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no escape but by one door. Scarcely had the smith's neighbər, who was bath-keeper of the place, seen the animal than he became deadly pale, sprang up and exclaimed, in a horrified voice, “Good heavens! the dog is mad!”
Then arose a terrible outcry. The room was full of men and women, and the foaming beast stood before the only entrance--no one could leave without passing him. He snapped savagely right and left--no one could pass him without being bitten. This increased the fearful confusion. With horror depicted upon their countenances,
sprang up and shrunk from the dog. Who should deliver them froin him? The smith also stood among them, and, as he saw the anguish of the people, it flashed across his mind how many of his happy and contented neighbors would be made miserable by a mad dog, and he formed a resolution, the like of which is scarcely to be found in the history of the human race, for noble self-devotion.
“ Back all!” thundered he, in a deep, strong voice. “Let no one stir ; for none can vanquish the beast but me! One victim must fall, in order to save the rest; I will be that victim ; I will hold the brute, and while I do so, make your escape,” The smith had scarcely spoken these words when the dog started towards the shrieking people. But he went not far. “ With God's help," cried the smith, and he rushed upon the foaming beast, seized him with an iron grasp, and dashed him to the foor. A terrible struggle followed. The dog bit furiously on every side in a frightful manner.
His long teeth tore the arms and thighs of the heroic smith, but he would not let him loose. Regardless alike of the excessive pain and the horrible death that must ensue, he held down with an iron grasp, the snapping, howling brute, till all had escaped.
He then Hung the half-strangled beast from him against the wall, and, dripping with blood and venomous foam, he left the room, locking the door after him. Some persons then shot the dog through the windows. Weeping and lamenting, the people surrounded him who had saved their lives, at the expense of his own, “ Be quiet, do not weep for me," he said, "one must die in order to save the others. Do not thank me-I have only performed my duty. When I am dead, think of me with love, and now pray for me, that God will not let me sufter long, nor too much. I will take care that no further mischief shall occur through me, for I must certainly become mad.
He went straight to his workshop and selected a strong chain, the heaviest and firmest from his whole stock; then, with his own hands, welded it upon his limbs, and around the anvil firmly. “There," said he, “it is done,” after having silently and solemnly completed the work. “Now you are secured, and I am inoffensive. So long as I live bring me my food. The rest I leave to God, into his hands I commend my spirit.”
Nothing could save the brave smith; neither tears, lamentations nor prayers. Madness seized him, and after nine days he diel. He died, but his memory will live from generation to generation, and will be venerated to the end of time. Search history through, and you will not find an action more glorious and sublime than the deed of this simple-minded man,--the smith of Ragenbach.
TEACHING PUBLIC SCHOOL.
Forty little urchins
Coming through the door,
A tremendous roar.
Can't you keep the rule?
Teaching public school!
On the road to fame;
Who will be to blame?
Birds of every feather,
On a common level
Here are brought together. Dirty little faces,
Loving little hearts, Eyes brimful of mischief,
Skilled in all its arts. That's a precious darling!
What are you about? “May I pass the water?"
Please, may I go out ?” Boots and shoes are shuffling,
Slates and books are rattling, And in the corner yonder
Two pugilists are battling:
What a botheration !
From such association!
Merely to inquire Why his olive branches
Do not shoot up higher; Says he wants his children
To inind their p's and q's, And hopes their brilliant talente
Will not be abused. Spelling, reading, writing,
Putting up the young ones; Fuming, scolding, fighting,
Spurring on the dumb ones; Gymnasts, vocal music
How the heart rejoices When the singer comes to
Cultivate the voices! Institute attending,
Making out reports, Giving object lessons,
Class drills of all sorts; Reading dissertations,
Feeling like a foolOb, the untold blessing
Of the public school!
BILL AND JOE.-0. W. HOLMBE. Come, dear old comrade, you and I Will steal an hour from days gone by,The shining days when life was new, And all was bright with morning dew, The lusty days of long ago, When you were Bill and I was Joe. Your name may flaunt a titled trail, Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail; And mine as brief appendix wear As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare; To-day, old friend, remember still That I am Joe and you are Bill. You've won the great world's envied prize, And grand you look in people's eyes, With HON. and LL. D., In big brave letters, fair to seeYour fist, old fellow! off they go! How are you, Bill? How are you, Joe? You've worn the judge's ermine robe ; You've taught your name to half the globe; You've sung mankind a deathless strain; You've made the dead past live again; The world may call you what it will, But you and I are Joe and Bill. The chaffing young folks start and say, " See those old buffers, bent and gray; They talk like fellows in their teensMad, poor old boys! That's what it means And shake their heads; they little know The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe; How Bill forgets his hour of pride, While Joe sits smiling at his side; How Joe, in spite of time's disguise, Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes, Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. Ah, pensive scholar! what is fame? A fitful tongue of leaping flame.
A gildy whirlwind's fickle gust,
THE ATHEIST.— Wm. Knox.
No God! Who lights the morning sun,
A far and brilliant course to run?
Who, when the radiant day is done,
And bids the planets, one by one,
The fanning breeze, the fostering shower? Who warms the spring-morn's budding bough,
And plants the summer's noontide flower ?
Who spreads in the autumnal bower The fruit tree's mellow stores around,
And sends the winter's icy power, To invigorate the exhausted ground?