She has four sets of cláws,
And sharp teeth in both jáws,
And two eyes glaring firc;
Snarly Snáp, if you 're wise
You'll not coúnt on your size
But ground árms and retire.

But the dog or the mán
Point me out if you cán

That beforehand is wise

Snarly Snáp makes a boúnce,

On his múzz gets a trounce

That makes bleéd nose and eyes.

Snarly Snáp turns his tail

And to mé comes with wail

And complaint against Minn: -

“Nay, Snárly Snap, nảy;

Those the píper must pay

Who the dancing begin.

"But you 've bóth trespassed só
That out both must go,

For I love to be just;"

So I called for the broóm,
And out of the room

Both belligerents thrúst.

BRUCHSAL in BADEN, Octob. 16, 1854.

A NIGHT IN MY INN.

AT NINE O' Clock, weáry, I lie down in béd;

At TEN O' Clock swarms of gnats búzz round my head;
At ELÉVEN can it búgs be that óver me creép?

At TWELVE for the tickling of fleás I can't sleep;
At ONE how that bold squalling brát I could flóg!
At Twó o' Clock bów-wow-wow goes the watchdog;
From THREE Oút every quarter hour cróws chanticleér;
At Four down the street ráttling the Málleposte I hear;
From the steeple the mátins come peáling at Five;
At Six to the market the cárts and cars drive;
At SEVEN from my fáce I'm kept brushing the fliés;
At EiGHT I can't sleep for the sún in my eyes;
At NÍNE comes a súdden tap táp to my doór;
I rise in my shirt and barefoót cross the floor,
Turn the key and peep oút:

"Well, my good friend, what
nów?"

"Please will you be shaved, Sir?" replies with a bów

A little, pert, dápper, smug fáced gentlemán

With apron and rázor and hót-water cán;

Struck with hórror I slám the door tó in his fáce.

Gentle reader, imágine yourself in my pláce,

With a beard such as mine, and a threat to be shaved,
And all the night sleepless how hád you beháved?
But I did him no hárm, only slammed the door tó
An example of patience for Christian and Jew
Then dressed, breakfasted, sét out and, trávelling all day,
Passed the night in the next inn much in the same way.

Walking from MEHREN to LOSHEIM, in the EIFEL (RHENISH PRUSSIA); Novem. 1-2, 1854.

THE RECRUIT.

OFF I gó a redcoat sóldier, old Éngland's lion cúb,

With my sérgeant and my colors and my rúb-a-dub-a-dúb; Here's my firelock, here's my bayonet, here's my leather cross-belt white,

Here's my shining black cartoúche-box

March! hált!

face left and right!

There's a hundred thousand of us, counting every mother's són,

And not one among us áll knows why the war 's begún; That's our commander's business, our business is to fight, Down with our country's énemies, and Gód defend the right.

Good bye, my pretty lássy, I'm going from you fár; Think sometimes of your rédcoat when you hear talk of the wár;

Take hálf this bran-new sixpence for a plédge twixt you and mé,

And every time you say your prayers, pray for our victorý.

Come cóme, let's have no frétting to spoil those pretty eyes; I'd rather have one sweet smile than all your tears and

Here's a hundred kisses for you one more for luck

sighs.

don't cry

And now I'm off in earnest, good bye, my lass, good bye.

KREUZNACH in RHENISH PRUSSIA, Octob. 29, 1854.

HEAVEN.

"So this is Heaven," said I to my conductor,
"Ánd I 'm at lást in full and sure possession
Of life etérnal; lét me look about me.
Methinks, somehow, it's not what I expected;
Nor can I say I feel that full delight,
That éxtasy I had anticipated.

Perhaps the reason is, it's all so new,
And I must hére, as on the Earth below,
Grów by degreés accustomed and inured."
My guide replied not, but went on before me,
I following: "Are you súre we are in Heaven?"
Said Í, growing uneasy; for I saw

Neither bright ský, nor sun, nor flowers, nor trees;
Heard nó birds cároling, no gurgling waters;
Far less saw angel forms, heard angel voices
Singing in chórus praise to the Most High;
But all was blank and desert, dim and dull,
Místy, obscure and undistinguishable,
Fórmless and void as if seen through thick fog
Or not seen through, but only the fog seen,
The fóg alone, monotonous, uniform,

Ráyless, impenetrable, cheerless, dark;
And all was silent as beneath the ocean

Ten thousand thousand fathom, or at the centre
Of the sólid Earth; and when I strove to speak

I stárted, stárted when I strove to hear
My guide's responses, for neither my guide
Nor Í spoke húmanly, nor in a human
Lánguage, for I had left my tongue on Earth,
To rót with my body, and had become a spirit
Voiceless and eárless, eyeless and etherial,
Ánd with my guide, for he too was a spirit,
Conversed by cónsciousness without the aid
Of voice or tongue or ears or signs or sounds:
"If this indeed is Heáven," said I at last
Or stróve or wished to say, "in pity bring me
Out of the waste and horrid wilderness

To where there is some light, some soúnd, some voice,
Some living thing, some stir, some cheerfulness.”
"Spirit, thou talk'st as thou wert still in the flesh,
And still hadst eyes to see, and eárs to hear,
And toúch wherewith to hold communication
With sólid and material substances.

What use were light here where there are no eyes?
What use were sounds here where there are no ears?
What use were substance where there are no bodies?
Here cheerful stir or action would but harm
Where every thing 's already in perfection,
Already in its right, most fitting place.

Nay, sígh not, spirit; this is thy wished Heaven."
"At least there is communion among spirits,
Spirits knów and love each other, spirits hope,
Spirits rejoice together, and together

Sing Hallelújahs to the Lord their God."

"I said that spirits sing not, when I said

Spirits have neither voices, tongues, nor ears;

And where's the room for hope, or love, or knowledge Where there's no heárt, brain, ignorance or passion? With thy conductor there 's indeed communion,