Letle Cress up quite undeknowne

An' pecked on thin the winder

In' there sot Hulby all alone

with no one

sigh to hender.

Such a parogon

That, you see, it must be true The is always eastly better

Thaw the best that the can do!"

VI.

There was a life, I assever! With reasons That lead me to scorn every star-gazing Ass; And because I loved it, at certain seasons

"T is a pleasure to gaze in the looking-glass.

THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER.

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

NEEDY knife-grinder! whither are you going? Rough is the road; your wheel is out of order.

deckt, up,

The Ape swells within me; whenever I see Mortals look skyward, walking erect up,

I long for a Tail and a large strong Tree!

ROBERT BUCHANAN.

THE UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN.

BY ONE ELEVEN YEARS IN PRISON.
SONG BY ROGERO IN "THE ROVERS."

WHENE'ER with haggard eyes I view
This dungeon that I'm rotting in,
I think of those companions true
Who studied with me at the U-

niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen. [Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief, with which he wipes

his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds: Į Sweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue, Which once my love sat knotting in Alas, Matilda then was true!

At least I thought so at the U

niversity of Gottingen,

niversity of Gottingen.

Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew,

Her neat post-wagon trotting in! Ye bore Matilda from my view; Forlorn I languished at the U

niversity of Gottingen,
niversity of Gottingen.

This faded form! this pallid hue!
This blood my veins is clotting in!
My years are many, they were few
When first I entered at the U-

niversity of Gottingen,
niversity of Gottingen.

There first for thee my passion grew,
Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen !
Thou wast the daughter of my tu-
tor, law-professor at the U-

in 't;

THE MODERN BELLE.

SHE sits in a fashionable parlor,
And rocks in her easy chair;
She is clad in silks and satins,
And jewels are in her hair;
She winks and giggles and simpers,

And simpers and giggles and winks; And though she talks but little,

'T is a good deal more than she thinks.

She lies abed in the morning

Till nearly the hour of noon, Then comes down snapping and snarling Because she was called so soon; Her hair is still in papers,

Her cheeks still fresh with paint, Remains of her last night's blushes, Before she intended to faint.

She dotes upon men unshaven,
And men with "flowing hair";
She's eloquent over mustaches,
They give such a foreign air.
She talks of Italian music,

And falls in love with the moon ; And, if a mouse were to meet her, She would sink away in a swoon.

Her feet are so very little,

Her hands are so very white, Her jewels so very heavy,

And her head so very light; Her color is made of cosmetics

(Though this she will never own), Her body is made mostly of cotton, Her heart is made wholly of stone.

She falls in love with a fellow

Who swells with a foreign air; He marries her for her money, She marries him for his hair! One of the very best matches,

Both are well mated in life; She's got a fool for a husband, He's got a fool for a wife!

STARK.

English and Irish, French and Spanish,
Germans, Italians, Dutch and Danish,
Crossing their veins until they vanish

In one conglomeration!

So subtle a tangle of blood, indeed,
No Heraldry Harvey will ever succeed
In finding the circulation.

Depend upon it, my snobbish friend,
Your family thread you can't ascend,
Without good reason to apprehend
You may find it waxed, at the farther end,
By some plebeian vocation!

Or, worse that that, your boasted line
May end in a loop of stronger twine,
That plagued some worthy relation!