When Fate mé
Doomed to be,

Mistress she

'ssigned me none

But mine own

Peerless Joan.

TÜBINGEN, Aug. 28, 1855.

POET.

THESE vérses reád, and, having read, tell me If not as good as Horace's they be.

CRITIC.

As good as Hórace's! my dear Sir, no;
Hórace wrote his two thousand years ago.

POET.

Had mine been writ two thousand years ago,
And Horace's today, hadst still said No?

CRITIC.

Nó, by no meáns; then thou hadst been the rule, And I had learned thee off by heart at school.

POET.

Alas, alas, the tyranny of Fate!

Bétter not born at áll, than born so late.

CRITIC.

Pátience; thou 'rt time enough; each has his date,

Some earlier, later some, but all must wait.

Two thousand years hence thou perhaps shalt be
Greáter than Hórace
Why so stare at me?

POET.

I'm thinking if two thousand years work so,
What will four thousand do; I'd like to know.

CRITIC.

Undo all that two thousand years had done,
And leave thee as thou 'rt now, by all unknown;
Ór, if thou 'rt Fortune's special favorite, raise
And moót the question in some score of ways:
How many poets were there of thy name,
Ánd to thy verses which has the best claim,
Or hárk in with some future Wolfius' cry
That thou and thy existence were a lie,
Fór to create such noble works required
Some twenty bards at least, and all inspired.

POET.

Then there's no way to be for ever known,
And consecrate the world to come mine own.

CRITIC.

And if there were, what were 't but yanity
When once the coffin lid has closed on thee?

POET.

So bé it. Come, Múse, let 's not throw pearls away,
Or pipe for those who won't the piper pay.

We'll please our noble selves; I thee, thou me;
Ánd for itself let shift posterity.

Walking from WEINSBERG in WÜRTTEMBERG to WÜRZBURG in BAVARIA; Sept. 25-29, 1855.

"Immer am widrigsten bleibt der Schein des Monds und der Sterne,

Nicht ein Körnlein, bei Gott! weckt ihr unpraktischer Strahl."

JUSTINUS KERNER.

THIS world's so fast progréssing I do not despair to see yet Three things, that now run áll to waste, turned to important

úses:

There's first of all the singing birds, it goes to my heart to hear them

Straining their little throáts and lungs to nó conceivable

púrpose;

Teach them to sing a régular tune, and sóldiers could march

tó it,

And cost of fife and drúm be spared as well 's of fifer and drúmmer.

Then there's the moon- and stár-light bright, that, áll the livelong night through,

On hill and vale and seá and plain Heaven só profusely squánders,

I'd like to know why it might not be in réservoirs collected, And used in manufactories at hálf the cost of gás-light. But wind 's the thing that 's wasted most, though wind's more worth than jéwels,

And at the State's expense should be, by forcing pump and béllows,

In cópious streams, to every house, supplied all day and night long,

To keep it clear from dúst and smoke and chólera and féver;

And every man should pay a fine that 's óf the crime convicted, Of wasting wind in foolish talk or blowing the church organ, But women's mouths should still be free, and weathercocks and windmills,

And ships of every size and rig, and members of both Houses. If God 's so good my life to spare until I see these changes, I'll dié content, not doubting but things will go ón improving Until at last the whole wide world 's exactly as it should be. WEINSBERG (WÜRTTEMBERG), Sept. 9, 1855.

THE coachman drives, the horses draw, the carriage carries

Dives,

Who sits inside and lólls at ease, secure from wind and weather; But Dives' nights are réstless, he has no appetite for dinner: "Discharge your coachman, Dives, sell your horses and your

cárriage,

And on your two legs trúdge it, under évery wind and weather, And, créde mi experto, as a tóp you 'll sleep all night sound, And hardly wait for énded Grace, to fall upon your dinner." WEINSBERG (WÜRTTEMBERG), Sept. 7, 1855.

WOULDST thou convince the doubting world thou 'rt truly
And from thine heart repentant thou 'st not married,
Márry; repentance is best proved by penance.

HEIDELBERG, August 1, 1855.

THERE are two sisters; óne with bright,
Gay, laughing eyes, full of delight,

And outstretched hand and warm embrace,
And jóy-irradiated face,

And stép alert, and such sweet voice

As mákes the hearer's heart rejoice.

Nó company is to my mind.

In which I don't this sister find.

Néver in this world was seen
Maiden óf more ópposite mien
Than th' other sister: sóbs and sighs,
Drooping lids and tearful eyes,
And heavy footstep, lingering slow,
Unwilling, yet prepared, to go,
And handkerchief white-waving still,
And prayers to Heaven to avert all ill.
Néver lóng, be it where it may,
When I meet this maid I stay,
But right-aboút face, and away.
*** COME they call the cheerful maid,
FARE *** the melancholy jade;

Bóth in one house live and attend
The cóming and the parting friend,
One opens, and one shuts, the door;
Thou know'st them bóth

GOTHA, Oct. 11, 1855.

Need I say more?