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A SCENE ON THE AUSTRIAN FRONTIER.
“Dey must not pass !” was the warning cry of the Austrian sen
tinel To one whose little knapsack bore the books he loved so well. “They must not pass ? Now, wherefore not ?" the wond'ring
tourist cried; “No English book can pass mit me;" the sentinel replied. The tourist laughed a scornful laugh ; quoth he, “ Indeed, I hope There are few English books would please a Kaiser or a Pope; But these are books in common use : plain truths and facts they
tell” “ Der Teufel! Den dey most not pass !" said the startled sentinel.
"This Handbook to North Germany, by worthy Mr. MURRAY,
“Sturmwetter !” said the sentinel, “Come! cease dis idle babbles !
“Dis Plato, too, I ver mosh fear, he will corrupt the land, He has soch many long big words, Ich kann nicht onderstand.” "My friend,” the tourist said, “I fear you're really in the way to Quite change the proverb, and be friends with neither Truth nor
My books, 'tis true, are little worth, but they have served me
long, And I regard the greatness less than the nature of the wrong; So, if the books must stay behind, I stay behind as well." “ Es ist mir nichts, mein lieber Freund,” said the courteous sen
ODE TO THE GREAT SEA-SERPENT ON HIS WON.
From what abysses of the unfathom'd sea
Turnest thou up, Great Serpent, now and then,
And affidavits of sea-faring men ?
What whirlpool gulf to thee affords a home!
Amid the unknown depths where dost thou dwell ?
Thou art not what the vulgar call a Sell.
Art thou, indeed, a serpent and no sham?
Or, if no serpent, a prodigious eel,
A basking shark, or monstrous kind of seal ?
I'll think that thou a true Ophidian art;
I can not say a reptile of the deep,
Thou swimmest, it appears, and dost not creep.
The Captain was not WALKER but M'QUHE,
I'll trust, by whom thou some time since wast seen;
I will not bid address the corps marine.
Sea-Serpent, art thou venomous or not ?
What sort of snake may be thy class and style ?
And mentioned-rather often-by Carlyle ?
Or, art thou but a serpent of the mind ?
Doubts, though subdued, will oft recur againA serpent of the visionary kind,
Proceeding from the grog-oppressed brain ? Art thou a giant adder, or huge asp,
And hast thou got a rattle at thy tail ?
Within thy fold, and suffocate, a whale ?
And more—but how much more they do not know: I fancy thou couldst reach across a bay
From head to head, a dozen miles or so.
On either side 'tis said thou hast a fin,
A saw-shaped ridge of flabby, dabby skin.
Could I retain thee in that grasp sublime ?
Being all over glazed with fishy slime ?
If ever thou art bored with Ocean's play?
That thou of gills or lungs dost breathe by way?
What spines, or spikes, or claws, or nails, or fin,
Or paddle, Ocean-Serpent, dost thou bear? What kind of teeth show'st thou when thou dost grin?-
A set that probably would make one stare.
What is thy diet? Canst thou gulp a shoal
Of herrings? Or hast thou the gorge and room To bolt fat porpoises and dolphins, whole,
By dozens, e'en as oysters we consume?
Art thou alone, thou serpent, on the brine,
The sole surviving member of thy race ? Is there no brother, sister, wife, of thine,
But thou alone, afloat on Ocean's face ?
If such a calculation may be made,
Thine age at what a figure may we take?
Wast thou not present there and then, old Snake ?
What fossil Saurians in thy time have been ?
How many Mammoths crumbled into mold?
Long as the tail thou doubtless canst unfold ?
As a dead whale, but as a whale, though dead,
Thy floating bulk a British crew did strike;
That thou unto a whale wast very like.
A flock of birds a record, rather loose,
Describes as hovering o'er thy lengthy hull ;
And also several of the genus Gull.
THE FEAST OF VEGETABLES, AND THE FLOW OF
New Year comes, –
-so let's be jolly; On the board the Turnip smokes, While we sit beneath the holly,
Eating Greens and passing jokes.
How the Cauliflower is steaming,
Sweetest flower that ever blows!
Shows his jovial famed red nose.
Here behold the reign of Plenty,
Help the Carrots, hand the Kail;
Well washed down with Adam's Ale!
Feed your fill, --untasted only
Let the fragrant onion go;
Go not nigh the mistletoe !"
I OVERHEARD two matrons grave, allied by close affinity (The name of one was Puysic, and the other's was DIVINITY), As they put their groans together, both so doleful and lugu
Says Physic, "To unload the heart of grief, ma'am, is salubri
Here am I, at my time of life, in this year of our deliverance;
of my children are a shame and a disgrace to me.”
says DIVINITY, “my heart can suffer with another, ma'am; I'm sure I can well understand your feelings as a mother, ma'am. I've some, as well,—no doubt but what you're perfectly aware
on't, ma'am, Whose doings bring derision and discredit on their parent,
“There are boys of mine," says Physic, “ma'am, such silly fancies
nourishing, As curing gout and stomach-ache by pawing and by flourishing."
“Well,” says DIVINITY, “I've those that teach that Heaven's
beatitudes Are to be earned by postures, genuflexions, bows, and attitudes.”
“My good-for-nothing sons,” says Physic, some have turned
hydropathists, Some taken up with mesmerism, or joined the homeopathists."