TÜBINGEN.

BETWEEN the Neckar- and the Ammer-Thal,
On the dividing hill, lies Tübingen,
Dirtiest of cities; on each side, a marsh.
Hére I beheld the Suabian Alma Mater
Sitting in filth; and of the poet Uhland
More than the outside stróve in vain to know;
Ánd in Duke Úlrich's castle oft at tea
With philanthropic, Swedenborgian Tafel
Friendly discussed the spirit-seeer's lore;
Ánd on the Spitzberg botanized with Sigwart;
And in th' Old College Natural - History Hall
Póred with numbed fingers over petrified
Pre-Adamite Conchylia, Ichthyosauri,

And foót-tracks, in the sand, of birds and beasts,
Lords of this world ere it was made for man;
Ánd on the Oesterberg with Vischer strolling
Tálked of the Beautiful as if our walk
Had been along th' Ilissus, not the Neckar,
And áll too láte bethought me that if his,
How much more mý, esthetic soup required

To have been well thinned ere sérved up to the public.

Ye who in distant lands have heard the fame

Of Tübingen, the protestant, the learned
Of Tübingen, the nursery of Melanchthon

--

Of Tübingen that saw its scrupulous despot
Protést against a pópe's sale of a pardon,
Ánd, at the same time, bring into the market,
Ánd to his people weigh against hard cash,
Thát which is láwful mérchandize as little

As is God's grace a license to be free

Yé that in distant lands have heard this fame,
Provide yourselves with smelling salts, I advise ye,
Ére ye come hither; put on respirators,

Green goggles and strong boóts; and when ye come,
Don't lodge where I lodged, in the Golden Lamb,

Beside the Rathhaus in the Market Place,

Whose breakneck stairs and in-swagged floors still show, Beneath the last two cénturies' dirt, the footmarks

Of Crúsius' scholars crowding, after lecture,

To eat, drink, ránt, and break more heads than Priscian's;
Here lodge not, warned, but to the Traube go,
Open your púrse-strings wide and live genteel;
And on your way to Neckar bridge ye may,
I think, without offence at Uhland's door
Loók, if so cúrious, but not knock or ring;

wise;

And should some chance throw Fichte's son across ye,
Hé is the man to answer ye the question
Why sons of wise men are so often
And Tafel 's at your service, should ye neéd aught,
And rich the library and well conducted;
And the few paintings in New College Hall
May please the nót fastidious; and be sure
Ye see the lóng rows of Professors' portraits
And óver hápless Frischlin's drop a tear,
And blúsh that ye are men; and take a turn
Among the cánes in the Botanic Garden;
And in the Reading Room inquire the news;
And stay not lóng, remembering health is precious;

I staid ten days - too long then northwest turned
Up th' Ámmer-Thál toward Calw my wandering step,
And snuffed a purer air, and waved adieu
To Úlrich's Castle, Rathhaus, Colleges,
Oésterberg, Spitzberg, hóspitable Tafel,
Th' outside of Úhland's door, and Tübingen.

Walking from CALW to LIEBENZELL (WÜRTTEMBERG), Nov. 3, 1855.

"IN the name of God we bind thee to this stake,
In the name of God heap fagots up about thee,
In the name of God set fire to them and búrn thee
Alive and crying loúd to heaven for súccor,
And thús prove to the world the truthfulness.
Of our own creéd and how it mollifies
And fills with charity the human heart,

And that thy creéd 's as blasphemous as false,
Th' invéntion of the Devil, and by God
Permitted to his enemies and those

Who have no mílk of kindness in their breasts."

Such words heard Húss and Latimer and Ridley,
Jérome of Prague and Cranmer and Socinus,
And such words, reader, thou shouldst hear tomorrow,
Hadst thou but courage to stand up against

The dominant creéd, and were that creed less safe,

A trifle less safe, less securely seized

Of its hónors, pówers, immúnities, and wealth.

Walking from LIEBENZELL (WÜRTTEMBERG) to LANGENSTEINBACH near CARLSRUHE, Nov. 4, 1855.

CASSANDRA.

"UNGRATEFUL," said Phoébus,

"That scórnest, repellest,

Th' embrace of Apóllo,
The kiss of a Gód!

Be it só I'm contént
But thou go'st not unpúnished,
And Heaven 's not less mighty
To cúrse than to bléss.

"Disdainful, begóne!
And that nó one for ever
From henceforth may crédit
One word thy mouth útters,
I condemn thee, Cassandra,
To speak always truth.
Begóne! and as long as
Thou lívest, remember

Thy crime and mine íre!

Proud mórtal, thou 'rt doómed."

CARLSRUHE, Dec. 12, 1855.

"WHAT's the reason, Prométheus," once said Epimétheus

As he put his hand tó to assist the man-maker, "That when into wáter I thrów these two soúls here The little one sinks while the big one goes floating?" "I've júst given the big one a double propórtion Of vanity's light, airy gás," said Prométheus; "Specífical lightness, you knów, makes things floát." "Yes, I knów to be súre, Prom," repliéd Epimétheus, "But máy I ask why you have given to the two souls This same airy gás in so different propórtions?” "The big one's a great man's soul," answered Prométheus, "The little one belongs to an évery day chúrl.”

"Is the gás good or bád, minus, plús, or indifferent?” "Bad; and júst because bád, given in double propórtion To the great soul to bring it down to the juste mílieu." "Why make the soul greát, first, and thén fine it down? Were 't not simpler to make it juste mílieu at once?” "Can't always be dóne, Ep; the wheel turns out sometimes, In spite of my best care, one greáter one meáner; And I'm forced, that I máyn't have stepchildren and children, To take off or ádd, patch with mínus or plús. Now for minus I find nothing handier and patter, And that easier amálgamates with the perfections, Than this weightless, elástic, intangible gás, Which possesses moreover the singular virtue That, no matter how much I pump in, no one éver