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. When the bright sun beckons the spring, greendeckt, 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:] Sweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue, Which once my love sat knotting inAlas, 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-

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!

JOHN G. SAXE.

And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar :

Which the same I would rise to explain.

Ah Sin was his name;

And I shall not deny

In regard to the same

What that name might imply;

But his smile it was pensive and childlike,

As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.

It was August the third,

And quite soft was the skies, Which it might be inferred

That Ah Sin was likewise :

Yet he played it that day upon William
And me in a way I despise.

Which we had a small game,
And Ah Sin took a hand:
It was euchre. The same

He did not understand;

But he smiled, as he sat by the table,

With the smile that was childlike and bland.

Yet the cards they were stocked

In a way that I grieve,
And my feelings were shocked

At the state of Nye's sleeve,

Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers, And the same with intent to deceive.

But the hands that were played

By that heathen Chinee,

And the points that he made,

Were quite frightful to see

Till at last he put down a right bower, Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.

Then I looked up at Nye,

And he gazed upon me; And he rose with a sigh,

And said, "Can this be?

We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor," And he went for that heathen Chinee.

In the scene that ensued

I did not take a hand,

But the floor it was strewed

Like the leaves on the strand

With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding In the game "he did not understand."

In his sleeves, which were long,
He had twenty-four packs-

Which was coming it strong,

Yet I state but the facts.

And we found on his nails, which were taperWhat is frequent in tapers- that's wax.

Which is why I remark,

And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark,

And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar

Which the same I am free to maintain. FRANCIS BRET HARTE.

NONSENSE.

GOOD reader, if you e'er have seen,
When Phoebus hastens to his pillow,
The mermaids, with their tresses green,
Dancing upon the western billow;
If you have seen at twilight dim,
When the lone spirit's vesper-hymn

Floats wild along the winding shore, If you have seen through mist of eve The fairy train their ringlets weave, Glancing along the spangled green ;

If you have seen all this, and more, God bless me ! what a deal you've seen!

THOMAS MOORE.

WOMAN'S WILL.

AN EPIGRAM.

MEN dying make their wills--but wives Escape a work so sad ;

Why should they make what all their lives The gentle dames have had?

JOHN GODFREY SAXE.

BACHELOR'S HALL.

BACHELOR'S HALL, what a comical place it is! Keep me from such all the days of my life! Sure but he knows what a burning disgrace it is, Never at all to be getting a wife.

See the old bachelor, gloomy and sad enough, Fussing around while he's making his fire; His kettle has tipt up, och, honey, he's mad enough, If he were present, to fight with the squire !

Pots, dishes, and pans, and such other commodities,

Ashes and praty-skins, kiver the floor;
His cupboard a storehouse of comical oddities,
Things never thought of as neighbors before.
When his meal it is over, the table's left sittin' so;
Dishes, take care of yourselves if you can;

Devil a drop of hot water will visit ye.
Och, let him alone for a baste of a man!