What is the German’s Fatherland? 
  Tell me at length that mighty land,
  ’Tis there where German accents raise,
  To God in heaven their songs of praise. 
          That shall it be
          That German is the home for thee.

  This is the German’s Fatherland,
  Where vows are sworn by press of hand,
  Where truth in every forehead shines,
  Where charity the heart inclines. 
          This shall it be,
          This German is the home for thee.

  This is the German’s Fatherland,
  Which Gallic vices dares withstand,
  As enemies the wicked names,
  Admits the good to friendship’s claims. 
          This shall it be,
          This German is the home for thee.

God! this for Fatherland we own,
Look down on us from heaven’s high throne,
And give us ancient German spirit,
Its truth and valour to inherit. 
This shall it be,
The whole united Germany.

H.

Of the author of this song some account was given in a preceding number of the Mirror.  It was written on the same occasion as the Patriot’s Call, when Napoleon invaded Germany, and was intended to tranquillize all petty feelings of jealousy between the separate German states.  The translator believes that Messrs. Treuttel and Wuertz published this song in an English dress some few years since; he has, however, never seen a copy of that work.

    [1] We suspect this to be the burthen of a beautiful Quintett which
        we heard sung thrice the other evening at Covent Garden
        Theatre, in Mr. Planche’s pleasing “Romance of a Day.”—­ED.

    [2] Emperor of Austria.

* * * * *

THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.

* * * * *

PLUNDER OF A SPANISH DILIGENCE.

(From the “Quarterly” Review, of “A Year in Spain.”  Unpublished.)

The author takes his seat about two in the morning in the cabriolet or front part of a diligence from Tarragona, and gives many amusing particulars concerning his fellow travellers, who, one after another, all surrender themselves to slumber.  Thus powerfully invited by the examples of those near him, the lieutenant catches the drowsy infection, and having nestled snugly into his corner, soon loses entirely the realities of existence “in that mysterious state which Providence has provided as a cure for every ill.”  In short, he is indulged with a dream, which transports him into the midst of his own family circle beyond the Atlantic; but from this comfortable and sentimental nap he is soon aroused by the sudden stopping of the diligence, and a loud clamour all about him.