66 a network of string and tape, and the cavalcade backed out into the news room with colors flying. The chair stopped just before the familiar spirit who was washing the forms, and as the lovely woman gazed at his inky face she shrieked, Merciful goodness, where am I?" and was borne down the gloomy stairway unconscious, while the printers whose cases were nearest the wicked window heard the editor singing, as it might be to himself, "Dearest sister, thou hast left us." THE FOX AND THE STORK. A FOX one day invited a stork to dinner, but provided for the entertainment only the first course, soup. This being in a shallow dish, of course the fox lapped it up readily, but the stork, by means of his long bill, was unable to gain a mouthful. the fox, concealing a smile in his nap"You do not seem fond of soup," said kin. "Now it is one of my greatest weak nesses." "You certainly seem to project yourself outside of a large quantity," said the stork, rising with some dignity, and examining his watch with considerable empressement; "but I have an appointment at 8 o'clock, which I had forgotten. I must ask to be excused. Au revoir. By the way, dine with me to morrow." The fox asented, arrived at the appointed time, but found as he fully expected, nothing on the table but a single long-necked bottle, containing olives, which the stork his long bill. was complacently extracting by the aid of "Why, you do not seem to eat anything," said the stork, with great naïveté, when he had finished the bottle. "No," said the fox, significantly, "I am waiting for the second course." An hour of serenity and tranquillity in the editorial room was broken by a brisk, business like step on the stairs, the door flew open with a bang that shot the key half way across the room, and a sociable-looking, familiar kind of a stranger jammed into the chair, slapped his hat over the ink stand, pushed a pile of proof, twenty pages of copy, a box of pens, the paste cup, and a pair of scissors off the table to make room for the old familiar flat sample case, and said in one brief breath: "I am agent for Gamberton's Popular Centennial World's History and American Citizen's Treasure Book of Valuable Information sold only by subscription and issued in monthly parts whole work complete in thirty parts each number embellished with one handsome steel plate engraving and numerous beautifully executed wood cuts no similar work has ever been published in this country and at the exceedingly low price at which it is offered only $2 per vol" The spring clicked like a pistol shot, the window went up half way through the ceiling, the nailgrab took hold like a three-barrelled har-host to sacrifice himself for his guests.— MORAL. True hospitality obliges the poon, and the column moved on its backward way through the window, down through the news room, past the foreman, standing grim and silent by the imposing stone, past the cases, vocal with the applause and encouraging and consolatory remarks of the compositors, on to the alley windows, over the sills, howling, yelling, shrieking, praying, the unhappy agent was hurled to the cruel pavement three stories below, where he lit on his head and plunged through into a cellar, where he tried to get a subscription out of a man who was shovelling coal. A RETIRING man says nobody ever paid him much attention until he broke out of jail, and then he was much sought after. "What is that?" asked the stork, blandly. fox in a very pronounced manner, and in"Stork stuffed with olives," shrieked the stantly dispatched him. BRET HARTE'S Æsop Improved. SHERIDAN'S CALENDAR, January snowy, April showry, July moppy, October breezy, THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. BY QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS. SUGGESTED BY THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOR OF "WAT TYLER." "A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel! I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word." [This witty and caustic poem is one of the most characteristic of BYRON's productions. Its origin is explained in the title and in the original Preface, which we here reproduce. Byron's contempt and resentment were both aroused by Southey's "Vision of Judgment," and he proceeded to empty the vials of his poetic wrath on the Laureate's devoted head, in this extraordinary stream of mingled ridicule and scorn, fun and satire.] PREFACE. It has been wisely said, that " one fool makes many; " and it hath been poetically observed, "That fools rush in where angels fear to tread."-Pope. If Mr. Southey had not rushed in where he had no business, and where he never was before, and never will be again, the following poem would not have been written. It is not impossible that it may be as good as his own, seeing that it cannot, by any species of stupidity, natural or acquired, be worse. The gross flattery, the dull impudence, the renegado intolerance and impious cant, of the poem by the author of Wat Tyler, are something so stupendous as to form the sublime of himself-containing the quintessence of his own attributes. So much for his poem-a word on his preface. In this preface it has pleased the magnanimous Laureate to draw the picture of a supposed" Satanic School," the which he doth recommend to the notice of the Legislature; thereby adding to his other laurels the ambition of those of an informer. If there exists anywhere, except in his imagination, such a school, is he not sufficiently armed against it by his own intense vanity? The truth is, that there are certain writers whom Mr. S. imagines, like Scrub, to have "talked of him; for they laughed consumedly." I think I know enough of most of the writers to whom he is supposed to allude, to assert, that they, in their individual capacities, have done more good, in the charities of life, to their fellow-creatures in any one year, than Mr. Southey has done harm But to himself by his absurdities in his whole life; and this is saying a great deal. I have a few questions to ask. 1stly, Is Mr. Southey the author of Wat Tyler 2dly, Was he not refused a remedy at law by the highest judge of his beloved England, because it was a blasphemous and seditious publication? 3dly, Was he not entitled by William Smith, in full Parliament, "a rancorous renegado?" 4thly, Is he not Poet Laureate, with his own lines on Martin the regicide staring him in the face? And 5thly, putting the four preceding items together, with what conscience dare he call the attention of the laws to the publications of others, be they what they may? I say nothing of the cowardice of such a proceeding; its meanness speaks for itself; but I wish to touch upon the motive, which is neither more nor less than that Mr. S. has been laughed at a little in some recent publication, as he was of yore in the Anti-Jacobin by his present patrons. Hence all this "skimble-scamble stuff" about "Satanic," and so forth. However, it is worthy of him-" qualis ab incepto." If there is anything obnoxious to the political opinions of a portion of the public in the following poem, they may thank Mr. Southey. He might have written hexameters, as he has written everything else, for aught that the writer cared-had they been upon another subject. But to attempt to canonize a monarch who, whatever were his household virtues, was neither a successful nor a patriot king-inasmuch as several years of his reign passed in war with America and Ireland, to say nothing of the aggression upon France-like all other exaggeration, necessarily begets opposition. In whatever manner he may be spoken of in this new Vision, his public career will not be more favorably transmitted by history. Of his private virtues (although a little expensive to the nation) there can be no doubt. With regard to the supernatural personages treated of, I can only say that I know as much about them, and (as an honest man) have a better right to talk of them, than Ro bert Southey. I have also treated them more tolerantly. The way in which that poor insane creature, the Laureate, deals about his judgments in the next world, is like his own judgment in this. If it was not com worse. brow? pletely ludicrous, it would be something | Is that with eyebrows white and slanting I don't think that there is much more to say at present. QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS. P. S.-It is possible that some readers may object, in these objectionable times, to the freedom with which saints, angels, and spiritual persons discourse in this Vision. But, for precedents upon such points, I must refer them to Fielding's Journey from this World to the next, and to the Visions of my self, the said Quevedo, in Spanish or translated. The reader is also requested to observe, that no doctrinal tenets are insisted upon or discussed; that the person of the Deity is carefully withheld from sight, which is more than can be said for the Laureate, who hath thought proper to make Him talk, not "like a school divine," but like the unscholar-like Mr. Southey. The whole action passes on the outside of heaven; and Chaucer's Wife of Bath, Pulci's Morgante Maggiore, Swift's Tale of a Tub, and the other works above referred to, are cases in point of the freedom with which saints, etc., may be permitted to converse in works not intended to be serious.-Q. R. Mr. Southey being, as he says, a good Christian and vindictive, threatens, I understand, a reply to this our answer. It is to be hoped that his visionary faculties will in the meantime have acquired a little more judgment, properly so called: otherwise be will get himself into new dilemmas. These apostate Jacobins furnish rich rejoinders. Let him take a specimen. Mr. Southey laudeth grievously one Mr. Landor," who cultivates much private renown in the shape of Latin verses; and not long ago, the Poet Laureate dedicated to him, it appeareth, one of his fugitive lyrics upon the strength of a poem called Gebir. Who could pose that in this same Gebir the aforesaid Savage Landor (for such is his grim cognomen) putteth into the infernal regions no less a person than the hero of his friend Mr. Southey's heaven,-yea, even George the Third! See how personal Savage becometh, when he hath a mind. The following is his portrait of our late gracious sovereign: sup. (Prince Gebir having descended into the infernal regions, the shades of his royal ancestors are, at his request, called up to his view; and he exclaims to his ghostly guide) Aroar, what wretch that nearest us? what wretch Listen! him yonder, who, bound down su pine, crease, "With seven heads and ten horns," and all He's dead-and upper earth with him has front, done; He's buried; save the undertaker's bill, Or lapidary scrawl, the world has gone For him, unless he left a German will. But where's the proctor who will ask his son? In whom his qualities are reigning still, Except that household virtue, most uncommon, Of constancy to a bad, ugly woman. XIII. "God save the king!" It is a large economy In God to save the like; but if He will dyes; To which the saint replied, "Well, what's the matter? Be saving, all the better; for not one am I Is Lucifer come back with all his clatter?" Of those who think damnation better still: I hardly know, too, if not quite alone am I In this small hope of bettering future ill XVIII. By circumscribing, with some slight restric-"No," quoth the cherub; "George the Third is tion, The eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction. XIV. I know this is unpopular; I know 'Tis blasphemous; I know one may be damn'd For hoping no one else may e'er be so ; I know my catechism; I know we're cramm'd With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow; I know that all save England's church have shamm'd; dead." XIX. And that the other twice two hundred churches purchase. XV. God help us all! God help me too! I am, God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish, And not a whit more difficult to damn, Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish, Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb; Not that I am fit for such a noble dish, XVI. Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate, And nodded o'er his keys; when, lo! there came A wondrous noise he had not heard of lateA rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame; In short, a roar of things extremely great, Which would have made all save a saint exclaim; But he, with first a start and then a wink, Said, "There's another star gone out, I think!" That head of his, which could not keep a crown On earth, yet ventured in my face to advance A claim to those of martyrs-like my own: If I had had my sword, as I had once When I cut ears off, I had cut him down; But having but my keys, and not my brand, I only knock'd his head from out his hand. XX. "And then he set up such a headless howl, That all the saints came out and took him in: And there he sits by St. Paul, cheek by jowl; So as to make a martyr, never sped XXI. "But had it come up here upon its shoulders, There would have been a different tale to tell; |