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Back, Robins, back ! Crump, stand aloof!
And Eagle firemen knew
The foreman of their crew. Loud shouted all in signs of woe, • A Muggins ! to the rescue, ho !”
And poured the hissing tide : Meanwhile the Muggins fought amain, And strove and struggled all in vain, For, rallying but to fall again,
He tottered, sunk, and died !
Did none attempt, before he fell,
His brother chief to save;
Served but to share his grave ! 'Mid blazing beams and scalding streams, Through fire and smoke he dauntless broke,
Where Muggins broke before.
He sunk to rise no more.
HORACE SMITH. From the
To those who on the hills around
As from a lofty altar rise,
Some vast, stupendous sacrifice !
His nether bulk embraced ;
In tin or copper traced.
the leader of the band,
The others came in view :
The Eagle, where the new ;
Crump from St. Giles's Pound :
Before the plug was found.
Of Bridewell's gloomy mound !
Nor notice give at all.
For fear the roof should fall,
Interior of a Theatre described. — Pit gradually fills. -- The Check.
taker. - Pit full. - The Orchestra tuned. - One fiddle rather dil. atory. - Is reproved - and repents. - Evolutions of a Play-bill. - Its final Settlement on the Spikes. - The Gods taken to task - and why. - Motley Group of Play-goers. - Holywell Street, St. Pancras. - Emanuel Jennings binds his Son apprentice - not in London - and why. - Episode of the Hat.
'Tis sweet to view, from half past five to six, | Our long wax-candles, with short cotton wicks,
Touched by the lamplighter's Promethean art, Bankers from Paper Buildings here resort,
Boys who long linger at the gallery door,
more ; But when the multitude contracts the span, Till some Samaritan the twopence spares, And seats are rare, they settle where they can.
And sends them jumping up the gallery stairs, Now the full benches to late-comers doom
Critics we boast who ne'er their malice balk, No room for standing, miscalled standing room.
But talk their minds, we wish they'd mind Hark! the check-taker moody silence breaks,
their talk ; And bawling “Pitfull!” gives the check he takes; Big-worded bullies, who by quarrels live, – Yet onward still the gathering numbers cram,
Who give the lie, and tell the lie they give ; Contending crowders shout the frequent damn,
Jews from St. Mary Axe, for jobs so wary, And all is bustle, squeeze, row, jabbering, and jam. That for old clothes they 'd even axe St. Mary;
And bucks with pockets empty as their pate, See to their desks Apollo's sons repair, Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait; Swift rides the rosin o'er the horse's hair !
Who oft, when we our house lock up, carouse In unison their various tones to tune,
With tippling tipstaves in a lock-up house. Murmurs the hautboy, growls the hoarse bassoon; In soft vibration sighs the whispering lute, Yet here, as elsewhere, Chance can joy bestow, Tang goes the harpsichord, too-too the flute,
For scowling Fortune seemed to threaten woe. Brays the loud trumpet, squeaks the fiddle sharp, Winds the French horn, and twangs the tingling John Richard William Alexander Dwyer harp;
Was footman to Justinian Stubbs, Esquire; Till, like great Jove, the leader, figuring in,
But when John Dwyer listed in the Blues, Attunes to order the chaotis din.
Emanuel Jennings polished Stubbs's shoes. Now all seems hushed, -- but, no, one fiddle will Emanuel Jennings brought his youngest boy Give, half ashamed, a tiny flourish still.
Up as a corn-cutter, a safe employ ; Foiled in his crash, the leader of the clan
In Holy-well Street, St. Pancras, he was bred Reproves with frowns the dilatory man;
(At number twenty-seven, it is said), Then on his candlestick thrice taps his bow,
Facing the pump, and near the Granby's Head ; Nods a new signal, and away they go.
He would have bound him to some shop in town,
But with a premium he could not come down. Perchance, while pit and gallery cry"Hats off!”. And awed Consumption checks his chided congh, Tonder of purl and skittle grounds than truth.
Pat was the urchin's name, a red-haired youth, Some giggling daughter of the Queen of Love Drops, reft of pin, her play-bill from above : Like Icarus, while laughing galleries clap,
Silence, ye gods ! to keep your tongues in awe,
The Muse shall tell an accident she saw.
Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat,
But, leaning forward, Jennings lost his hat: Till, sinking gradual, with repeated twirl,
Down from the gallery the beaver flew, It settles, curling, on a fidler's curl ; Who from his powdered pate the intruder strikes, How shall he act ? Pay at the gallery-door
And spurned the one to settle in the two. And, from mere malice, sticks it on the spikes. Two shillings for what cost, when new, but four?
Say, why these Babel strains from Babel tongues? Or till half-price, to save his shilling, wait, Who's that calls “Silence !” with such leathern And gain his hat again at half past eight ? lungs ?
Now, while his fears anticipate a thief, He who, in qnest of quiet, “Silence !" hoots,
John Mullens whispers, "Take my handkerchier." Is apt to make the hubbub he imputes.
“ Thank you," cries Pat; “but one won't make
a line." What various swainsour motley walls contain!-"Take mine," cried Wilson ; and cried Stokes, Fashion from Moortields, honor from Chick Lane; • Take mine."
Hurry-skurry. Here it comes sparkling, And there it lies darkling; Now smoking and frothing Its tumult and wrath in, Till in this rapid race
On which it is bent,
It reaches the place Of its steep descent.
The cataract strong
As if a war waging
Rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping,
Flying and flinging,
Around and around
Smiting and fighting,
A sight to delight in ;
Confounding, astounding, Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.
A inotley cable soon Pat Jennings ties,
THE CATARACT OF LODORE.
DESCRIBED IN RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY.
* How does the water
Thus, once on a time;
Anon at the word,
And then came another,
To second and third
Comes down at Lodore,
As many a time
So I told them in rhyme,
For their recreation
To them and the King.
From its sources which well
From its fountains
In the mountains,
Its rills and its gills;
It runs and it creeps
In its own little lake.
Awakening and starting,
And away it proceeds,
In sun and in shade,
Among crags in its flurry,
And glittering and frittering, And gathering and feathering,
BY THE HON. EDWARD E-, OF BOSTON.
And whitening and brightening, Wildly he started, - for there in the heavens be.
Fluttered and flew the original star-spangled And thundering and floundering ;
Two objections are in the way of the acceptance of this ar hem Dividing and gliding and sliding,
by the committee : in the first place, it is not an anthem at all; sec.
ondly, it is a gross plagiarism from an old Sclavonic war-song of the And falling and brawling and sprawling, priineval ages. And driving and riving and striving,
Next we quote from a
Ponderous projectiles, hurled by heavy hands, And clattering and battering and shattering;
Fell on our Liberty's poor infant head,
Ere she a stadium had well advanced
On the great path that to her greatness led ; Advancing and prancing and glancing and dan
Yet, thanks to saving Grace and Washington, cing, Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling,
Her incubus was from her bosom hurled ; And gleaming and streaming and steaming and
And, rising like a cloud-dispelling sun,
She took the oil with which her hair was curled beaming, And rushing and flushing and brushing and gush. To grease the “hub” round which revolves the
world. ing, And flapping and rapping and clapping and slap This fine production is rather heavy for an "anthem," and contains
too much of Boston to be considered strictly national. Tu set such ping,
an "anthem" to inusic would require a Wagner; and even were it And curling and whirling and purling and really accommodated to a tune, it could only be whistled by the
twirling, And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping,
NATIONAL ANTHEM. And dashing and flashing and splashing and
BY JOHN GREENLEAF Wclashing; And so never ending, but always descending,
My native land, thy Puritanic stock Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending, Still finds its roots firm bound in Plymouth Rock; All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar,
And all thy sons unite in one grand wish,
To keep the virtues of Preserv-ed Fish.
Preserv-ed Fish, the Deacon stern and true,
And, should they swerve from loyalty and right,
Then the whole land were lost indeed in night.
The sectional bias of this "anthem “ renders it unsuitable for use RECEIVED RESPONSE TO AN ADVERTISED in that small margin of the world situated outside of New England.
We now come to a
Hence the above must be rejected.
Here we have a very curious
BY H. W.
BY DR. OLIVER WENDELL H
Back in the years when Phlagstaff, the Dane, A diagnosis of our history proves was monarch
Our native land a land its native loves; Over the sea-ribbed land of the fleet-footed Its birth a deed obstetric without peer, Norsemen,
Its growth a source of wonder far and near. Once there went forth young Ursa to gaze at the heavens,
To love it more, behold how foreign shores Ursa, the noblest of all Vikings and horsemen. Sink into nothingness beside its stores.
Hyde Park at best — though counted ultra grandMusing he sat in his stirrups and viewed the; The “ Boston Common" of Victoria's land
horizon, Where the Aurora lapt stars in a north-polar reading thus far, for such an “ anthem " could only be sung by a
The committee must not be blamed for rejecting the above after
college of Surgeons or a Beacon Street tea-party.
Turn we now to a
The sun sinks softly to his evening post,
The sun swells grandly to his morning crown; Yet not a star our flag of heaven has lost,
And not a sunset stripe with him goes down. So thrones may fall; and from the dust of those
New thrones may rise, to totter like the last ; But still our country's nobler planet glows,
While the eternal stars of Heaven are fast. Upon finding that this does not go well to the air of " Yankee Doodle," the committee feel justified in declining it; being further. more prejudiced against it by a suspicion that the poet has crowded an advertisement of a paper which he edits into the first line.
Next we quote from a
The little brown squirrel hops in the corn,
The cricket quaintly sings ;
And the shad in the river springs ;
On the shore of the summer sea ; And better far that I were dead,
If Maud did not love me.
I love the squirrel that hops in the corn,
And the cricket that quaintly sings ; And the emerald pigeon that nods his head,
And the shad that gayly springs.
And Maud with her snowy breast;
I love my country best.
BY GENERAL GEORGE P. M
In the days that tried our fathers,
Many years ago, Our fair land achieved her freedom,
Blood-bought, you know. Shall we not defend her ever,
As we'd defend That fair maiden, kind and tender,
Calling us friend ?
This is certainly very beautiful, and sounds somewhat like Tea. nyson. Though it may be rejected by the committee, it can never lose its value as a piece of excellent reading for children. It is calculated to fill the youthful mind with patriotism and natural his. tory, beside touching the youthful heart with an emotion palpitating for all.
We close the list with the following:
BY R. H. STOD
Behold the flag! Is it not a flag?
Deny it, man, if you dare ! And midway spread 'twixt earth and sky
It hangs like a written prayer.
Yes! Let all the echoes answer,
From hill and vale ;
Joy in the tale.
High-born and fair ;
Touch her who dare. The tone of this " anthem" not being devotional enough to suit the committee, it should be printed on an edition of linen-cambric handkerchiefs for ladies especially.
Would impious hand of foe disturb
Its memories' holy spell,
R. H. NEWELL.