Ash he wiped his ploody sabre, Now, poys, count oop your dead!" O small had peen our shoutin For shoy, if ve had known, Dat de Stossenheim im oaken Wald Lay dyin all alone; Vhile his oldt white horse mit droopin het Ash if he dinked, "Vy lyest dou here Und dreams coom o'er de soldier, Slow dyin on de eart, Of a Schloss afar in Baden, Of his mutter, und nople birt— Of poverty und sorrow Vhich drofe him like de wind Und he sighed : "Ach weh, for de lofed ones Who wait so far pehind!" "Wohl auf, my soul o'er de moundains! Wohl auf-well ofer de sea! Dere's a frau dat sits in de Odenwald, Und shpins, und dinks of me. Dere's a shild ash blays in de greenin grass, Und sings a liddle hymn, Und learns to shpeak a fader's name "But mordal life ends shortly, Vas Stossenheim his word. O, dere vas bitter wailen Vhen Stossenheim vas found, Fast dyin on de grount. De tramp of horse und soldiers. Vas all de sacrin bell. Mit hoontin knife und sabre Dey digged de grave a span ; From German eyes blue gleamin De holy water ran. Mit moss-grown shticks und bark-thong De plessed cross ve made, Und put it vhere de soldier's head Toward Germany vas laid. Dat grave is lost mid dead leafs, De cross is gone afay, Boot Gott will find der reiter Und dinkin of de fightin, To Nashville Breitmann led. De verses of dis boem Make singen many a song, Ach Zeit !-wie bist du lang! GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. (BORN, 1824.) I FROM THE SUMMER DIARY OF MINERVA TATTLE. NEWPORT, August. T certainly is not papa's fault that he doesn't understand French; but he ought not to pretend to. It does put one in such uncomfortable situations occasionally. In fact, I think it would be quite as well if we could sometimes "sink the paternal," as Timon Croesus says. I suppose everybody has heard of the awful speech pa made in the parlor at Saratoga. My dearest friend, Tabby Dormouse, told me she had heard of it everywhere, and that it was ten times as absurd each time it was repeated. Bythe-bye, Tabby is a dear creature, is n't she? It's so nice to have a spy in the enemy's camp, as it were, and to hear every thing that everybody says about you. She is not handsome,— poor, dear Tabby! There's no denying it, but she can't help it. I was obliged to tell young Downe so, quite decidedly, for I really think he had an idea she was good-looking. The idea of Tabby Dormouse being handsome! But she is a useful little thing in her way; one of my inti mates. The true story is this. Ma and I had persuaded pa to take us to Saratoga, for we heard the English party were to be there, and we were anxious they should see some good society, at least. It seems such a pity they should n't know what handsome dresses we really do have in this country! And I mentioned to some of the most English of our young men, that there might be something to be done at Saratoga. But they shrugged their shoulders, especially Timon Croesus and Gauche Boosey, and said— "Well, really, the fact is, Miss Tattle, all the Englishmen I have ever met are-in fact-a little snobbish. However." That was about what they said. But I thought, considering their fondness of the English model in dress and manner, that they might have been more willing to meet some genuine aristocracy. Yet, perhaps, that handsome Col. Abattew is right in saying with his grand military air, |