"Certainly not," was the reply.

"Wouldn't the big drum do as well?" inquired Mr. Whiffles.

His neighbor regarded him with some surprise, smiled, and continued:

"Do without him! how can they? Don't you know that you and he begin, the moment the curtain rises, to bring on old Russet, the heavy man? He couldn't come on without his music, you know: as he appears at the back at first, then crosses the mountains from left to right, then from right to left, and finally comes down left upon the stage, where he expresses a variety of emotions in pantomime, and all to your music."

At these words Mr. Whiffles resigned all hope, and was mentally calculating the dangers to which he would be exposed if he leaped into the stalls, from thence into the pit, and fought his way out of the theatre, when the leader returned, an ominous frown upon his brow, followed by a short, fat, pale-faced gentleman, apparently of foreign extraction, who carried a trombone under his left arm. Joy! Mr. Whiffles felt a man again. This, then, was Puffler! Mr. Whiffles remembered his instructions, and watched the new-comer attentively; who, upon his part, appeared to regard him with the uttermost conMr. Whiffles had occasion to shift his trombone; Puffler did likewise. Mr. Whiffles felt for his handkerchief; Mr. Puffler followed his example. All this seemed very mysterious, and Mr. Whiffles was lost in wonderment when the overture commenced. Luckily, the trombones were not wanted until the commencement of the drama. The overture ceased.

cern.

"Now look out," observed Mr. Whiffles's neighbor; "it's you now." Mr. Whiffles mechanically raised the instrument to his lips, keeping a steadfast gaze the while upon the proceedings of Mr. Puffler, who did his best to stare Mr. Whiffles out of countenance. Mr. Lovejoy looked round, and seeing the trombones perfectly ready, awaited the rising of the curtain. It was an agonizing moment. The silence was positively painful. One might have heard a pin drop. The small bell was heard again. Mr. Lovejoy tapped his desk, and the curtain slowly rose-in solemn silence! Mr. Lovejoy began beating time slowly, and had even accomplished a few strokes before he realized the fact. Turning round to ascertain the meaning of this extraordinary circumstance, his surprise and bewilderment may well be imagined at perceiving the two trombone-players hard at work, distending their cheeks to their utmost capacity, nervously manipulating

their instruments, and producing not a sound! And the most unaccountable thing was, they never took their eyes off one another. Mr. Lovejoy was transfixed with amazement.

"This is very strange," thought Mr. Whiffles. "I wonder when that fellow is going to begin!"

The little bell tinkled again and again. Mr. Russet stepped upon the stage with some amount of dignity and left it without any, under the impression that he was a trifle too soon. The stage-manager, a gentleman of excitable temperament and much addicted to the use of passionate language, who played one of the principal parts in the piece, rushed from his room, discharged on the spot an inoffensive" super who, unfortunately, happened to cross his path; went, half-a-dozen at a time, down the score or so of rickety stairs at the imminent hazard of breaking his neck, and, appearing at the little door under the stage that led into the orchestra, demanded in unmeasured terms what the very bad word—Mr. Lovejoy meant by such conduct, and why the excessively-rude observation-he didn't go on? Mr. Lovejoy was too astounded to reply. He could only point, in silent wonder, to the two trombones. There they sat, puffing and blowing vigorously, but with no result. The stage-manager gesticulated violently, and nearly had a fit. The audience, unable to comprehend what was going on before their eyes, hissed loudly, and finally, the curtain fell. Then Mr. Lovejoy gave vent to his feelings. He leaped from his seat and rushed toward Mr. Whiffles, who, panting with exhaustion after his unaccustomed exertions, was wiping the perspiration from his face, wondering what on earth was going to happen next. No sooner, however, did he perceive the angry conductor advancing toward him, than, with an intuitive perception that something unpleasant was about to occur, he made a precipitate rush through the little door, and sought safety under the stage, hotly pursued by Mr. Lovejoy; who opportunely came across the foreign gentleman quietly sneaking away, and fell upon him tooth and nail. The foreign gentleman, being choleric, knocked Mr. Lovejoy down. Mr. Lovejoy, being by no means deficient in pluck, regained the perpendicular, and—in the language of the ring-let the foreign gentleman "have it." That individual next seized the astonished Whiffles and endeavored to drag him before Mr. Lovejoy, in order that he might undergo condign punishment, when the foreign gentleman slipped; they both fell, and the two trombone-players mysteriously disappeared.

They had fallen down an unused well under the stage, Mr. Whiffles

undermost. There being but little water, they were soon extricated, and, fortunately, no bones were broken.

The two gentlemen-after a rather exciting interview with the stagemanager—were, shortly afterward, permitted to take their departure. Mr. O'Leary, next day, was duly informed of the disaster, and lost his situation. The same fate befell the unfortunate Puffler, who, it appeared upon inquiry, was really laboring under some severe indisposition that threatened to confine him to his bed; and being naturally unwilling to lose his salary, he provided a substitute, like Mr. Whiffles, utterly unable to play, and to whom he gave, in effect, instructions almost identical with those given to our hero by Mr. O'Leary.

Mr. Whiffles returned to the home of his ancestors a sadder and a wiser man. He has never been to a theatre since, and never thinks without a shudder of his terrible adventure connected with the two trombones.-London Society.

UNMISTAKABLE IDENTITY.

A REVEREND DOCTOR in London was what is usually termed a popular preacher. His reputation, however, had been gained not by his drawing largely on his own stores of knowledge or eloquence, but by the skill with which he appropriated the thoughts and language of the great divines who had gone before him. With fashionable audiences, lightly versed in pulpit lore, he passed for a miracle of erudition and pathos. It did, for all that, once happen to him to be detected in his larcenies. One Sunday, as he was beginning to amaze and delight his admirers, a grave old gentleman seated himself close to the pulpit, and listened with close attention. The preacher had hardly finished his third sentence, before the old gentlemen muttered, loud enough to be heard by those near, "That's Sherlock!" The Doctor frowned, but went on. He had not proceeded much further, when his tormentor broke out with, "That's Tillotson!" The Doctor bit his lips and paused, but, considering discretion the better part of valor, again proceeded. A third exclamation of "That's Blair!" however, was too much, and fairly deprived him of patience. Leaning over the pulpit, he cried, "Fellow, if you do not hold your tongue you shall be turned out!" Without moving a muscle of his face, the grave old gentleman raised his head, and looking the doctor full in the face, retorted, "That's his own!"

LITERARY NOTICES.

THE SERMONS OF HENRY WARD BEECHER, IN PLYMOUTH CHURCH, BROOKLYN. From Verbatim Reports by T. J. ELLINWOOD. Ninth and Tenth Series. 2 vols. New York: J. B. Ford & Co.

The sermons embraced in the present volumes were delivered by Mr. Beecher during the year ending September, 1873, and number in all fifty-three. Few preachers either of ancient or modern times have been so gifted as to be able for a long course of years to deliver pulpit addresses, every one of which is worthy of publication. The spoken word and the written word are, as every literary man will clearly understand, two distinct things, for, whereas the former, if well spoken, may in reality be weak and feeble and yet produce the desired impression; the latter must possess intrinsic merit and be of a sufficiently high standard of literary excellence to pass the criticism of welleducated readers. It is just here that Mr. Beecher is so pre-eminently great. Never preparing his sermons (as indeed he could not, owing to the immense labor which he otherwise undertakes), but delivering them extempore, a stenographic reporter takes down his words verbatim, and as such they are published. But it is not the literary merit which to us is the great attraction in Mr. Beecher's sermons. His fame as an orator, a rhetorician, and a scholar is world-wide, and does not depend merely on the literary worth of his sermons. The charm about them which impresses us most is their moral grandeur, their high elevated tone, their broad views, their sublime sentiments. They evidently come from the heart of the man, and denote him to be virtuous, moral, and honorable in all his dealings; in a word they stamp him as a good man, who has devoted his life to good thoughts and good works. For his theology we can of course have no word of comment. Believing as we most firmly do, that the entire Christian theological idea is antagonistic to revelation, to reason, and to common-sense, we cannot do otherwise than regard Mr. Beecher's theological stand-point as irrational and illogical in the extreme, hence in the perusal of his sermons we are always compelled to draw a marked distinction between the theologian and the man. And yet in comparison with other Christian clergymen, Mr. Beecher's theology may never be said to spoil the beauty of his sermons; for so big is his heart, so truly noble is his nature, so lofty are his

thoughts, and above all, so vigorous are his humanitarian views, that, in spite of his theology, he rises to a height towering far above all the petty doctrines of this or that creed, and when thus, he is indeed a minister of religion, a preacher of the word of Truth.

A friend said recently in our hearing, "I do so love to hear Mr. Beecher preach, for he does not speak at all like a minister, but really talks sense." Knowing our friend's general want of appreciation for the clerical calling and those who follow it, we were much amused at this witty blending of compliment and sarcasm. Without indorsing so harsh a judgment or so sweeping an imputation as his words convey, we do think that in a degree he was not very far from the truth. It is indeed astonishing what an amount of folly ministers will speak in endeavoring to impress their audiences with the necessity of accepting some pet doctrine or dogma of their respective creeds, and which, for all practical purposes, are as utterly useless appendages to true religion as the noise of a coach is to the coach itself. In the one case as in the other, however, the sermonizer can no more get along without his "gush" than can the coach without its noise. When therefore the preacher, whoever he may be, discards the romance and folly and superstition and bigotry of his creed and stands upon the broad and elevated platform of moral religion-the great end and aim of all systems of theology-he should undoubtedly command the respect and esteem of every lover of truth, whatever his private views or predilections may be. Such a preacher is Mr. Beecher, and for this, if for no other reason, we cordially recommend the perusal of his sermons to the young and old of all denominations. Christians will admire his theology, and Jews, having heard it repeatedly and knowing full well its value, will reject it immediately, so to neither class will there be any harm done; whereas as both Judaism and Christianity teach in many respects similar doctrines of morality and virtue, of love to mankind and the duties incumbent upon all alike, and as these teachings are really the burden of nearly all Mr. Beecher's sermons, they may be read with general benefit. COOMASSIE AND MAGDALA: The Story of Two British Campaigns in

Africa. BY HENRY M. STANLEY. New York: Harper & Bros. The discoverer of Livingstone has again delighted his numerous admirers by the production of a volume full of romantic details of travels in a wild country and of battles with savages. As the preface informs us, it is "written to record two grand successes gained by