A SCENE ON THE AUSTRIAN FRONTIER.

PUNCH.

“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,
Need scarcely put your government in such a mighty flurry;
If tourists' handbooks be proscribed, pray have you ever tried
To find a treasonable page in Bradshaw's Railway Guide ?
This map, again, of Switzerland—nay, man, you need n't start or
Look black at such a little map, as if ’t were Magna Charta ;
I know it is the land of TELL, but, curb your idle fury-
We've not the slightest hope, to-day, to find a Tell in your eye

(Uri).”

“Sturmwetter !” said the sentinel, “Come! cease dis idle babbles !
Was ist dis oder book I see? Das Haus mit sieben Gabbles ?
I nevvare heard of him bifor, ver mosh I wish I had,
For now Ich kann nicht let him pass, for fear he should be bad.
Das Haus of Commons it must be; Ja wohl! 'tis so, and den
Die Sieben Gabbles are de talk of your chief public men;
Potzmiekchen! it is dreadful books. Ja! Ja! I know him well ;
Hoch Himmel! here he most not pass :" said the learned sen-

tinel.

“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

PLATO.

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

tinel.

ODE TO THE GREAT SEA-SERPENT ON HIS WON.

DERFUL REAPPEARANCE.

PUNCH

From what abysses of the unfathom'd sea

Turnest thou up, Great Serpent, now and then,
If we may venture to believe in thee,

And affidavits of sea-faring men ?

What whirlpool gulf to thee affords a home!

Amid the unknown depths where dost thou dwell ?
If-like the mermaid, with her glass and comb-

Thou art not what the vulgar call a Sell.

Art thou, indeed, a serpent and no sham?

Or, if no serpent, a prodigious eel,
An entity, though modified by flam,

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,
Because thou dost not play a reptile's part;

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;
And him who says he saw thee t'other day,

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 ?
That of Mud-Python, by APOLLO shot,

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 ?
If of the Boa species, couldst thou clasp

Within thy fold, and suffocate, a whale ?
How long art thou ?—Some sixty feet, they say,

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.
Scales hast thou got, of course—but what's thy weight ?

On either side 'tis said thou hast a fin,
A crest, too, on thy neck, deponents state,

A saw-shaped ridge of flabby, dabby skin.
If I could clutch thee—in a giant's grip-

Could I retain thee in that grasp sublime ?
Wouldst thou not quickly through my fingers slip,

Being all over glazed with fishy slime ?
Hast thou a forked tongue-and dost thou hiss

If ever thou art bored with Ocean's play?
And is it the correct hypothesis

That thou of gills or lungs dost breathe by way?

a

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?
When first the granite mountain-stones were laid,

Wast thou not present there and then, old Snake ?

What fossil Saurians in thy time have been ?

How many Mammoths crumbled into mold?
What geologic periods hast thou seen,

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;
And, so far, none will question what they said,

That thou unto a whale wast very like.

A flock of birds a record, rather loose,

Describes as hovering o'er thy lengthy hull ;
Among them, doubtless, there was many a Goose,

And also several of the genus Gull.

THE FEAST OF VEGETABLES, AND THE FLOW OF

WATER.

PUNCN.

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!
See, good old Sir Kidney, beaming,

Shows his jovial famed red nose.

Here behold the reign of Plenty,

Help the Carrots, hand the Kail;
Roots how nice, and herbs how dainty,

Well washed down with Adam's Ale!

Feed your fill, --untasted only

Let the fragrant onion go;
Or, amid the revels lonely,

Go not nigh the mistletoe !"

KINDRED QUACKS.

PUNCH.

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

brious:

Says Physic, "To unload the heart of grief, ma'am, is salubri

ous:

Here am I, at my time of life, in this year of our deliverance;
My age gives me a right to look for some esteem and reverence.
But, ma'am, I feel it is too true what every body says to me, -
Too
many

of my children are a shame and a disgrace to me.”

“Ah!"

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,

ma'am.”

“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."