Dog Hollow, in the Green Mount State, Was his first stopping-place,

And then Skunk's Misery displayed

Its sweetness and its grace.

By easy stages then he went

To visit Devil's Den;

And Scrabble Hollow, by the way

Did come within his ken.

Then, via Nine Holes and Goose Green, He travelled through the State,

And to Virginia, finally,

Was guided by his fate.

Within the Old Dominion's bounds,
He wandered up and down,
To-day, at Buzzard Roost ensconced,
To-morrow at Hell Town.

At Pole Cat, too, he spent a week,
Till friends from Bull Ring came,
And made him spend the day with them
In hunting forest game.

Then with his carpet-bag in hand,

To Dog Town next he went; Though stopping at Free Negro Town, Where half a day he spent.

From thence into Negationburg
His route of travel lay,

Which having gained, he left the State

And took a southward way.

North Carolina's friendly soil
He trod at fall of night,
And, on a bed of softest down,
He slept at Hell's Delight.

Morn found him on the road again,
To Slouchy Level bound;

At Bull's Tail, and Lick Lizzard, too,
Good provender he found.

But the plantations near Burnt Coat
Were even finer still,

And made the wondering tourist feel
A soft, delicious thrill.

At Tear Shirt, too, the scenery
Most charming did appear,
With Snatch It in the distance far,

And Purgatory near.

But spite of all these pleasant scenes
The tourist stoutly swore
That home is brightest after all,

And travel is a bore.

So back he went to Maine straightway.

A little wife he took ;
And now is making nutmegs at
Moosehicmagunticook.

In his note introductory of this poem the editor of the Lily affirmed that I had named none but veritable localities (which was strictly true), and ventured the belief that the composition would remind his readers of Goldsmith. Upon which his scorpion contemporary in the next village

observed that there was rather more smith than gold about

Up to the time when this poem appeared in print, I had succeeded in concealing from my father the nature of my incidental occupation; but now he must know all.

He did know all; and the result was that he gave me ten dollars, and sent me to New York to look out for myself.

"It's the only thing that will save him," says he to my mother; "and I must either send him off or expect to see him sink by degrees to editorship and begin wearing disgraceful clothes."

I went to New York; I became private secretary and speech-scribe to an unscrupulous and, therefore, rising politician, and now I am in Washington.

I had a certain postmastership in my eye when I first came hither; but war's alarms indicate that I may do better as an amateur hero.

R. H. Newell ("Orpheus C. Kerr").

He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings,

In all barts of der house;

But vot off dot? he vas mine son,

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He gets der measles und der mumbs,
Und eferyding dot's oudt;

He sbills mine glass of lager bier,
Poots schnuff indo mine kraut.
He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese,-
Dot vas der roughest chouse;
I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy
But leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum,
Und cuts mine cane in dwo,
To make der schticks to beat it mit,—
Mine gracious, dot vos drue!
I dinks mine hed was schplit abart,
He kicks oup sooch a touse:
But never mind; der poys vas few
Like dot young Yawcob Strauss.

He asks me questions, sooch as dese:
Who baints mine nose so red?

Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace oudt
Vrom der hair ubon mine hed?
Und where der plaze goes vrom der lamp
Vene'er der glim I douse.

How gan I all dose dings eggsblain
To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss ?

I somedimes dink I schall go vild
Mit sooch a grazy poy,

Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest,
Und beaceful dimes enshoy;