Companion of my glad ascent, Mount Blanc I did with thy consent, And saw wide-spread the Continent, My Murray. Once, I could scarce walk up the Strand, What Jungfrau now could us withstand, When we are walking hand-in-hand, My Murray. But ah! too well some folk I know, Who friends on dusty shelves do throw,―― With us it never shall be so, My Murray. _Punch_, December 5, 1857. ――――:o:―――― MY NOSE. What leads me on where’er I go, In sun and shade, in joy and woe, Thro’ fog and tempest, rain and snow? My Nose. In youth’s most ardent reckless day, And when arose disputes at play, What would be foremost in the fray? My Nose. And should my tongue rude blows provoke, What would protrude and brave each stroke, Till coral streams its pains bespoke? My Nose. And falling in an airy bound, In chase of some new charm or sound, To save me――what came first to ground? My Nose. When some dark pass I would explore, With neither shut nor open door, What oft for me hard usage bore? My Nose. And when in want I yearn’d to eat, And hunger might my judgment cheat, What prompted me to food most sweet? My Nose. ’Mid violet banks and woodbine bowers, And beds where bloom’d the fairest flowers, What fed me with their fragrant powers? My Nose. Each eye may need in age a guide, And when young helpmates I provide, Thy back thou’lt lend for them to stride, My Nose. And can I or in care or glee, Refuse my aid and love to thee, Who thus has felt and bled for me, My Nose? No; when cold winter’s winds blow high, And bite thee hard and thou shalt cry, Thy tears with sympathy I’ll dry, My Nose. And if for snuff thy love shall come, Thy slaves, my finger and my thumb, Shall faithful be, and bear thee some, My Nose. Still as I follow thee along, Oh, mayst thou never lead me wrong! But thou must hush our sleeping song, My Nose! _Attempts in Verse_, by John Jones, an old Servant. (Edited by Robert Southey, poet laureate, 1831.) ――――:o:―――― MY PUNCH. Upon the express train of the Michigan Railway. February, 1864. Midnight. _Mercury at Zero._ What, in this far benighted West, Brings comfort to my lonely breast, And gives my life its sweetest zest? My Punch.