To The Rev. A. A. In The Country From His Friend In London.

(AFTER HEINE.) Thou little village curate, Come quick, and do not wait; We'll sit and talk together, So sweetly tete-a-tete. Oh do not fear the railway Because it seems so big— Dost thou not daily trust thee Unto thy little gig. This house is full of painters, And half shut up and black; But rooms the very snuggest Lie hidden at the back. Come! come! come!