never had the least objection to repeat it at an opportune moment. Perhaps his most frequent anecdote was the somewhat familiar one of Napoleon's interview with one of his sentinels. Mr. Chzmenzryski never wearied of telling the boys how, on the night before the battle of Austerlitz, the Emperor left his tent and took a quiet walk through the encamped army, in order to get a few moments' relief from Murat's sonorous snoring. Presently he was challenged by a sentinel, who demanded the countersign. Now, Napoleon had forgotten the countersign, and therefore said, affably if ungrammatically, "It's me, my man, it's all right." But the sentinel was a disciplined veteran of a thousand battles, and he replied, in a brief, sententious way, "Give me the countersign or I will summon the guard. How do I know that your Majesty is not a spy of Pitt? It must be manifest to you that I can know nothing but the countersign, and you must perceive the impropriety of trying to trifle with the finer feelings of a sentry's heart." Thus speaking he planted his bayonet in the small of the imperial back and ran the Emperor into the guard-house. Of course the sergeant instantly released Napoleon, and was about to reprimand the sentinel, when the great man said: "Hold! Forty pyramids are looking down upon us. My friend, you did your duty in refusing to let me pass without the countersign. Henceforth you are a Marshal of that beautiful France that I have loved so much. Make a requisition on Murat for two dozen crosses of the Legion of Honor, and remember that in fifty years the Republicans will be either Cossacks or Europeans." All present burst into tears, and Napoleon, visibly affected, borrowed O'Meara's snuff-box and forgot to return it. This anecdote was told to Mr. Chzmenzryski's pupils so often, that they were firmly convinced that the sentinel was the greatest man of modern times, and that they should all strive to keep Emperors from walking around without countersigns.

Next to his scholars Mr. Chzmenzryski loved grapes.

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his back yard he had a nice little vineyard, which wicked boys ravaged nearly every night from the 1st of September to the 1st of October. In vain did he take lessons on the cornet, and practice that devastating instrument late into the night. The boys stuffed cotton in their ears, and robbed him while in the very act of trying to hit the first three notes of "Windham." It thus happened that for four consecutive years he never once picked a single ripe grape from his vines, while all the boys of the neighborhood luxuriated in daily colic during the entire grape season. Last week the indignant school-master resolved upon vigorous measures for the protection of his property, and selecting the two most athletic boys in his school, he armed them with stout clubs and placed them on guard in his vineyard, with orders to thrash any one who might come near them during the night, without distinction of person, age or sex.

About ten o'clock that evening it occurred to Mr. Chzmenzrysk that he would go into the back yard and see if the boys were alert and watchful. At first he could not find them, and was beginning to fear that they had proved faithless, when they suddenly emerged from behind a large bush and found him. He was about to compliment them upon their watchfulness when two clubs smote him simultaneously on both sides of his head. In vain did he call upon them to desist, and assure them that he was not a thief, but the only original Mr. Chzmenzryski. Merely pausing to remark that their orders were to thrash any one who might come into the yard, and that they rather thought they had learned how to obey orders, they hammered away at their unhappy instructor with an enthusiasm that ought to have commanded his warmest admiration. His careful teaching and his favorite anecdote of Napoleon produced their natural results. It was not until he had been beaten into gelatinous silence that the boys paused, and remarking that their dear teacher would surely reward them in the morning for their faithful execution of his

orders, withdrew to their ambuscade behind the bush to wait for further marauders.

The Johnstown school has not since been reopened. The school-teacher is understood to be suffering from a rheumatic fever, and the two boys who so efficiently protected his grapes are constantly ringing his door-bell and in vain applying to see him, in order, as they assert, to tell their beloved teacher how they caught and beat a loathsome tramp who tried to steal the grapes. Whether Mr. Chzmenzryski's views of the value of discipline have undergone any change is not known, but it is understood that he has resigned his position as school-teacher, on the ground that the Johnstown boys are so incorrigibly stupid that he cannot waste his time in trying to teach them.

DOT LAMBS VOT MARY HAF GOT.

Mary haf got a leetle lambs already :

ANON.

Dose vool vas vite like shnow;

Und every times dot Mary did vend oued,

Dot lambs vent also oued vid Mary.

Dot lambs dit follow Mary von day of der school-house,
Vich vas obbosition to der rules of der schoolmaster,
Alzo, vich it dit caused dose schillen to schmile out loud
Ven dey did saw dose lambs on der insides of der school-house.
Und zo dot schoolmaster did kick dot lambs quick oued,
Likovise, dot lambs dit loaf around on der outsides,
Und did shoo der flies mit his tail off patiently aboud
Until Mary did come also from dot school-house oued.

Und den dot lambs did run right away quick to Mary,
Und dit make his het on Mary's arms,

Like he would said, "I dond vos schkared,

Mary would keep from droubbles ena how."

"Vot vos der reason aboud it, of dot lambs und Mary?" Dose schillen did ask it, dot schoolmaster;

Vell, doand you know it, dot Mary lov dose lambs already,
Dot schoolmaster did zaid.

MORAL.

Und zo, alzo, dot moral vas,

Boued Mary's lambs' relations :

Of you lofe dese like she lofe dose,
Dot lambs vas obligations.

THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY.

Adapted and abridged from the "Ingoldsby Legends."

The Lady Jane was tall and slim,

The Lady Jane was fair,

And Sir Thomas, her lord, was stout of limb,

But his cough was short, and his eyes were dim,

And he wore green "specs" with a tortoise-shell rim,
And his hat was remarkably broad in the brim,
And she was uncommonly fond of him-

And they were a loving pair.

Now, Sir Thomas the Good, be it well understood,
Was a man of very contemplative mood.

He would pore by the hour o'er a weed or a flower,
Or the slugs that come crawling out after a shower;
Black-beetles and bumble-bees, blue-bottle flies
And moths were of no small account in his eyes;
An "industrious flea" he'd by no means despise,

BARHAY.

While an old "daddy-long-legs," whose long legs and thighs Pass'd the common in shape, or in color, or size,

He was wont to consider an absolute prize;

Nay, a hornet or wasp he could scarce keep his paws off, he
Gave up, in short, both business and sport, he
Abandoned himself, "tout entier," to Philosophy.

There are some might be found entertaining a notion

That such an entire and exclusive devotion

To that part of Science folks style Entomology

Was a positive shame; and, to such a fair dame

Really demanded some sort of apology.

But no!-oh no! 'Twas by no means so With the Lady Jane Ingoldsby-she, far discreeter,

And having a temper more even and sweeter,

Would never object to her spouse, in respect to
His poking and peeping after things creeping,
Much less be still keeping lamenting and weeping,
Or scolding at what she perceived him so deep in.
For there, all the while, with air quite bewitching,
She sat herring-boning, tambouring, or stitching,
Or having an eye to affairs of the kitchen.

Close by her side sat her kinsman, MacBride,
Her cousin, fourteen times removed, as you'll see
If you look at the Ingoldsby family tree,

Where, among the collateral branches, appears
"Captain Dugald MacBride, Royal Scots Fusileers,"
And I doubt if you'd find in the whole of his clan
A more highly intelligent, worthy young man.
Well, it happen'd one day-I really can't say
The particular month; but I think 'twas in May,
'Twas, I know, in the spring-time, when Nature looks gay,
That the whole of the house was thrown into affright,

For no soul could conceive what was gone with the Knight!
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'First dinner-bell rang out its euphonious clang,

At five-folks kept early hours then-and the "last"
Ding-dong'd, as it ever was wont, at half-past;

Still the master was absent-the cook came and said, “he
Much feared, as the dinner had been so long ready,

The roast and the boiled would be all of it spoiled,
And the puddings, her Ladyship thought such a treat,
He was morally sure would be scarce fit to eat!"
This closed the debate-"twould be folly to wait,"
Said the Lady, "dish up! Let the meal be served straight,
And let two or three slices be put on a plate,

And kept hot for Sir Thomas-be's lost, sure as fate!
And, a hundred to one, won't be home till it's late."
Captain Dugald MacBride then proceeded to face
The Lady at table-stood up, and said grace,
Then sat himself down in Sir Thomas's place.
Wearily, wearily, all that night,

That live-long night, did the hours go by;
And the Lady Jane, in grief and in pain,