And strove and struggled all in vain,
For, rallying but to fall again,
He totter'd, sunk, and died!

Did none attempt, before he fell,
To succour one they loved so well?
Yes, Higginbottom did aspire
(His fireman's soul was all on fire)
His brother chief to save;
But ah! his reckless generous ire
Served but to abate his grave!
'Mid blazing beams and scalding streams.
Through fire and smoke he dauntless broke,
Where Muggins broke before:
But sulphry stench and boiling drench
Destroying sight o'erwhelm'd him quite,
He sunk to rise no more.
Still o'er his head, while fate he braved,
His whizzing water-pipe he waved;
"Whitford and Mitford, ply your pumps,
"You, Clutterbuck, come stir your stumps,
"Why are you in such doleful dumps?
"A fireman, and afraid of bumps! -
"What are they fear'd on? fools! 'od rot 'em!"
Were the last words of Higginbottom. {50}

THE REVIVAL.

Peace to his soul! new prospects bloom,
And toil rebuilds what fires consume!