She has four sets of cláws, But the dog or the mán That beforehand is wise Snarly Snáp makes a boúnce, On his múzz gets a trounce That makes bleéd nose and eyes. Snarly Snáp turns his tail And to mé comes with wail And complaint against Minn: - “Nay, Snárly Snap, nảy; Those the píper must pay Who the dancing begin. "But you 've bóth trespassed só For I love to be just;" So I called for the broóm, Both belligerents thrúst. BRUCHSAL in BADEN, Octob. 16, 1854. A NIGHT IN MY INN. AT NINE O' Clock, weáry, I lie down in béd; At TEN O' Clock swarms of gnats búzz round my head; At TWELVE for the tickling of fleás I can't sleep; "Well, my good friend, what "Please will you be shaved, Sir?" replies with a bów A little, pert, dápper, smug fáced gentlemán With apron and rázor and hót-water cán; Struck with hórror I slám the door tó in his fáce. Gentle reader, imágine yourself in my pláce, With a beard such as mine, and a threat to be shaved, Walking from MEHREN to LOSHEIM, in the EIFEL (RHENISH PRUSSIA); Novem. 1-2, 1854. THE RECRUIT. OFF I gó a redcoat sóldier, old Éngland's lion cúb, With my sérgeant and my colors and my rúb-a-dub-a-dúb; Here's my firelock, here's my bayonet, here's my leather cross-belt white, Here's my shining black cartoúche-box March! hált! face left and right! There's a hundred thousand of us, counting every mother's són, And not one among us áll knows why the war 's begún; That's our commander's business, our business is to fight, Down with our country's énemies, and Gód defend the right. Good bye, my pretty lássy, I'm going from you fár; Think sometimes of your rédcoat when you hear talk of the wár; Take hálf this bran-new sixpence for a plédge twixt you and mé, And every time you say your prayers, pray for our victorý. Come cóme, let's have no frétting to spoil those pretty eyes; I'd rather have one sweet smile than all your tears and Here's a hundred kisses for you one more for luck sighs. don't cry And now I'm off in earnest, good bye, my lass, good bye. KREUZNACH in RHENISH PRUSSIA, Octob. 29, 1854. HEAVEN. "So this is Heaven," said I to my conductor, Perhaps the reason is, it's all so new, Neither bright ský, nor sun, nor flowers, nor trees; Ráyless, impenetrable, cheerless, dark; Ten thousand thousand fathom, or at the centre I stárted, stárted when I strove to hear To where there is some light, some soúnd, some voice, What use were light here where there are no eyes? Nay, sígh not, spirit; this is thy wished Heaven." Sing Hallelújahs to the Lord their God." "I said that spirits sing not, when I said Spirits have neither voices, tongues, nor ears; And where's the room for hope, or love, or knowledge Where there's no heárt, brain, ignorance or passion? With thy conductor there 's indeed communion, |