No more questions, good friend, no more questions, I práy; I'd be chooser myself what to say or not sáy;

With your 'Whó?' 'Which?' and 'Whát?' 'How?' 'When?' 'Wherefore?' and 'Why?'

You but shút my heart clóser, my tongue tighter tié; Nay, you 've nó one to bláme but yourself, if with lying And quibbling and shúffling I páy back your prýing.

So deal with me fairly and give quid pro quo

And your own thoughts first tell me, if my thoughts you'd knów.

DALKEY LODGE, DALKEY; March 30, 1855.

TIS the little boy láshing his tóp in the coúrt;
With all his whole heart he 's intént on his spórt,
And as his top mérrily spíns round and roúnd,
In the world where 's a happier soúl to be found?

I'll go down to the court and the whole livelong day
At whip-my-top there with that happy boy pláy;
Give me top and lash hére, and let him take who will
My grown man's wealth, hónors, strength, wisdom, and skill.

DALKEY LODGE, DALKEY; May 6, 1855.

Ás in Tibur's pleasant villa

Strólled Mecénas ónce with Hórace,
"Whát can bé the reáson, poet,"
Said Mecénas cávaliérly,

"That the adjective must álways
To the noún be só obséquious;
Follow áll its whims and húmors,
Trót beside it like a spániel?"

"I don't knów, heard néver reason,"
Ánswered Hórace, his head shaking.
"Whát! not knów?" repliéd Mecénas,
"I thought poets knew all súch things."

"Nów I récolléct," said Hórace

With an árch smile, "mý schoolmaster
Úsed to say that noún was pátron,
Ádjective, poor dévil! póet."

Walking from ZELL to SIMMERN, RHENISH PRUSSIA; July 9, 1855.

'TWAS on the First of Jánuary early in the mórning

I paid my Love a vísit, and a happy new year wished her; She gave me her right hand and said she was glad to seé me→→ Ah! little thought I thén, she was entering on her lást year.

"Twas on the First of Fébruary, a cold and snowy morning, I paid my Love a visit and asked her was she quite well: — "I've got a little cough," said she, "but I don't think anything of it;

Coughs and colds are going, and I hope I 'll soon be bétter."

'Twas on the First of Márch and a bitter wind was blowing; I paid my Love a visit, and asked her was she bétter: "I'm not much better yét," said she, "and the cough is sticking to me,

But when the weather softens I don't doubt I'll be better."

'Twas on the First of April when a blink of sun was gleaming Between two chilly showers, I paid my Love a vísit; When she saw me her eye brightened and she said she 'd soon be finely,

But I thought she didn't look well and I had a sad foreboding.

"Twas on delicious Máy-day I paid my Love a vísit;

The sky was clear, the air was soft, the birds were gaily sínging,

But my Love her pallid cheek upon her hand was leáning, And I didn't ask her hów she was, for I saw it but too cleárly.

'Twas on the First of leáfy June I paid my Love a vísit; When she saw me from the window she waved her hand to greét me,

And I entered the house joyful, thinking she was surely bétter, But when I came in neár her I saw how she was wásting.

On the First of warm July I paid my Love a visit;
She was chilly cold and trémbling, with her shawl wrapt
close about her,

For the fever fit was ón her, and insidious Hectic búsy
Sápping poor besiéged Life's weak and tottering fortress.

Upon the First of August I paid my Love a vísit;
She was laid upon the sófa, and her hand was dry and búrning;
She bade me kindly wélcome, and I sat down there beside her,
But rose and came away straight, for she talked to me of dying.

Upón September First I paid my Love a visit; She raised her head upon the pillow and loóked out on the reápers:

"How pleasant it 's out there," said she, "and yet I 'm still growing weaker,

And perhaps❞ - but there she stopped short, for she heard

me sóbbing.

Upón October First I paid my Love a vísit;

Her cheeks were sunk and pále, with a red spot in the middle:"Ah!" said she, "the winter 's neár, for the leaves are falling,

fálling

But you'll think of me in spring when you hear the blackbird whistle."

Upón November First I paid my Love a vísit;

It was a lowering morning and the rain was drizzling dreáry: "It will be brighter by and bý," said I, between my fingers

taking

"Yes, yes," said she, "in heaven."

Upón December First when I paid my Love a vísit

I met, 'twas for the first time, no stretched-out hand, no

greéting,

For she lay there in her shroúd wrapt, more lovely fair than

éver,

And if never more to love me, pain to suffer néver.

Upón this First of Jánuary, désolate and lonely

I sit here, in the churchyard, watching by my Love's grave; And if I weep, it's not for hér, for shé 's safe from all sórrow, But for myself behind her left so désolate and lónely.

DALKEY LODGE, DALKEY, April 14, 1855.