THE ENTERTAINING HISTORY OF THE

SCRIPTURAL PANORAMIST.

[I GIVE the history in Mr. Nickerson's own language.] There was a fellow travelling around, in that country (said Mr. Nickerson), with a moral religious show-a sort of a scriptural panorama-and he hired a simple old creature to play the piano for him. After the first night's performance, the showman says:—

My friend, you seem to know pretty much all the tunes there are, and you worry along first-rate. But then didn't you notice that sometimes last night the piece you happened to be playing was a little rasping on the proprieties, so to speak-didn't seem to jibe with the general gait of the picture that was passing at the time, as it were—was a little foreign to the subject, you know -as if you didn't either trump or follow suit, you under

stand ?"

"Well, no," the fellow said; he hadn't noticed, but it might be; he had played along just as it came handy.

So they put it up that the poor old dummy was to keep his eye on the panorama after that, and as soon as a smart picture was reeled out he was to fit it to a dot with a piece of music that would help the audience to get the idea of the subject, and warm them up to an

appreciation of it. That sort of thing would capture their sympathies the showman said.

There was a big audience that night. The showman began to swell himself up for his lecture, the old pianist ran his fingers up and down his instrument once or twice to see that it was all right, and the supes behind the curtain commenced to unwind the panorama. The showman balanced his weight on his right foot, and propped his hands on his hips, and flung his eye over his shoulder at the scenery, and says—

"Ladies and gentlemen, the painting now before you illustrates the beautiful and touching parable of the Prodigal Son. Observe the happy expression just breaking over the features of the poor, suffering youth-so worn and weary with his long march; note also the ecstasy beaming from the uplifted countenance of the aged father, and the joy that sparkles in the eyes of the excited group of youths and maidens, and seems ready to burst in a welcoming chorus from their lips. The lesson, my friends, is as solemn and instructive as the story is tender and beautiful."

The musician was all ready, and the second the speech was finished he struck up—

"Oh! we'll all get blind drunk

When Johnny comes marching home!"

Some of the people giggled, and some groaned a little. The showman couldn't say a word. He looked at the pianist, but he was all lovely and serene-he didn't know there was anything out of gear.

The panorama moved on, and the showman drummed up his pluck and began again :

"Ladies and gentlemen, the fine picture now unfolding itself to your gaze exhibits one of the most notable events in Bible history-our Saviour and his disciples upon the Sea of Galilee. How grand, how awe-inspiring are the reflections which the subject invokes ! What sublimity of faith is revealed to us in this lesson from the sacred writings! The Saviour rebukes the angry waves, and walks securely upon the bosom of the deep!"

All around the house they were whispering-" Oh ! how lovely! how beautiful!" and the orchestra let himself out again :

"Oh! a life on the ocean wave,

And a home on the rolling deep?"

There was a good deal of honest laughter this time, and considerable groaning, and one or two deacons got up and went out. The showman gritted his teeth and cursed the piano man to himself; but the fellow sat there like a knot on a log, and seemed to think he was doing first-rate.

After things got quiet, the showman thought he would make one more stagger at it, anyhow, though his confidence was beginning to get very shaky. The supes started the panorama along again, and he says :—

"Ladies and gentlemen, this exquisite painting illustrates the raising of Lazarus from the dead by our Saviour. The subject has been handled with rare ability by the artist, and such touching sweetness and

tenderness of expression has he thrown into it, that I have known peculiarly sensitive persons to be even affected to tears by looking at it. Observe the halfconfused, half-inquiring look upon the countenance of the awakening Lazarus. Observe, also, the attitude and expression of the Saviour, who takes him gently by the sleeve of his shroud with one hand, while he points with the other towards the distant city."

Before anybody could get off an opinion in the case, the innocent old muggins at the piano stuck up—

"Come, rise up, William Ri-i-ley,
And Go along with me!"

My! All the solemn old flats got up in a fury to go, and everybody else laughed till the windows rattled.

The showman went down and grabbed the orchestra and shook him up, and says

But what he said was too vigorous for repetition, and is better left out.

AN UNBURLESQUABLE THING.

THERE is one other thing which transcends the powers of burlesque, and that is a Fenian "invasion." First, we have the portentous mystery that precedes it for six months, when all the air is filled with stage whisperings; when "Councils" meet every night with awful secrecy, and the membership try to see who can get up first in the morning and tell the proceedings. Next, the expatriated Nation struggles through a travail of national squabbles and political splits, and is finally delivered of a litter of "Governments," and Presidents McThis and Generals O'That, of several different complexions, politically speaking; and straightway the newspapers teem with the new names, and men who were insignificant and obscure one day find themselves great and famous the next. Then the several "governments," and presidents, and generals, and senates get by the ears, and remain so until the customary necessity of carrying the American city elections with a minority vote comes around and unites them; then they begin to "sound the tocsin of war" again-that is to say, in solemn whisperings at dead of night they secretly plan a Canadian raid, and publish it in the "World" next morning; they begin to refer significantly to "Ridgway," and we reflect bodingly