Some running for engines, while others were looking to see where the

fire was.

Soon was the hose unfolded and stretched to the water, as usual,

But it was out of repair, for fire-engines always want mending,
Rushed we hither and thither and then formed a line from the water,
Passing the buckets, on one side those full, those empty the other.
Hot with the work and excitement, and splashed and dirtied with water.
A few worked hard at the pumps, while others were handing the timber
From rooms which had not yet caught fire, while others were raising
Ladders to scale the roofs, and thus stop the fatal destroyer.

At last when jets from the engines played full in the face of the bright flame,

When quickly the buckets were passed, and all in good earnest were working,

Then 'gan the flames to subside, and since there was no wind to fan them Out went the fire by degrees, and no longer our labour was needed.

Hungry were we and not sorry to get to the beef and potatoes,

And to gather together and quaff off draughts of the home-brewed.

Then those who had been here the longest and remembered the most fires

Told them with grave face, and said that this was naught else but a trifle
Compared with the fires they had seen and helped at before now at
Sherborne.

Then we abused the brigade, and filled full glasses of home-brew'd,
Drank to the health of the fellow who, either by chance or on purpose,
Had caused the fire, and us the pleasure of working to quell it ;
For dearly we love a fire, and the din, excitement, and bustle.

A. A.

A HARD-READING MAN'S EVENING.

SCENE: An ordinary room in any college you like to mention, a fire, candles, &c.; our reading (?) man sitting at the table in high state of grind, solus; tea, &c., to match.

Well, I never saw such a bit: whatever bosh is Plato talking about? we have nothing but οἷα, ποιά, and τοιαῦτα running

through the whole sentence; whatever is the sense, I am sure I can't tell; now I'll just read the whole bit over again :

Ὅσα γ' ἐστὶ τοιαῦτα οἷα εἶναί του, τὰ μὲν ποιὰ ἄττα ποιοῦ
τινός ἐστιν, τὰ δ ̓ αὐτὰ ἕκαστα αὐτοῦ ἑκάστου μόνον.

Well, I never; if all the rest of the book is like this, I shall never be able to get it up properly before the schools, for I have only a fortnight—no, thirteen days-to finish this and look over all the rest too; there is one consolation, this is the last book of this old boy that I have to slog. Let us try again; but, dear me, my toes are rather cold: I think I'll just poke up the fire a bit, and now I think of it I'll have another cup of tea ;-there, now I think the fire looks a little better, and how nice that cup of tea was! I think that will keep me awake, at least if anything will; but it is the last drop of that liquid called for the sake of euphony, cream; better call it essence of well I don't know what. But

I am leaving my work this will

see,

never do, I must go on; let me

it is now a quarter-past nine, I can read three hours and a half well and yet be in bed by one o'clock. Now I am up

very

I won't sit down to the table as I was just now, for I can easily hold the Plato and put the Lexicon on this chair by my side ; put one candle on the corner of the table-so; the other on the mantel-piece-so, and now for the easy chair just in front of the fire to sit in, and my toes on the fender, won't they get warm! Now, then, again for work. What does the translation say about that beautiful passage; ah! here it is:

"Things naturally relative refer in each particular to this or

that object to which they belong, while in their individual
character they refer only to themselves individually."

Well, I really think that is worse than Plato's version; but I think I shall be more comfortable if I get a chair and put my feet on it; the Lexicon will lie just as well on the floor, and now I shall be lying straight in front of the fire; there, if it was not for that tea I should go to sleep (yawns): as it is I can't help yawning, but that won't hurt my reading if I dont go to sleep;

and I won't do that. Now, Plato, come along again; fair start and no favour :

Οσα γ ̓ ἐστὶ τοιαῦτα οἷα.

How jolly that light comes over my shoulder, I couldn't have put it better as I am sitting.

Οἷα εἶναί του, τὰμὲν ποιὰ ἄττα.

Well, I can't make it out, especially with that stupid translation, and it is no use to look out the words, as the English of each one is easy enough, only I can't make out what they all mean together. I'll just lean back and think whatever they can mean. I'll just try and construe it. 'As many things as are of such a nature as ɛivaí rov, whatever is that? 'to be of anything,' what does that mean? I don't know-such as to be of (yawns) something.' Dear me, how heavy my book is! (yawns) there, it has dropped! never mind, I can think just as well whether it is in my hand or on the floor;-'as many things as—are———— -(yawns) dear me, how sleepy I feel,- -'as many,' I wonder how many times I have said that- -'as many things as'- -(yawns and says no more, shall we say he is thinking about Plato, or that he is asleep?)

Scene the same, one candle burnt out, the other low in its socket, the fire nowhere; our model reading man starts up

Dear me, I was very near asleep; why some one has put my candles out (yawns)—well, I never; they are burnt out. I haven't really been to sleep, have I? what's the time? a quarter past two; well, I never, and I am precious sleepy now; whatever shall I do, I ought to have finished this book this evening; but I can't, I must go to bed.-(Exit with the candle flickering in the socket, yawning.)

A. H. E.

"EPICURI DE GREGE PORCUS."

Be we merry while we may,
Too soon youth will fly away,
Youth, and age, and life, and all
In this frail world ours we call.
Raise the laugh of mirthful sound;
Let the wine cup circle round;

Let the beam of beauty's eye

Shine upon thee till thou die.
What is death, that it should seem
Something fearful?-'tis a dream,
'Tis a dropping into sleep,
"Tis an unfilled blank, a leap
From life's cliff into the sea
Of escapeless destiny.

Do we fear when night is nigh
Sinking into rest, then why
Should we so much fear to die?
Wherefore should it overspread
All our joys with so much dread,
That those joys an end must have,
And that end must be the grave ?

Rather let us laugh the while

Sun and season on us smile:

With our temples crowned with flowers
Let us pass the joyous hours:
Be we merry while we may,

While life's billows yet are gay,
Care will come quite soon enough
When the sea is rolling rough;
When the winds are whistling shrill
Time enough to think of ill.
'Tis not wise to fear before
Winds and waters really roar.

JULIAN.

A TOUR ROUND MY STUDY.

I HAVE a roving turn just now, a vagabond impulse which I can gratify without a railway ticket or the martyrdom of sea sickness. My study, though only 10 feet long by 6 broad, is a world wide enough for me to disport in; though a cat could with safety be made to girate within my castle, I find it wide enough for a jolly ramble. Its scenery is varied and picturesque enough for all the purposes of art: and the view it commands and the sounds that reach it are enough to supply an author with materials for a historical drama or an epic poem. No books for me now I have left my

chair, and shall not sit down again till I have been a long round. I pass the book-shelf without a glance; there is no interest in things handled so often. I reach the gas-pipes, the most useful appendage about the room. What a host of good things have I cooked over thy flame, thou charming bat's-wing burner. How often have I listened with rapture to the fizzing of the sausages that I cooked in a dust pan, over thy fiery tongue, thou gastronomic gas-pipe. How often have I seen the professional cook among our fellows, now a gallant lieutenant in the Queen's service, holding his stewing pan over thee with his paper cap and sleeves tucked up Soyer fashion. What mishaps have been witnessed under thy glaring light when the Head-master's voice, heard in the Cloisters, consigned the contents of the frying-pan to the keeping of my hat-box. What a smell thou hast occasioned when thou didst turn into a cinder the choicest slice of black-pudding that ever made my mouth water. I have passed by the gas-pipe; a fresh object, in a gold frame, offers itself to my view-a fair creature in a straw hat and scarlet dress; not one of those artificial women got up for show, who in a former age used little ivory hands to scratch their itching their itching backs, and whose powdered hair towered most uncomfortably over their painted faces; but a genuine village maiden, the belle of the hamlet,