to lift her,
      But flopped right down, ‘n’ said,
    Sez he, “Her lips is movin’! 
      She’s breathin’!—­She isn’t dead!”
    For sure!—­he’d fallen under;
      It kinder broke her fall;
    Except the scare and a broken arm,
      She wasn’t hurt at all. 
    “The Spaniard?” Oh, it killed him;
      It broke his cussed neck. 
    But nobody cried their eyes out,
      As near as I reckeleck. 
    She married Jim soon arter,
      They’re doin’ the trapeze still;
    So, yer see, as I was sayin’,
      These falls don’t always kill. 
    ‘N’ as for things excitin’
      To put in a story,—­well,
    I’d really like to oblige yer,
      But then there aint nothin’ to tell.

    PYROTECHNIC POLYGLOT. 
    (MADISON SQUARE, JULY 4.)

    “Hey, Johnny McGinnis, where are yez? 
      I’ve got a place!  Arrah, be quick!”
    Whiz!  Boom!  “Hooray, there goes a rocket;
      Hi, Johnny, look out for the shtick!”
    “Confound it, sir!  Those are my feet, sir!”
      “Oh, pa, lift me up, I can’t see.” 
    “Come down out o’ that, yez young blackguards! 
      Div yez want to be killin’ the tree?”
    “Hooray! look at that?” “Aint it bully!”
      “It’s stuck!” “No, it aint.”  “There she goes!”
    “I wish that you’d speak to this man, Fred,
      He’s standing all over my toes.” 
    “Take down that umbrella in front there!”
      “My! aint we afraid of our hat!”
    “Me heart’s fairly broke wid yez shovin’—­
      Have done now—­what would yez be at?”
    “Jehiel, neow haint this jest orful! 
      I ’most wish I hedn’t a come;
    Such actions I never—­one would think
      Folks left their perliteness to hum.” 
    “Look here, now, you schoost stop dose schovin’.” 
      “By gar, den, get out from ze vay,
    You stupide Dootschmans, vilain cochon”—­
      “Kreuz!”—­“Peste!”—­“Donnerwetter!”—­“Sacr-r-re!”
    “Oh, isn’t that cross just too lovely! 
      So bright, why the light makes me wink!”
    “Your eyes, dear, are”—­“don’t be a goose, Fred;
      What do you suppose folks will think?”
    Crash!  Screech!  “Och I’m kilt!”—­“Fred, what is it?”
      “Branch broken—­small boy come to grief.” 
    “Boo, hoo, hoo, hoo!  I wants mine muzzer!”
      “Look out there!” “Police!” “Hi, stop thief!”
    “Well, father, I guess it’s all over;
      Just help Nelly down off the stool.”

    MORAL.

    SUNG:—­“Mellican piecee fire bully!”
      CHING:—­“Mellican man piecee fool.”

    FISHING.

    “Harry, where have you been all morning?”
      “Down at the pool in the meadow-brook.” 
    “Fishing?” “Yes, but the trout were wary,
      Couldn’t induce them to take a hook.” 
    “Why, look at your coat!  You must have fallen,
      Your back’s just covered with leaves and moss.” 
    How he laughs!  Good-natured fellow! 
      Fisherman’s luck makes most men cross.