to prevent the fire from roasting the apples. Don't forget to yell! Should the stable be threatened, carry out the cowchains. Never mind the horse, he 'll be alive and kicking; and if his legs don't do their duty, let them pay for the roast. Ditto as to the hogs; let them save their own bacon, or smoke for it. When the roof begins to burn, get a crow-bar and pry away the stone steps; or, if the steps be of wood, procure an axe and chop them up. Next, cut away the wash-boards in the basement story; and, if that don't stop the flames, let the chair-boards on the first floor share a similar fate. Should the "devouring element "still pursue the “even tenor of its way," you had better ascend to the second story. Pitch out the pitchers, and tumble out the tumblers. Yell all the time!

If you find a baby abed, fling it into the second story window of the house across the way; but let the kitten carefully down in a work-basket. Then draw out the bureau drawers, and empty their contents out of the back window; telling somebody below to upset the slop-barrel and rain-water hogshead at the same time. Of course, you will attend to the mirror. The further it can be thrown, the more pieces will be made. If anybody objects, smash it over his head. Do not, under any circumstances, drop the tongs down from the second story: the fall might break its legs, and render the poor thing a cripple for life. Set it straddle of your shoulders, and carry it down carefully. Pile the bed-clothes carefully on the floor, and throw the crockery out of the window. By the time you will have attended to all these things, the fire will certainly be arrested, or the building be burnt down. In either case, your services will be no longer needed; and, of course, you require no further directions.

8. ONE STORY'S GOOD TILL ANOTHER IS TOLD. Charles Swain.

THERE's a maxim that all should be willing to mind:
'Tis an old one, a kind one, and true as 't is kind;
"T is worthy of notice wherever you roam,
And no worse for the heart, if remembered at home!
If scandal or censure be raised 'gainst a friend,

Be the last to believe it - the first to defend !
Say, to-morrow will come - and then time will unfold
That "
one story 's good till another is told!

22

A friend's like a ship, when, with music and song, The tide of good fortune still speeds him along; But see him when tempest hath left him a wreck, And any mean billow can batter his deck! Then give me the heart that true sympathy shows, And clings to a messmate, whatever wind blows; And says, when aspersion, unansw swered, grows cold, Wait; one story 's good till another is told!"

66

9. THE GREAT MUSICAL CRITIC.-Original translation.

ONCE on a time, the Nightingale, whose singing
Had with her praises set the forest ringing,
Consented at a concert to appear.

Of course, her friends all flocked to hear,
And with them many a critic, wide awake
To pick a flaw, or carp at a mistake!
She sang as only nightingales can sing;
And when she'd ended,

There was a general cry of "Bravo! splendid!
While she, poor thing,

Abashed and fluttering, to her nest retreated,
Quite terrified to be so warmly greeted.
The Turkeys gobbled their delight; the Geese,
Who had been known to hiss at many a trial,
Gave this one no denial:

It seemed as if the applause would never cease.

But, 'mong the critics on the ground,
An Ass was present, pompous and profound,
Who said, "My friends, I'll not dispute the honor,
That you would do our little prima donna.
Although her upper notes are very shrill,
And she defies all method in her trill,
She has some talent, and, upon the whole,
With study, may some cleverness attain.
Then, her friends tell me, she's a virtuous soul;
But but

99

"But," growled the Lion, "by my mane,
I never knew an Ass who did not strain
To qualify a good thing with a but!"
"Nay," said the Goose, approaching, with a strut,
"Don't interrupt him, sire; pray let it pass;
The Ass is honest, if he is an Ass!"

"I was about," said Long Ear, "to remark,
That there is something lacking in her whistle; -
Something magnetic,

To waken chords and feelings sympathetic,

And kindle in the breast a spark
Like—like, for instance, a good juicy thistle."
The assembly tittered, but the Fox, with gravity,
Said, at the Lion winking,

"Our learned friend, with his accustomed suavity,
Has given his opinion, without shrinking;
But, to do justice to the Nightingale,

He should inform us, as no doubt he will,
What sort of music 't is that does not fail
His sensibilities to rouse and thrill."

66

"Why," said the critic, with a look potential,
And pricking up his ears, delighted much
At Reynard's tone and manner deferential, —
"Why, Sir, there's nothing can so deeply touch
My feelings, and so carry me away,
As a fine, mellow, ear-inspiring bray."

"I thought so," said the Fox, without a pause;
"As far as you're concerned, your judgment 's true;
You do not like the Nightingale, because

The Nightingale is not an Ass like you!"

10. DRAMATIC STYLES.— Blackwood's Mag.

In dramatic writing, the difference between the Grecian and Roman styles is very great. When you deal with a Greek subject, you must be very devout, and have unbounded reverence for Diana of the Ephesians. You must also believe in the second sight, and be as solemn, calm, and passionless, as the ghost of Hamlet's father. Never descend to the slightest familiarity, nor lay off the stilts for a moment; and, far from calling a spade a spade, call it

That sharp instrument

With which the Theban husbandman lays bare
The breast of our great mother.

The Roman, on the other hand, may occasionally be jocular, but always warlike. One is like a miracle-play in church; the other, a tableau vivant in a camp. If a Greek has occasion to ask his sweetheart" if her mother knows she's out," and "if she has sold her mangle yet," he

says:

Menestheus. Cleanthe!
Cleanthe. My Lord!
Men. Your mother, - your kind, excellent mother,-
She who hung o'er your couch in infancy,
And felt within her heart the joyous pride
Of having such a daughter, does she know,
Sweetest Cleanthe! that you 've left the shade
Of the maternal walls?

when

The Roman goes quicker to work:

Stood a strong engine, flat, and broad, and heavy;
Its entrail stones, and moved on mighty rollers,
Rendering the crisped web as smooth and soft
As whitest snow. - That engine, sweet Cleanthe, -
Fit pedestal for household deity,
Larés and old Penātés; - has she 't still?
Or for gold bribes has she disposed of it?
I fain would know;
- pray tell me, is it sold?

Tell me, my Julia, does your mother know
You're out? and has she sold her mangle yet!

The Composite, or Elizabethan, has a smack of both:

Come hither, pretty one.

Conradin. Ha! Celia here!
Thou hast a mother, child?

Celia. Most people have, Sir.
Con. I' faith thou 'rt sharp, - thou hast a biting wit;
But does this mother, - this epitome
Of what all other people are possessed of,
Knows she thou 'rt out, and gadding?

Cel. No, not gadding!

Out, sir; she knows I'm out.

Con. She had a mangle;

Faith, 't was a huge machine, and smoothed the web
Like snow. I've seen it oft; -it was, indeed,

A right good mangle.

Cel. Then thou 'rt not in thought

To buy it, else thou would not praise it so.

Con. A parlous child! keen as the cold North wind,
Yet light as Zephyrs. No, no; I'd not buy it;
But has she sold it, child?

11. THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER. - Horace Smith.

IN Broad-street buildings (on a winter night),
Snug by his parlor fire, a gouty wight

Sat, all alone, with one hand rubbing
His feet, rolled up in fleecy hose;
With t'other he 'd beneath his nose

The Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing,
He noted all the sales of hops,
Ships, shops, and slops,

Gums, galls, and groceries, ginger, gin,
Tar, tallow, tumeric, turpentine, and tin;
When, lo! a decent.personage in black
Entered, and most politely said, -
"Your footman, Sir, has gone his nightly track
To the King's Head,

And left your door ajar, which I
Observed in passing by ;

And thought it neighborly to give you notice."
"Ten thousand thanks!" the gouty man replied;
"You see, good Sir, how to my chair I'm tied;
Ten thousand thanks! how very few get,