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TÉN broad steps there 's tó my ládder,
Five on one side, five on th' other;
Ón one side I moúnt my ládder,
And come down it on the other.

Ón the first step síts a mother
Rocking with her foót a crádle;
Listen and you 'll hear her singing
"Húsh-a báby, báby húsh-a."

On the second my heart trémbles
To see seated á schoolmaster
Slápping learning with a lóng cane
Ínto á refract'ry púpil.

Ón the third step Álma Máter,
Standing in the midst of doctors,
Púts a réd gown on the shoulders
Óf a young man leárned and módest.

Ón the foúrth step the same young man Púts a gold ring on the finger

ángel is 't or goddess ? Kneeling by him at the altar.

óf an

Ón the top step síts a fáther
In the evening by the fireside,
Children roúnd his kneés are playing,
Móther 's washing úp the tea-things.

Ón the first step down my ladder
Sít a gentlemán and lády,
Bóth with spectacles, and reading
Hé the news, she Mrs. Trollope.

Ón the sécond step down, a lády
And a gentlemán sit trying
Át the mirror, hé a brówn scratch,
Shé a ghastly row of white teeth.

Ón the third step down, a wrinkled
Wíthered gránny knitting socks sits,
And a pálsied old man shakes out
Hís pipe's áshes on the table.

On the fourth step down, two ármchairs,
One each side the fire, stand empty;
Ón two tábles át two bedsides
Lábelled phíals strewed about lie.

On the last step down, two sextons
Side by side two gráves are sódding;
Listen and you 'll hear them clapping
Thé soft hillocks with their shovels.

Yé that haven't yet seén my ládder,
Cóme look at it where it stands there
With its five up stéps in sunlight,
Ánd its five steps dówn, in shadow.

Walking from FALKau to TRYBERG in the Black FOREST (BADEN), Octob. 8-9, 1854.

BEERDRINKER'S SONG,

UNDER A PICTURE OF GAMBRINUS.

GAMBRÍNUS was a gallant king

Reigned once in Flanders old, He was the man invented beer

As Í 've been often told.

Of mált and hops he brewed his beer

And made it strong and good, And some of it he bottled up

And some he kept in wood.

The golden crown upon his head,

The beérjug in his hand, Beerdrinkers, see before ye here

Your benefactor stand.

Beerlóvers, paint him on your shields,

Upon your beérpots paint 'Twere well a pope did never worse

Than make Gambrinus Saint.

And now fill every man his pot

Till the foam óverflows; No higher praise ásks the good old king

Than fróth upon the nose.

Bacchus I 'll honor while I live

And while I live love wine,
But still I 'll hold th' old Flanders king

And beérjug more divine.

While I have wine night's darkest shades

To mé are full moonlight,
But keep my beérpot filled all day

And f 'll sleep soúnd all night.

So blessings on th' old Flanders king,

And blessings on his beer,
And cúrse upon the táx on malt,

That makes good drink so dear.

Walking from SCHOPFHEIM to GERSBACH in the Black FOREST (BADEN), Octob. 6, 1854.

ONCE it háppened I was walking
Ón a bright sunshiny mórning
Throúgh the cornfields, gáy and happy,
Lilting to myself some nonsense;

Áll at once came á policeman,
Caught me fást by the shirt collar,
Drágged me to the village Sessions,
Ánd before their Wórships sét me:

"Hére 's the féllow stóle the apple,
Please your gráve and reverend Worships;
Now he's in your hánds do with him
Ás required by láw and jústice.”

"No, I did not ; ít 's a foúl lie;
Í 'm no thiéf, stole néver ápple;
Lét me gó, and the false witness
Púnish as your Wórships think best.”

“Nót so fást; it has been sworn to:
Yoúr grandmother stóle the apple;
That 's the same in law and justice
As if you yourself had stólen it.

“Só you 're sentenced to go álways
With your coátsleeves inside out turned, ,
Thát all seeing yoủ may know 'twas
Your grandmother stóle the apple.”

Thát 's the reason, Génts and Ladies,
Í go always in this fashion;
Thrów no bláme upon my tailor,
Thé fault 's áll my old grandmother's.

SUMISWALD in Canton BERN, Octob. 2, 1854.

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