DAN PHAETHON—so the histories run—
Was a jolly young chap, and a son of the SUN;
Or rather of PHOEBUS—but as to his mother,
Genealogists make a deuce of a pother,
Some going for one, and some for another!
For myself, I must say, as a careful explorer,
This roaring young blade was the son of AURORA!

Now old Father PHOEBUS, ere railways begun
To elevate funds and depreciate fun,
Drove a very fast coach by the name of "THE SUN;"
Running, they say,
Trips every day
(On Sundays and all, in a heathenish way).
And lighted up with a famous array
Of lanterns that shone with a brilliant display,
And dashing along like a gentleman's "shay."
With never a fare, and nothing to pay!

Now PHAETHON begged of his doting old father,
To grant him a favor, and this the rather,
Since some one had hinted, the youth to annoy,
That he wasn't by any means PHOEBUS'S boy!
Intending, the rascally son of a gun,
To darken the brow of the son of the SUN!
"By the terrible Styx!" said the angry sire,
While his eyes flashed volumes of fury and fire,
"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—
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,
'T will really be
Your first appearance on any stage!
Desist, my child,
The cattle are wild,
And when their mettle is thoroughly 'riled,'
Depend upon't, the coach'll be 'spiled'—
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,
'T was 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 in the 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!

THE SCHOOL-HOUSE. [AFTER GOLDSMITH.] JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

Propt on the marsh, a dwelling now, I see
The humble school-house of my A, B, C,
Where well-drilled urchins, each behind his tire,
Waited in ranks the wished command to fire,
Then all together, when the signal came,
Discharged their A-B ABS against the dame,
Who, 'mid the volleyed learning, firm and calm,
Patted the furloughed ferule on her palm,
And, to our wonder, could detect at once
Who flashed the pan, and who was downright dunce.

There young Devotion learned to climb with ease
The gnarly limbs of Scripture family-trees,
And he was most commended and admired
Who soonest to the topmost twig perspired;
Each name was called as many various ways
As pleased the reader's ear on different days,
So that the weather, or the ferule's stings,
Colds in the head, or fifty other things,
Transformed the helpless Hebrew thrice a week
To guttural Pequot or resounding Greek,
The vibrant accent skipping here and there
Just as it pleased invention or despair;
No controversial Hebraist was the Dame;
With or without the points pleased her the same.
If any tyro found a name too tough,
And looked at her, pride furnished skill enough;
She nerved her larynx for the desperate thing,
And cleared the five-barred syllables at a spring.

Ah, dear old times! there once it was my hap,
Perched on a stool, to wear the long-eared cap;
From books degraded, there I sat at ease,
A drone, the envy of compulsory bees.

EPIGRAMMATIC