ther out. If I happened to write an ode to a blackbird--and I wrote
four or five--every one else must write an ode to a blackbird too; until
the luckless songster must have hated the sound of its own name.

It was no easy work finding fit subjects for these poetic competitions.
But the papers lying here before me remind me at least of one which
excited great interest and keen rivalry. Complaints had been made that
the club had hitherto devoted itself almost altogether to abstract
rhapsodies, and had omitted the cultivation of itself in the epic or
heroic side of its genius. On the other hand, the abstract rhapsodists
protested that any one could write ballads, and that the subject to be
chosen should at least be such as would admit of any treatment. One
member suggested we should try the fifth proposition of the first book
of Euclid, as being both abstract and historical--but he was deemed to
be a scoffer. Eventually Stray said, why not take a simple nursery
rhyme and work upon it, just as musicians take some simple melody as the
theme of their great compositions?

It was a good idea, and after some consideration--for we had most of us
forgotten our nursery rhymes--we fixed upon the tragical history of
"Jack and Jill;" and decided to deal with it.

The understanding was that we might treat it any way we liked except--
notable exception--in prose!

And so we went off to our studies and gave ourselves up to our
inspirations. The result, the reader shall judge of for himself. Only
he shall never know the real names of the poets; nor will anything
induce me to disclose which particular production was the performance of
the humble Author of this veritable narrative.

I will select the specimens haphazard, and distinguish them only by
their numbers.

Number 1 was a follower of the classic models, and rendered the story in
Homeric fashion.

Attend, ye Nine! and aid me, while I sing
The cruel fate of two whom heaven's dread king
Hurled headlong to their doom. Scarce had the sun
His blazing course for one brief hour run
When Jack arose and radiant climbed the mount
To where beneath the summit sprang the fount.
Nor went he single; Jill, the beauteous maid,
Danced at his side, and took his proffered aid.
Together went they, pail in hand, and sang
Their love songs till the leafy valleys rang.
Alas! the fount scarce reached, the heedless swain
Turned on his foot and slipped and turned again