Hear the groaning in the Hells―― German Hells! Ev’ry coin in hope thrown down, Be it florin, thaler, crown, Is a groan. And the croupiers dressed in sable, Sitting down before the table, And who dealing, dealing, dealing, In that well-known monotone Coldly glory in the feeling That their human heart is stone! Green cloth their only scenery, They go by some machinery Without souls; And their master takes the tolls, While the ball it rolls and rolls, Rolls And rattles in the Hells. But his heart no longer swells At the Pæan of the Hells; For he hears above the echo of the Hells The knells, knells, knells, Of the Hells. In the fast approaching time, When ruin, lust, and crime Will be driven from the wells, In the downfall of the Hells―― Of the Hells, Hells, Hells, To the moaning and the groaning of the Hells! _The Tomahawk_, October 19, 1867. ――――:o:―――― CHRISTMAS FANCIES. Here is Christmas with its bills――Little Bills! ’Mid a world of merriment intruding with their ills. What a tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, At the area bell all day, They’re enough the brow to wrinkle Of a placid periwinkle, With their constant “Please to pay.” Coming time after time, Without reason, without rhyme, Holding long confabulations on the lowness of their tills; With their bills, bills, bills, bills! Bills, bills, bills, Oh, the worry and the scurry of the bills!