anon rolling his eyes, scraping his tongue, and finally dropping a frantic hand over the pit of his stomach with a gesture of such utter despair, that nobody was surprised when the words came out. With a last awful shudder, and in a hysterical shrill voice, he screamed, "Tanto è amaro, che poco era piu morte Before I could finish the professor was convulsed; he said, "No wonder." "Tanto è amaro,' is bitter enough in Dante's own forcible language, yet see how without changing a word the line has a different meaning when accompanied by such vivid gestures. I laugh now, what would it have been had I been in Verona that evening?" Longfellow, who had followed the thread of the story, was prepared for it, but he had the fit on, and could not control his emotion. As soon as he recovered his breath he would break out anew, and finally, when his strength was exhausted, he said, "It is really terrible to parodize a man like Dante, yet it is funny, and I must enjoy it in spite of the source." "Now," said Mr. Nathan, "that we are on the subject of parodies, you must hear Mr. Longfellow on his own poems. I think they are too funny not to be honored with a mention. Once my nephew Charles came to pay us a visit, when we resided in Lynn; I think about fifteen years ago. He would come in a sail-boat, but as the water was fearfully high, the frail bark capsized, and Master Charles got a good ducking. When he reached our house he was a sorry, wet-looking fellow enough, and, of course, had to change his clothes. I loaned him a pair of slippers which he wore home in lieu of boots, and the next day a neat parcel came over from Nahant, with the following lines written on the outside in Mr. Longfellow's hand: "Slippers that perhaps another, A roar of laughter greeted Mr. Appleton's recita tion, and we all agreed that the poet himself "knew the lines." "That is not all," added Mr. Nathan; "1 remember some other verses, not parody exactly, but extremely funny, and I am sure you would all like to hear them. Permit me," turning to the poet. "Nay," said Mr. Longfellow, half shamefacedly, "I think that I am becoming too prominent, and perhaps "There are no perhaps's," returned Mr. Nathan, "I must tell this. When my father was traveling in Switzerland, a long time ago, having postilions, footmen, etc., the bills were frightful, and in Zurich, even heavier. My father had already written his name in the visitors' books with compliments for the lovely place, and when his bill was brought in he regretted his undue haste and amiability. Mr. Longfellow came up and said, "Pray, let me add my autograph and treat the landlord as he merits.' "The inn was called 'The Raven,' and Mr. Longfellow wrote the following in his book: "Beware of the Raven of Zurich, 'Tis a bird of omen ill, With an ugly, unclean nest And a very, very long bill.'" This time even the professor had to laugh. He remembered the circumstance too well to forget the impression made on his mind by the landlord's extortion, and he added to Mr. Nathan's words these: "I am afraid that page wherein those lines are inscribed is not the first shown to the visitors at The Raven.' I never went there again, but surely we shall never forget Zurich." Our parodies ended with a quotation from an English paper, on "Hiawatha :" "Should you ask me, What's its nature? From the land of the Ojibways, From the mountains, moors, and fenlands Finds its sugar in the rushes: "Should you ask m, By what story, |