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THE LAST STANZAS OF YANKEE DOODLE.

YANKEE DOODLE sent to Town

His goods for exhibition;

Everybody ran him down,

And laughed at his position.

They thought him all the world behind;

A goney, muff, or noodle;

Laugh on, good people-never mind

Says quiet Yankee Doodle.

Yankee Doodle had a craft,
A rather tidy clipper,

And he challenged, while they laughed,
The Britishers to whip her.

Their whole yacht-squadron she outsped,
And that on their own water;
Of all the lot she went a-head,
And they came nowhere arter.

O'er Panamà there was a scheme
Long talked of, to pursue a

Short route—which many thought a dream—
By Lake Nicaragua.

John Bull discussed the plan on foot,

With slow irresolution,

While Yankee Doodle went and put

It into execution.

A steamer of the Collins line,
A Yankee Doodle's notion,
Has also quickest cut the brine
Across the Atlantic Ocean.
And British agents, no ways slow

Her merits to discover,

Have been and bought her-just to tow

The Cunard packets over.

Your gunsmiths of their skill may crack,
But that again don't mention:
I guess that Colt's revolvers whack
Their very first invention.

By Yankee Doodle, too, you're beat
Downright in Agriculture,

With his machine for reaping wheat,
Chawed up as by a vulture.

PUNCH.

You also fancied, in your pride,

Which truly is tarnation,

Them British locks of yourn defied

The rogues of all creation;

But Chubbs' and Bramah's Hobbs has picked,
And you must now be viewed all
As having been completely licked
By glorious Yankee Doodle.

THE SONG OF HIAWATHA.
(An English Criticism.)

You who hold in grace and honor,
Hold, as one who did you kindness
When he published former poems,
Sang Evangeline the noble,
Sang the golden Golden Legend,
Sang the songs the Voices utter
Crying in the night and darkness,
Sang how unto the Red Planet

Mars he gave the Night's First Watches,
Henry Wadsworth, whose adnomen
(Coming awkward, for the accents,
Into this his latest rhythm)
Write we as Protracted Fellow,
Or in Latin, Longus Comes-
Buy the Song of Hiawatha.

Should you ask me, By what story,
By what action, plot, or fiction,
All these matters are connected?
I should answer, I should tell you,
Go to Bogue and buy the poem,
Published neatly, at one shilling,
Published sweetly, at five shillings.
Should you ask me, Is there music
In the structure of the verses,
In the names and in the phrases?
Pleading that, like weaver Bottom,
You prefer your ears well-tickled;
I should answer, I should tell you,
Henry's verse is very charming;

PUNCH

And for names-there's Hiawatha,
Who's the hero of the poem ;

Mudjeekeewis, that's the West Wind,
Hiawatha's graceless father;

There's Nokomis, there's Wenonah-
Ladies both, of various merit;
Puggawangum, that's a war-club;
Pau-puk-keewis, he's a dandy,

"Barred with streaks of red and yellow;
And the women and the maidens
Love the handsome Pau-puk-keewis,"
Tracing in him Punch's likeness.
Then there's lovely Minnehaha-
Pretty name with pretty meaning-
It implies the Laughing-water;
And the darling Minnehaha
Married noble Hiawatha;

And her story's far too touching
To be sport for you, you donkey,
With your ears like weaver Bottom's,
Ears like booby Bully Bottom.

Once upon a time in London,
In the days of the Lyceum,
Ages ere keen Arnold let it

To the dreadful Northern Wizard,
Ages ere the buoyant Mathews
Tripped upon its boards in briskness-
I remember, I remember

How a scribe, with pen chivalrous,
Tried to save these Indian stories

From the fate of chill oblivion.

Out came sundry comic Indians
Of the tribe of Kut-an-hack-um.

With their Chief, the clean Efmatthews,
With the growling Downy Beaver,

With the valiant Monkey's Uncle,

Came the gracious Mari-Kee-lee,

Firing off a pocket-pistol,

Singing, too, that Mudjee-keewis

(Shortened in the song to "Wild Wind,")

Was a spirit very kindly.

Came her Sire, the joyous Kee-lee,

By the waning tribe adopted,

Named the Buffalo, and wedded
To the fairest of the maidens,
But repented of his bargain,
And his brother Kut-an-hack-ums
Very nearly chopped his toes off—
Serve him right, the fickle Kee-lee.
If you ask me, What this memory
Hath to do with Hiawatha,

And the poem which I speak of?
I should answer, I should tell you,
You're a fool, and most presumptuous;
'Tis not for such humble cattle

To inquire what links and unions
Join the thoughts, and mystic meanings,
Of their betters, mighty poets,
Mighty writers-Punch the mightiest ;
I should answer, I should tell you,
Shut your mouth, and go to David,
David, Mr. Punch's neighbor,

Buy the Song of Hiawatha,

Read, and learn, and then be thankful
Unto Punch and Henry Wadsworth,

Punch and noble Henry Wadsworth,

Truer poet, better fellow,

Than to be annoyed at jesting,

From his friend, great Punch, who loves him.

RHYME OF THE RAIL.

SAXE.

SINGING through the forests,

Rattling over ridges,

Shooting under arches,

Rumbling over bridges,

Whizzing through the mountains,

Buzzing o'er the vale,—
Bless me! this is pleasant,
Riding on the Rail!

Men of different "stations"
In the eye of Fame,
Here are very quickly

Coming to the same.

High and lowly people,

Birds of every feather, On a common level

Travelling together!

Gentleman in shorts,

Looming very tall;

Gentleman at large,

Talking very small;

Gentleman in tights,

With a loose-ish mien:

Gentleman in gray,

Looking rather green.

Gentleman quite old,

Asking for the news;
Gentleman in black,
In a fit of blues;
Gentleman in claret,
Sober as a vicar;
Gentleman in Tweed,

Dreadfully in liquor!

Stranger on the right,

Looking very sunny,

Obviously reading

Something rather funny. Now the smiles are thicker, Wonder what they mean? Faith, he's got the KNICKERBOCKER Magazine!

Stranger on the left,

Closing up his peepers,
Now he snores amain,

Like the Seven Sleepers;

At his feet a volume

Gives the explanation, How the man grew stupid

From "Association !"

Ancient maiden lady

Anxiously remarks,
That there must be peril

'Mong so many sparks;

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