"To prove your reviler an infamous liar,

I swear I will grant you whate'er you desire!" "Then by my head,"

The youngster said,

"I'll mount the coach when the horses are fed !

For there's nothing I'd choose, as I'm alive,

Like a seat on the box and a dashing drive!" 'Nay, Phaethon, don't,—

66

I beg you won't,

Just stop a moment and think upon't!

You're quite too young," continued the sage,

"To tend a coach at your tender age

Besides, you see,

"Twill really be

Your first appearance on any stage!

Desist, my child,

The cattle are wild,

e!

And when their mettle is thoroughly 'riled,'
Depend upon't, the coach'll be spiled'-

6

They're not the fellows to draw it mild!
Desist, I say,

You'll rue the day,—

So mind, and don't be foolish, Pha!"
But the youth was proud,

And swore aloud,

'Twas just the thing to astonish the crowd,
He'd have the horses and wouldn't be cowed!
In vain the boy was cautioned at large,

He called for the chargers, unheeding the charge,
And vowed that any young fellow of force,
Could manage a dozen coursers, of course!

Now Phoebus felt exceedingly sorry
He had given his word in such a hurry;
But having sworn by the Styx, no doubt
He was in for it now, and couldn't back out.
So calling Phaethon up in a trice,

He gave the youth a bit of advice:

""Parce stimulis, utere loris !'

(A 'stage direction,' of which the core is, Don't use the whip,-they're ticklish things,— But, whatever you do, hold on to the strings) Remember the rule of the Jehu-tribe is,

"Medio tutissimus ibis,'

(As the Judge remarked to a rowdy Scotchman, Who was going to quod between two watchmen !) So mind your eye, and spare your goad,

Be shy of the stones, and keep in the road!"
Now Phaethon perched on coachman's place,
Drove off the steeds at a furious pace,
Fast as coursers running a race,
Or bounding along in a steeple-chase!
Of whip and shout there was no lack,
"Crack--whack-

Whack-crack"

Resounded along the horses' back !—
Frightened beneath the stinging lash,
Cutting their flanks in many a gash,
On-on they sped as swift as a flash,
Through thick and thin away they dash,
(Such rapid driving is always rash!)
When all at once, with a dreadful crash,

The whole "establishment" went to smash!

And Phaethon, he,

As all agree,

Off the coach was suddenly hurled

Into a puddle, and out of the world!

MORAL.

Don't rashly take to dangerous courses,
Nor set it down in your table of forces,
That any one man equals any four horses!
Don't swear by the Styx!—

It's one of Old Nick's

Diabolical tricks

To get people into a regular "fix,”

And hold 'em there as fast as bricks!

JOHN G. SAXE.

RAIL-BIRD SHOOTING.

He went out in the morning early,
Cocked and primed was he,
"I'll bring home a load of Rails!"
Was his mental soliloquy.
He hired a splendid "pusher,"
A cock-eyed, stout built man,
Who'd always stand by liquor,
"As long as water ran.'

His "ammunition box"

He put in the stern of the boat;
He loaded his Krider gun;

He took off his shooting-coat.

"I'll have warm work to-day,"

He spoke but a gentle creek! Showed him a rail just rising,

66

So he raised his gun to his cheek.

Rip-bang!" went the right-hand barrel"Mark!" said the pusher: then

Uprose from the reeds another rail;

Rose up-to fall again!
He loaded and fired away
Till the tide began to fall;
Up to his knees in rails he stood,
The brag-shot of them all.

"We'd better git out of this,

For the tide's a running down!"
Thus spoke the stout-built pusher,
As he whirled the boat around.
No answer the gunner made;
For he was taking a drink
Out of a big black bottle,

Containing rum-I think.

(GUNNER speaks.)

"I want more rails, by thunder!

To fence my hunger in :

I've only shot six dozen yet:

To knock off now's a sin."

"I rather think I've got

(PUSHER answers.)

Three dozen staked out' here, You'll make the bulliest shooting Been done down here this year!"

Then fraternally both took a drink

From the big black bottle of rum.
The stout pusher said with a wink,
"I guess that liquor's some!"

Over the side of the boat,

Over the side leaned he,

And pulled in the "staked-out rail"
You've shot nine dozen!" said he.

As he turned to hand them over
To the gunner in the stern,
The bottle tripped up his foot,
And he made an over-turn.

Into six foot mud and water
Went gun, men, birds and all;

And then came the genuine railing;
Railing with shout and bawl!

HENRY P. LELAND.

FANS.

FROM London to Canton, New York to Japan,

One hour with another, somewhere waves a fan: Be it palm-leaf or silk,—of wood, ivory, or pearl; Be it homely or "worldly," it's e'er on the whirl.

Brown Inez at Madrid, dark Julia at Rome,

Yellow Wang-ta at Canton, fair Fanny at home; Though so different in natures, are yet of one mind— That fans, like fast brokers, can soon "raise the wind."