A SCENE ON THE AUSTRIAN FRONTIER. PUNCH. "Dey must not pass!" was the warning cry of the Austrian sentinel To one whose little knapsack bore the books he loved so well "Thev must not pass? Now, wherefore not?" the wond'ring tourist cried; "No English book can pass mit me;" the sentinel replied. The tourist laughed a scornful laugh; quoth he, "Indeed, I hope There are few English books would please a Kaiser or a Pope; But these are books in common use: plain truths and facts they tell--" "Der Teufel! Den dey MOST NOT pass!" said the startled sentinel. "This Handbook to North Germany, by worthy Mr. MURRAY, Need scarcely put your government in such a mighty flurry; If tourists' handbooks be proscribed, pray have you ever tried To find a treasonable page in Bradshaws Railway Guide? This map, again, of Switzerland--nay, man, you needn't start or Look black at such a little map, as if't were Magna Charta; I know it is the land of TELL, but, curb your idle fury-- We've not the slightest hope, to-day, to find a TELL in your eye (Uri)." "Sturmwetter!" said the sentinel, "Come! cease dis idle babbles! Was ist dis oder book I see? Das Haus mit sieben Gabbles? I nevvare heard of him bifor, ver mosh I wish I had, For now Ich kann nicht let him pass, for fear he should be bad. Das Haus of Commons it must be; Ja wohl! 'tis so, and den Die Sieben Gabbles are de talk of your chief public men; Potzmiekchen! it is dreadful books. Ja! Ja! I know him well; Hoch Himmel! here he most not pass:" said the learned sentinel. "Dis PLATO, too, I ver mosh fear, he will corrupt the land, He has soch many long big words, Ich kann nicht onderstand." "My friend," the tourist said, "I fear you're really in the way to Quite change the proverb, and be friends will neither Truth nor PLATO. My books, 'tis true, are little worth, but they have served me long, And I regard the greatness less than the nature of the wrong; So, if the books must stay behind, I stay behind as well." "Es ist mir nichts, mein lieber Freund," said the courteous sentinel. ODE TO THE GREAT SEA-SERPENT ON HIS WONDERFUL REAPPEARANCE. PUNCH. From what abysses of the unfathom'd sea Turnest thou up, Great Serpent, now and then, If we may venture to believe in thee, And affidavits of sea-faring men? What whirlpool gulf to thee affords a home! Amid the unknown depths where dost thou dwell? If--like the mermaid, with her glass and comb-- Thou art not what the vulgar call a Sell. Art thou, indeed, a serpent and no sham? Or, if no serpent, a prodigious eel, An entity, though modified by flam, A basking shark, or monstrous kind of seal? I'll think that thou a true Ophidian art; I can not say a reptile of the deep, Because thou dost not play a reptile's part; Thou swimmest, it appears, and dost not creep.