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WÉT and dry and hót and cold,
Light and dárk and young and old,
Great and small and quick and slów,
Só the world will ever gó;
So the world hath ever gone
Since the sun the world shone ón;
Íf with mé thou thinkest só,
Come and cry with mé, Heigh hó!

VILSHOFEN in BAVARIA, June 25, 1854.

HE SHE AND IT.

It happened in a distant clime
Were travelling, once upon a time,
Through every change of wind and weather,
Jólly companions three together:
The first was neither young nor old,
But brówn and muscular, wise and bold;
The sécond delicate and fair,
With soft, sweet eyes, and flaxen hair;
The third was inoffensive, mild
And dócile as a well reared child,
Pátient of wrong and in all ill
And hardship uncomplaining still.
As thús they travelled on and on,
Through heat and cold in shade and sun,
Each óne at night in separate bed,
The first thus to the second said:

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“I can't imagine, lovely Sne, Why we might not united be, Right well, I doubt not, we 'd agree: I háte a lonely, separate bed; Come, fairest, loveliest She, let 's wed, And leáve that dull, cold-blooded elf, Hardhearted It to mind itself; Three never were good company; What thínk’st thou, my own darling Sue?” “I 'm quite of your mind,” She replied, And will stay ever by your side Through good and bad, through death and life, Your dutiful and loving wife.” So said so done; the two are wed; And as they lay that night in bed 'Twas thús deriding Ir they said: "Ír will have all the ghosts tonight; Pray Gód it may survive till light.” The morning came and It, before Well risen the sun, tapped at their door: "Make háste, make haste; it 's rising time; Already we have lost the prime.” “We come, we come immediately;' Upstarting quick thus answered SHE; But HÉ: “I 'll not a foot go,” cried And turned him on the other side. “You will, my dear.” “My dear, I wont.” “You will indeed." "What if I don't?” “And will you, cán you, say me nay Ere yet well fled my bridal day?” "I cán and will; you must obey.” “Not indeed.” “You shall, I say; Come back to bed." "No, dear, I wont." “You will and must.” “What if I don't ?"

Dón't talk so loud; that It has ears.”
“I don't care if the whole world hears.'
As thús they argued, to the door
'ÍT with a táp came as before:
“Not ready yet?” “No!" with a shout
At ónce both disputants cried out.
“Then good bye; if I longer wait,
Fór a cool walk I'll be too late."
“Good bye! good býe! we 'll follow straight.”
And só at last away It went,
Háppy and with itself content,
And where it liked best the day spent.
What though it lay alone all night,
It slept till noon or rose at light
Júst as it pleased; let it set out,
Stop shórt to rest, or turn about,
Nó one was there to make a rout,
And ánswer “Come, Love” with “I wont,"
And “Múst Love," with “What if I don't?”
In vain with oft reverted eye
Strove fr its comrades to descry:
“Though not in sight they'll come anon"
Yés, It; but wait not them upon;
The first point settled, their debate
Túrns on the next; good Ir, don't wait;
Enjoy the precious liberty
Already mourned by He and SHE.

Walking from Silian in the PUSTERTHAL to LANDRO in the valley of AMPEZZO, July 22, 1854.

DEMOCRITUS.

“GOODHEARTED, kind and generous, to a fault,
In áll his dealings scrupulously just,
He were the model of a perfect man
Hád he his sénses; but this constant laughing,
Nothing but laughing, morning noon and night
Is évidence, alas! but too convincing,
Our good Democritus is gone stark mad.
Let 's send to Athens for Hippocrates ;
Perhaps the wise physician knows some herb
Pótent to chase thought's fever and bring back
Composure to the agitated brain."
Cóme to Abdéra and his finger laid
Upon his patient's pulse Hippocrates,
Nothing wrong finding, asks Democritus :
“At whát so merry?” But Democritus,
Instead of answering, only laughed the more:
“At whát so merry, good Democritus ?”
But still Democritus only laughed the more;
Until at last, after a long, long fit,
Tired thus he said to the amazed physician:
“Go back to Athens, good Hippocrates,
Unless you 'd have me die downright with laughing."
“Hów or at what?” “Why at the learned Doctor
Who, sent to cure me, makes me ten times worse.
Before you came I used to amuse myself
With laughing at the silly people here

Who thoúght me mad because a little wiser,
A véry little wiser, than themselves;
And now my laughing 's doubled at the sage
Athénian Doctor who would cure my madness.
Go back to Athens, good Hippocrates,
Or stáy and cure the people of Abdéra,
And leave me to myself to laugh at both
Dóctor and patients.” So Hippocrates
Went back to Athens, saying he had found
In áll Abdéra only one man sane
And that one sáne man was Democritus.

The story 's nó less true told of the poet
Whó with his pen in hand keeps laughing, laughing,
Still laughing at the follies he sees round him,
With this one only difference, that the poet
Finds seldom an Hippocrates to judge him.

Near MONTEBELLO, while walking from VICENZA to VERONA, Aug. 15 - 16, 1854.

I can put up with people of all sorts, if only they have money, I can find beauty in all kinds of eyes, if only they are funny, I can live anywhere in town or country where it's only sunny, I can eat fish of any kind, fresh, salt or pickled, except tunny, But curse me, if I can without a massy crystal spoon eat honey.

KÜSSNACHT, on the VIERWALDSTÄTTER SEE, Sept. 20, 1854.

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