PROVIDENCE versus CHANCE AND FATE.

THE ship struck on a rock by accident,

And sánk, and all on board were lost but two, Whóm in the longboat of th' illfated vessel, Álmost by miracle, a kind Providence saved. WEINSBERG (WÜRTTEMBERG), Sept. 3, 1855.

NO wonder, reáder, that from all I say

Thou túrn'st with clósed eyes and closed ears away,
Fór in this point at least all men agree,
That each will teacher, none will learner, be.

WEINSBERG (WÜRTTEMBERG), Sept. 13, 1855.

INSCRIPTION

FOR A LUCIFER-MATCH BOX.

(I)

PROMETHEUS' feát to thine was but a patch,

Glórious inventor of the lucifer-match!

Thou steal'st not fire, but mák'st it fresh and new; Ánd, what even Heaven forgót, hid'st it from view.

WEINSBERG (WÜRTTEMBERG), Sept. 20, 1855.

Dówn my head

Laid like lead,

Clothes tucked in

Under chin,

I begin

Not to sleep,

But to weep

And watch keep,

Wondering why
Í don't die

Instantly,

And down low,

Sad and slow,

Tó Styx go,
There to moan

Faithless Joan

Away flown,

Flown away,

Would not stay,

Lack a day!

Well, let bé!

Plain I see

"Twould kill me

Thé hayrick,

Whére, close bý

Joán's house, I

Used to lie

On the ground,
Watching round
Sight or sound
Óf Joan nigh.
"Bye! good bye!
Joan," said I;

"Ás thou me,
Í leave thee,

Tó live free,"

And a look,
Turning, took

Of the brook

Ánd grass plat
Ánd flower knot

And thatched cot.

The fresh sun,

His day's run

Just begun,

Clad with bright

Ruddy light

Tower and height,

And the green

Leaves between

Glancing sheen,

Every ray

Seemed to say:

"Please, Sir, stay."

"Stay! not I;

Bye! good bye!

Joan," cried I,

Ánd, "Heigh hó!”

Síghed, and slow

Turned to go.

Wás't echó

Answered:

I don't know,

"hó!"

Bút, turned round

At the sound,

There I found,
By my side,

Ín her pride,
Joan, my bride.

Wasn't I blind

Rosalind,

Though she 's kind,

So to her

To prefer,

And aver
ĺ would not

Give one groat,
Stir one jot,

Joan to save
From the grave?
Beauty's slave