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In yonder green meadow, to Memory dear,
He slaps a mosquito and brushes a tear;
O, sweet were the days of his juvenile tricks,
There stands the old school-house, hard by the old church;
By the side of yon river he weeps and he slumps,
'Tis past, he is dreaming, I see him again;
He dreams the chill gust is a blossomy gale,
O, what are the prizes we perish to win,
To the first little "shiner ""
Then come from all parties, and parts, to our feast;
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:
Be the last to believe it - the first to defend !
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!"
9. THE GREAT MUSICAL CRITIC.-Original translation.
ONCE on a time, the Nightingale, whose singing
Of course, her friends all flocked to hear,
There was a general cry of "Bravo! splendid!
Abashed and fluttering, to her nest retreated,
It seemed as if the applause would never cease.
But, 'mong the critics on the ground,
"But," growled the Lion, "by my mane,
"I was about," said Long Ear, "to remark,
To waken chords and feelings sympathetic,
And kindle in the breast a spark
"Our learned friend, with his accustomed suavity,
He should inform us, as no doubt he will,
"Why," said the critic, with a look potential,
"I thought so," said the Fox, without a pause;
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 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
The Roman goes quicker to work:
Stood a strong engine, flat, and broad, and heavy;
Tell me, my Julia, does your mother know
The Composite, or Elizabethan, has a smack of both:
Come hither, pretty one.
Conradin. Ha! Celia here!
Celia. Most people have, Sir.
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
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,
11. THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER. - Horace Smith.
IN Broad-street buildings (on a winter night),
Sat, all alone, with one hand rubbing
The Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing,
Gums, galls, and groceries, ginger, gin,
And left your door ajar, which I
And thought it neighborly to give you notice."