The Columbian Fountain

CORRESPONDENCE.

" How glorious is this invention of writing, where by we can easily communicate to our absent friends whatever may afford them pleasure or improvement!"

LEW, THE TIPPLER.

The story I tell is no fiction indeed,

"Tis as true as the Oregon line—

The scene is on Maryland avenue bridge-

The hour-a quarter past nine.

My hero, poor Lew, at a tippling shop

Had drank rather deep of good gin :

With such ballast on board and such a dark road,

His vessel he scarcely could trim:

He approaches the bridge and feels for a plank,

(The bridge is as broad as 'tis long,)

When this warning voice struck the drum of his ear:

"You're wrong, you're wrong, you're wrong."

"Botheration," cried Lew, " am I not in the track;

'Tis so dark and so dreary to-night:

I'll try it again, I'll turn to the left,'

When a shrill voice exclaimed, " You're right.'

Thus assured, Lew advanced to the left, as he said

But no foot-hold had he--so he fell-

His hat flying off, our hero's bare head

Stuck fast in the city canal.

Had he not been tipsy he surely had drowned.

And the fish on his flesh would have fed;

But he knew when he wanted to stand on his feet

He most surely would light on his head :

"Vice versa," said Lew, as he reasoned the case;

"I'm content to remain as I stick :"

When, instantly, down came his legs with a splash

And a noise like a thousand of brick.

Calmly he lay on the broad of his back,

With his nose and his mouth above water:

His spirits were high, tho' his body was low,

So he struck up, "Sweet Araby's Daughter.'

That " music hath charms" has often been said;

Not so thought the Frogs in the pool

For they caper'd and jumped as if they were mad,

More swift than the bow of Ole Bull—

Consternation had seized the whole frog crew.

For they jumped to the North and the South;

And a young one, whose efforts were bent on escape

Fell plump in our songster's wide mouth.

Many a beautiful song has been spoiled

By neglecting a stop, or a note;

But all will confess 'tis a difficult thing

To sing with a frog in the throat.

Thus was it with Lew, for he strained and he kicked.

His breathing grew painful and hard.

" Help, help," loud he cried, when quick by his side

Stood Goddard's Auxiliary Guard ;

With spontoons they pried him out of "his hole.'

He looked like the picture of sorrow :

Besmeared and wet. he trudged his way home

To reflect on his conduct the morrow.

Persons who live in that neighborhood say,

Since the night of the splash and the song

That the frogs and the tadpoles have all gone away

With you're right, you're wrong, you're wrong.

GRUNTER.

Capitol Hill.