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!"

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, unanswered, 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
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-

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."

"Why," said the critic, with a look potential,
And pricking up his ears, delighted much

At Reynard's tone and manner deferential,

66

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;

a tableau vivant in a camp.

the other, If a Greek has occasion to ask his sweet

heart" 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?

Cle. She does, my Lord.

Men. And, but I scarce can ask the question, — when
I last beheld her, 'gainst the whitened wall

Stood a strong engine, flat, and broad, and heavy;
Its entrail stones, and moved on mighty rollers,
Rendering the crispéd 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?

The Roman goes quicker to work:

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:

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;

A right good mangle.

it was, indeed,

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,

-

544

In time of danger,

Such kind attentions from a stranger!
Assuredly that footman's throat is

Doomed to a final drop at Newgate;
And he well knows (the heedless elf!)
That there's no soul at home, except myself."
"Indeed!" replied the stranger, looking grave
"Then he's a double knave:

He knows that rogues and thieves, by scores,
Nightly beset unguarded doors;

And see, how easily might one
Of these domestic foes,

Even beneath your very nose,
Perform his knavish tricks:
Enter your room, as I have done;
Blow out your candles, - thus, and thus,

Pocket your silver candlesticks,

And walk off, — thus!"

So said, so done; - he made no more remark,
Nor waited for replies,

But marched off with his prize,

Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark!

·Blackwood's Magazine. Adapted.

A MONKEY, once, whom fate had led to list
To all the rancorous spouting and contention
Of a convention

For every one's emancipation

From every thing and body in creation,
Determined in the good work to assist.
So, with some curious notions in his noddle,
And conning portions of the precious twaddle,
Which, in the form of resolutions,

Had struck at all existing institutions,

He strode forth with a step that seemed designed

To represent the mighty march of mind.

Not far he'd wandered, when his indignation
Was roused to see

A great menagerie,

Where birds and beasts of every race and station,

All free-born animals, were kept confined,

Caged and locked up in durance vile!

It was a sight to waken all his bile.

The window of the building stood ajar;
It was not far,

Nor, like Parnassus, very hard to climb;
The hour was verging on the supper time,