Chapter XXIV: Part II (6)

A rollicking Mastodon lived in Spain,
In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree.
His face was plain, but his jocular vein
Was a burst of the wildest glee.
His voice was strong and his laugh so long
That people came many a mile,
And offered to pay a guinea a day
For the fractional part of a smile.

The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide--
Indeed, 'twas a matter of family pride;
And oh! so proud of his jocular vein
Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

The Rollicking Mastodon said one day,
"I feel that I need some air,
For a little ozone's a tonic for bones,
As well as a gloss for the hair."
So he skipped along and warbled a song
In his own triumphulant way.
His smile was bright and his skip was light
As he chirruped his roundelay.

The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along,
And sang what Mastodons call a song;
But every note of it seemed to pain
The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

A Little Peetookle came over the hill,
Dressed up in a bollitant coat;
And he said, "You need some harroway seed,
And a little advice for your throat."
The Mastodon smiled and said, "My child,
There's a chance for your taste to grow.
If you polish your mind, you'll certainly find
How little, how little you know."

The Little Peetookle, his teeth he ground
At the Mastodon's singular sense of sound;
For he felt it a sort of a musical stain
On the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

"Alas! and alas! has it come to this pass?"
Said the Little Peetookle. "Dear me!
It certainly seems your horrible screams
Intended for music must be!"
The Mastodon stopped, his ditty he dropped,
And murmured, "Good morning, my dear!
I never will sing to a sensitive thing
That shatters a song with a sneer!"

The Rollicking Mastodon bade him "adieu."
Of course 'twas a sensible thing to do;
For Little Peetookle is spared the strain
Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

_Arthur Macy._

_NONSENSE VERSES_

THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE

I'd Never Dare to Walk across
A Bridge I Could Not See;
For Quite afraid of Falling off,
I fear that I Should Be!

THE LAZY ROOF

The Roof it has a Lazy Time
A-lying in the Sun;
The Walls they have to Hold Him Up;
They do Not Have Much Fun!

MY FEET

My feet, they haul me Round the House,
They Hoist me up the Stairs;
I only have to Steer them and
They Ride me Everywheres.

_Gelett Burgess._

SPIRK TROLL-DERISIVE

The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon,
And wistfully gazed on the sea
Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune
To the air of "Ti-fol-de-ding-dee."
The quavering shriek of the Fliupthecreek
Was fitfully wafted afar
To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek
With the pulverized rays of a star.

The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig,
And his heart it grew heavy as lead
As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wig
On the opposite side of his head;
And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill
Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies
To plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill
To pick the tears out of his eyes.

The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance;
And the Squidjum hid under a tub
As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance
With a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub dub!
And the Crankadox cried as he laid down and died,
"My fate there is none to bewail!"
While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide
With a long piece of crape to her tail.

_James Whitcomb Riley._

THE MAN IN THE MOON

Said the Raggedy Man on a hot afternoon,
"My!
Sakes!
What a lot o' mistakes
Some little folks makes on the Man in the Moon
But people that's been up to see him like Me,
And calls on him frequent and intimutly,
Might drop a few hints that would interest you
Clean!
Through!
If you wanted 'em to--
Some actual facts that might interest you!

"O the Man in the Moon has a crick in his back
Whee!
Whimm!
Ain't you sorry for him?
And a mole on his nose that is purple and black;
And his eyes are so weak that they water and run
If he dares to _dream_ even he looks at the sun,--
So he jes' dreams of stars, as the doctor's advise--
My!
Eyes!
But isn't he wise--
To jes' dream of stars, as the doctors advise?

"And the Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear--
Whee!
Whing!
What a singular thing!
I know! but these facts are authentic, my dear,--
There's a boil on his ear; and a corn on his chin,--
He calls it a dimple,--but dimples stick in,--
Yet it might be a dimple turned over, you know!
Whang!
Ho!
Why certainly so!--
It might be a dimple turned over, you know!

"And the Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee,
Gee!
Whizz!
What a pity that is!
And his toes have worked round where his heels ought to be.
So whenever he wants to go North he goes South,
And comes back with porridge crumbs all round his mouth,
And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan,
Whing!
Whann!
What a marvellous man!
What a very remarkably marvellous man!

"And the Man in the Moon," sighed the Raggedy Man,
"Gits!
So!
Sullonesome, you know!
Up there by himself since creation began!--
That when I call on him and then come away,
He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay,--
Till--well, if it wasn't for _Jimmy-cum-Jim_,
Dadd!
Limb!
I'd go pardners with him!
Jes' jump my bob here and be pardners with him!"

_James Whitcomb Riley._

THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG

Out on the margin of moonshine land, Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, Out where the whing-whang loves to stand Writing his name with his tail on the sand, And wiping it out with his oogerish hand; Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

Is it the gibber of gungs and keeks? Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, Or what _is_ the sound the whing-whang seeks, Crouching low by the winding creeks, And holding his breath for weeks and weeks? Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things! Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, 'Tis a fair whing-whangess with phosphor rings, And bridal jewels of fangs and stings, And she sits and as sadly and softly sings As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings; Tickle me, dear; tickle me here; Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

_James Whitcomb Riley._

THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO

I

On the Coast of Coromandel
Where the early pumpkins blow,
In the middle of the woods
Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
Two old chairs, and half a candle,
One old jug without a handle,--
These were all his worldly goods:
In the middle of the woods,
These were all the worldly goods
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

II

Once, among the Bong-trees walking
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To a little heap of stones
Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
There he heard a Lady talking,
To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,
"'Tis the Lady Jingly Jones!
On that little heap of stones
Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!"
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

III

"Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!
Sitting where the pumpkins blow,
Will you come and be my wife?"
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
"I am tired of living singly,--
On this coast so wild and shingly,--
I'm a-weary of my life;
If you'll come and be my wife,
Quite serene would be my life!"
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

IV

"On this Coast of Coromandel
Shrimps and watercresses grow,
Prawns are plentiful and cheap,"
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
"You shall have my chairs and candle,
And my jug without a handle!
Gaze upon the rolling deep
(Fish is plentiful and cheap):
As the sea, my love is deep!"
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

V

Lady Jingly answered sadly,
And her tears began to flow,--
"Your proposal comes too late,
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
I would be your wife most gladly!"
(Here she twirled her fingers madly,)
"But in England I've a mate!
Yes! you've asked me far too late,
For in England I've a mate,
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

VI

"Mr. Jones (his name is Handel,--
Handel Jones, Esquire & Co.)
Dorking fowls delights to send,
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
Keep, oh, keep your chairs and candle,
And your jug without a handle,--
I can merely be your friend!
Should my Jones more Dorkings send,
I will give you three, my friend!
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

VII

"Though you've such a tiny body,
And your head so large doth grow,--
Though your hat may blow away,
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy,
Yet I wish that I could modi-
fy the words I needs must say!
Will you please to go away?
That is all I have to say,
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!"

VIII

Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To the calm and silent sea
Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle,
Lay a large and lively Turtle.
"You're the Cove," he said, "for me:
On your back beyond the sea,
Turtle, you shall carry me!"
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

IX

Through the silent roaring ocean
Did the Turtle swiftly go;
Holding fast upon his shell
Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
With a sad primæval motion
Toward the sunset isles of Boshen
Still the Turtle bore him well,
Holding fast upon his shell.
"Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!"
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

X

From the Coast of Coromandel
Did that Lady never go,
On that heap of stones she mourns
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
On that Coast of Coromandel,
In his jug without a handle
Still she weeps, and daily moans;
On the little heap of stones
To her Dorking Hens she moans,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

_Edward Lear._

THE JUMBLIES

I

They went to sea in a sieve, they did; In a sieve they went to sea: In spite of all their friends could say, On a winter's morn, on a stormy day, In a sieve they went to sea. And when the sieve turned round and round, And every one cried, "You'll all be drowned!" They called aloud, "Our sieve ain't big; But we don't care a button, we don't care a fig: In a sieve we'll go to sea!" Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live; Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.

II

They sailed away in a sieve, they did,
In a sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a ribbon by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast.
And every one said who saw them go,
"Oh! won't they soon be upset, you know?
For the sky is dark and the voyage is long,
And, happen what may, it's extremely wrong
In a sieve to sail so fast."
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green and their hands are blue;
And they went to sea in a sieve.

III

The water it soon came in, it did;
The water it soon came in:
So, to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat;
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar;
And each of them said, "How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our sieve we spin."
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green and their hands are blue;
And they went to sea in a sieve.

IV

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
"O Timballoo! How happy we are
When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar!
And all night long, in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail
In the shade of the mountains brown."
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;
And they went to sea in a sieve.

V

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,--
To a land all covered with trees;
And they bought an owl and a useful cart,
And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart,
And a hive of silvery bees;
And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws,
And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree,
And no end of Stilton cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;
And they went to sea in a sieve.

VI

And in twenty years they all came back,--
In twenty years or more;
And every one said, "How tall they've grown!
For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore."
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast--
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, "If we only live,
We, too, will go to sea in a sieve,
To the hills of the Chankly Bore."
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue;
And they went to sea in a sieve.

_Edward Lear._

THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES

The Pobble who has no toes Had once as many as we; When they said, "Some day you may lose them all," He replied, "Fish fiddle de-dee!" And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink Lavender water tinged with pink; For she said, "The World in general knows There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!"

The Pobble who has no toes Swam across the Bristol Channel; But before he set out he wrapped his nose In a piece of scarlet flannel. For his Aunt Jobiska said, "No harm Can came to his toes if his nose is warm; And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes Are safe--provided he minds his nose."

The Pobble swam fast and well, And when boats or ships came near him, He tinkledy-binkledy-winkled a bell So that all the world could hear him. And all the Sailors and Admirals cried, When they saw him nearing the farther side, "He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!"

But before he touched the shore-- The shore of the Bristol Channel, A sea-green Porpoise carried away His wrapper of scarlet flannel. And when he came to observe his feet, Formerly garnished with toes so neat, His face at once became forlorn On perceiving that all his toes were gone!

And nobody ever knew, From that dark day to the present, Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes, In a manner so far from pleasant. Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray, Or crafty mermaids stole them away, Nobody knew; and nobody knows How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!

The Pobble who has no toes Was placed in a friendly Bark, And they rowed him back and carried him up To his Aunt Jobiska's Park. And she made him a feast at his earnest wish, Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish; And she said, "It's a fact the whole world knows, That Pobbles are happier without their toes."

_Edward Lear._

THE NEW VESTMENTS

There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess, Who invented a purely original dress; And when it was perfectly made and complete, He opened the door and walked into the street.

By way of a hat he'd a loaf of Brown Bread, In the middle of which he inserted his head; His Shirt was made up of no end of dead Mice, The warmth of whose skins was quite fluffy and nice; His Drawers were of Rabbit-skins, so were his Shoes, His Stockings were skins, but it is not known whose; His Waistcoat and Trowsers were made of Pork Chops; His Buttons were Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.

His Coat was all Pancakes with Jam for a border, And a girdle of Biscuits to keep it in order. And he wore over all, as a screen from bad weather, A Cloak of green Cabbage leaves, stitched all together.

He had walked a short way, when he heard a great noise Of all sorts of Beasticles, Birdlings and Boys; And from every long street and dark lane in the town Beasts, Birdies and Boys in a tumult rushed down. Two Cows and a Calf ate his Cabbage leaf Cloak; Four Apes seized his girdle which vanished like smoke; Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat, And the tails were devoured by an ancient He Goat. An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore _up_ his Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies; And while they were growling and mumbling the Chops Ten Boys prigged the Jujubes and Chocolate Drops. He tried to run back to his house, but in vain, For scores of fat Pigs came again and again; They rushed out of stables and hovels and doors, They tore off his Stockings, his Shoes and his Drawers. And now from the housetops with screechings descend Striped, spotted, white, black and grey Cats without end; They jumped on his shoulders and knocked off his hat, When Crows, Ducks and Hens made a mincemeat of that. They speedily flew at his sleeves in a trice And utterly tore up his Shirt of dead Mice; They swallowed the last of his Shirt with a squall,-- Whereon he ran home with no clothes on at all. And he said to himself as he bolted the door, "I will not wear a similar dress any more, Any more, any more, any more, nevermore!"

_Edward Lear._

THE TWO OLD BACHELORS

Two old Bachelors were living in one house; One caught a Muffin, the other caught a Mouse. Said he who caught the Muffin to him who caught the Mouse, "This happens just in time, for we've nothing in the house, Save a tiny slice of lemon and a teaspoonful of honey, And what to do for dinner,--since we haven't any money? And what can we expect if we haven't any dinner But to lose our teeth and eyelashes and keep on growing thinner?"

Said he who caught the Mouse to him who caught the Muffin, "We might cook this little Mouse if we only had some Stuffin'! If we had but Sage and Onions we could do extremely well, But how to get that Stuffin' it is difficult to tell!"

And then those two old Bachelors ran quickly to the town And asked for Sage and Onions as they wandered up an down; They borrowed two large Onions, but no Sage was to be found In the Shops or in the Market or in all the Gardens round.

But some one said, "A hill there is, a little to the north, And to its purpledicular top a narrow way leads forth; And there among the rugged rocks abides an ancient Sage,-- An earnest Man, who reads all day a most perplexing page. Climb up and seize him by the toes,--all studious as he sits,-- And pull him down, and chop him into endless little bits! Then mix him with your Onion (cut up likewise into scraps), And your Stuffin' will be ready, and very good--perhaps."

And then those two old Bachelors, without loss of time, The nearly purpledicular crags at once began to climb; And at the top among the rocks, all seated in a nook, They saw that Sage a-reading of a most enormous book. "You earnest Sage!" aloud they cried, "your book you've read enough in! We wish to chop you into bits and mix you into Stuffin'!"

But that old Sage looked calmly up, and with his awful book At those two Bachelors' bald heads a certain aim he took; And over crag and precipice they rolled promiscuous down,-- At once they rolled, and never stopped in lane or field or town; And when they reached their house, they found (besides their want of Stuffin') The Mouse had fled--and previously had eaten up the Muffin.

They left their home in silence by the once convivial door; And from that hour those Bachelors were never heard of more.

_Edward Lear._

JABBERWOCKY

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought.
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through, and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh, frabjous day! Callooh! callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves
And the mome raths outgrabe.

_Lewis Carroll._

WAYS AND MEANS

I'll tell thee everything I can;
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.
"Who are you, aged man?" I said,
"And how is it you live?"
His answer trickled through my head
Like water through a sieve.

He said, "I look for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton-pies,
And sell them in the street.
I sell them unto men," he said,
"Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread--
A trifle, if you please."

But I was thinking of a plan
To dye one's whiskers green,
And always use so large a fan
That they could not be seen.
So, having no reply to give
To what the old man said,
I cried, "Come, tell me how you live!"
And thumped him on the head.

His accents mild took up the tale;
He said, "I go my ways
And when I find a mountain-rill
I set it in a blaze;
And thence they make a stuff they call
Rowland's Macassar Oil--
Yet twopence-halfpenny is all
They give me for my toil."

But I was thinking of a way
To feed oneself on batter,
And so go on from day to day
Getting a little fatter.
I shook him well from side to side,
Until his face was blue;
"Come, tell me how you live," I cried,
"And what it is you do!"

He said, "I hunt for haddock's eyes
Among the heather bright,
And work them into waistcoat-buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold
Or coin of silvery shine,
But for a copper halfpenny
And that will purchase nine.

"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs;
I sometimes search the grassy knolls
For wheels of Hansom cabs.
And that's the way" (he gave a wink)
"By which I get my wealth--
And very gladly will I drink
Your Honor's noble health."

I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai Bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I thanked him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for his wish that he
Might drink my noble health.

And now if e'er by chance I put My fingers into glue, Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot Into a left-hand shoe, Or if I drop upon my toe A very heavy weight, I weep, for it reminds me so Of that old man I used to know-- Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow, Whose hair was whiter than the snow, Whose face was very like a crow, With eyes, like cinders, all aglow, Who seemed distracted with his woe, Who rocked his body to and fro, And muttered mumblingly, and low, As if his mouth were full of dough, Who snorted like a buffalo-- That summer evening, long ago, A-sitting on a gate.

_Lewis Carroll._

HUMPTY DUMPTY'S RECITATION

"In winter, when the fields are white, I sing this song for your delight----

"In spring, when woods are getting green, I'll try and tell you what I mean:"

"In summer, when the days are long, Perhaps you'll understand the song:

In autumn, when the leaves are brown, Take pen and ink, and write it down."

"I sent a message to the fish: I told them 'This is what I wish.'

The little fishes of the sea, They sent an answer back to me.

The little fishes' answer was, 'We cannot do it, Sir, because----'"

"I sent to them again to say 'It will be better to obey.'

The fishes answered, with a grin, 'Why, what a temper you are in!'

I told them once, I told them twice: They would not listen to advice.

I took a kettle large and new, Fit for the deed I had to do.

My heart went hop, my heart went thump: I filled the kettle at the pump.

Then some one came to me and said, 'The little fishes are in bed.'

I said to him, I said it plain, 'Then you must wake them up again.'

I said it very loud and clear: I went and shouted in his ear.

But he was very stiff and proud: He said, 'You needn't shout so loud!'

And he was very proud and stiff: He said, 'I'd go and wake them, if----'

I took a corkscrew from the shelf: I went to wake them up myself.

And when I found the door was locked, I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked.

And when I found the door was shut, I tried to turn the handle, but----"

_Lewis Carroll._

SOME HALLUCINATIONS

He thought he saw an Elephant,
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
"At length I realise," he said,
"The bitterness of Life!"

He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sister's Husband's Niece.
"Unless you leave this house," he said,
"I'll send for the Police!"

He thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
"The one thing I regret," he said,
"Is that it cannot speak!"

He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
Descending from the 'bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus:
"If this should stay to dine," he said,
"There won't be much for us!"

He thought he saw an Albatross
That fluttered round the lamp:
He looked again, and found it was
A Penny-Postage-Stamp.
"You'd best be getting home," he said;
"The nights are very damp!"

He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
"Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed!"

He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
"Were I to swallow this," he said,
"I should be very ill!"

_Lewis Carroll._

SING FOR THE GARISH EYE

Sing for the garish eye,
When moonless brandlings cling!
Let the froddering crooner cry,
And the braddled sapster sing.
For never, and never again,
Will the tottering beechlings play,
For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
And the throngers croon in May!

The wracking globe unstrung,
Unstrung in the frittering light
Of a moon that knows no day,
Of a day that knows no night!
Diving away in the crowd
Of sparkling frets in spray,
The bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
And the throngers croon in May!

Hasten, O hapful blue,
Blue, of the shimmering brow,
Hasten the deed to do
That shall roddle the welkin now!
For never again shall a cloud
Out-thribble the babbling day,
When bratticed wrackers are singing aloud,
And the throngers croon in May!

_W. S. Gilbert._

THE SHIPWRECK

Upon the poop the captain stands, As starboard as may be; And pipes on deck the topsail hands To reef the topsail-gallant strands Across the briny sea.

"Ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!" The captain loudly cried; "Ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay! For we must luff for Falmouth Bay Before to-morrow's tide."

The good ship was a racing yawl, A spare-rigged schooner sloop, Athwart the bows the taffrails all In grummets gay appeared to fall, To deck the mainsail poop.

But ere they made the Foreland Light, And Deal was left behind, The wind it blew great gales that night, And blew the doughty captain tight, Full three sheets in the wind.

And right across the tiller head The horse it ran apace, Whereon a traveller hitched and sped Along the jib and vanished To heave the trysail brace.

What ship could live in such a sea? What vessel bear the shock? "Ho! starboard port your helm-a-lee! Ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree, With many a running block!"

And right upon the Scilly Isles The ship had run aground; When lo! the stalwart Captain Giles Mounts up upon the gaff and smiles, And slews the compass round.

"Saved! saved!" with joy the sailors cry, And scandalize the skiff; As taut and hoisted high and dry They see the ship unstoppered lie Upon the sea-girt cliff.

And since that day in Falmouth Bay, As herring-fishers trawl, The younkers hear the boatswains say How Captain Giles that awful day Preserved the sinking yawl.

_E. H. Palmer._

UFFIA

When sporgles spanned the floreate mead
And cogwogs gleet upon the lea,
Uffia gopped to meet her love
Who smeeged upon the equat sea.

Dately she walked aglost the sand;
The boreal wind seet in her face;
The moggling waves yalped at her feet;
Pangwangling was her pace.

_Harriet R. White._

'TIS SWEET TO ROAM

'Tis sweet to roam when morning's light
Resounds across the deep;
And the crystal song of the woodbine bright
Hushes the rocks to sleep,
And the blood-red moon in the blaze of noon
Is bathed in a crumbling dew,
And the wolf rings out with a glittering shout,
To-whit, to-whit, to-whoo!

_Unknown._

THREE JOVIAL HUNTSMEN

There were three jovial huntsmen,
As I have heard them say,
And they would go a-hunting
All on a summer's day.

All the day they hunted,
And nothing could they find
But a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing with the wind.

One said it was a ship,
The other said Nay;
The third said it was a house
With the chimney blown away.

And all the night they hunted,
And nothing could they find;
But the moon a-gliding,
A-gliding with the wind.

One said it was the moon,
The other said Nay;
The third said it was a cheese,
And half o't cut away.

_Unknown._

KING ARTHUR

When good King Arthur ruled the land,
He was a goodly king:
He stole three pecks of barley meal,
To make a bag-pudding.

A bag-pudding the king did make,
And stuffed it well with plums;
And in it put great lumps of fat,
As big as my two thumbs.

The king and queen did eat thereof,
And noblemen beside;
And what they could not eat that night,
The queen next morning fried.

_Unknown._

HYDER IDDLE

Hyder iddle diddle dell, A yard of pudding is not an ell; Not forgetting tweedle-dye, A tailor's goose will never fly.

_Unknown._

THE OCEAN WANDERER

Bright breaks the warrior o'er the ocean wave Through realms that rove not, clouds that cannot save, Sinks in the sunshine; dazzles o'er the tomb And mocks the mutiny of Memory's gloom. Oh! who can feel the crimson ecstasy That soothes with bickering jar the Glorious Tree? O'er the high rock the foam of gladness throws, While star-beams lull Vesuvius to repose: Girds the white spray, and in the blue lagoon, Weeps like a walrus o'er the waning moon? Who can declare?--not thou, pervading boy Whom pibrochs pierce not, crystals cannot cloy;-- Not thou soft Architect of silvery gleams, Whose soul would simmer in Hesperian streams, Th' exhaustless fire--the bosom's azure bliss, That hurtles, life-like, o'er a scene like this;-- Defies the distant agony of Day-- And sweeps o'er hecatombs--away! away! Say shall Destruction's lava load the gale, The furnace quiver and the mountain quail? Say shall the son of Sympathy pretend His cedar fragrance with our Chief's to blend? There, where the gnarled monuments of sand Howl their dark whirlwinds to the levin brand; Conclusive tenderness; fraternal grog, Tidy conjunction; adamantine bog, Impetuous arrant toadstool; Thundering quince, Repentant dog-star, inessential Prince, Expound. Pre-Adamite eventful gun, Crush retribution, currant-jelly, pun, Oh! eligible Darkness, fender, sting, Heav'n-born Insanity, courageous thing. Intending, bending, scouring, piercing all, Death like pomatum, tea, and crabs must fall.

_Unknown._

SCIENTIFIC PROOF

If we square a lump of pemmican
And cube a pot of tea,
Divide a musk ox by the span
From noon to half-past three;
If we calculate the Eskimo
By solar parallax,
Divide the sextant by a floe
And multiply the cracks
By nth-powered igloos, we may prove
All correlated facts.

If we prolongate the parallel
Indefinitely forth,
And cube a sledge till we can tell
The real square root of North;
Bisect a seal and bifurcate
The tangent with a pack
Of Polar ice, we get the rate
Along the Polar track,
And proof of corollary things
Which otherwise we lack.

If we multiply the Arctic night
By X times ox times moose,
And build an igloo on the site
Of its hypotenuse;
If we circumscribe an arc about
An Arctic dog and weigh
A segment of it, every doubt
Is made as clear as day.
We also get the price of ice
F. O. B. Baffin's Bay.

If we amplify the Arctic breeze
By logarithmic signs,
And run through the isosceles
Imaginary lines,
We find that twice the half of one
Is equal to the whole.
Which, when the calculus is done,
Quite demonstrates the Pole.
It also gives its length and breadth
And what's the price of coal.

_J. W. Foley._

THE THINGUMBOB

A PASTEL

The Thingumbob sat at eventide,
On the shore of a shoreless sea,
Expecting an unexpected attack
From something it could not foresee.

A still calm rests on the angry waves,
The low wind whistles a mournful tune,
And the Thingumbob sighs to himself, "Alas,
I've had no supper now since noon."

_Unknown._

WONDERS OF NATURE

Ah! who has seen the mailèd lobster rise, Clap her broad wings, and, soaring, claim the skies? When did the owl, descending from her bower, Crop, 'midst the fleecy flocks, the tender flower; Or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb, In the salt wave, and, fish-like, try to swim? The same with plants, potatoes 'tatoes breed, The costly cabbage springs from cabbage-seed; Lettuce to lettuce, leeks to leeks succeed; Nor e'er did cooling cucumbers presume To flower like myrtle, or like violets bloom.

_The Anti-Jacobin._

LINES BY AN OLD FOGY

I'm thankful that the sun and moon Are both hung up so high, That no presumptuous hand can stretch And pull them from the sky. If they were not, I have no doubt But some reforming ass Would recommend to take them down And light the world with gas.

_Unknown._

A COUNTRY SUMMER PASTORAL

As written by a learned scholar of the city from knowledge derived from etymological deductions rather than from actual experience.

I would flee from the city's rule and law,
From its fashion and form cut loose,
And go where the strawberry grows on its straw,
And the gooseberry on its goose;
Where the catnip tree is climbed by the cat
As she crouches for her prey--
The guileless and unsuspecting rat
On the rattan bush at play.

I will watch at ease for the saffron cow
And the cowlet in their glee,
As they leap in joy from bough to bough
On the top of the cowslip tree;
Where the musical partridge drums on his drum,
And the dog devours the dogwood plum
And the wood chuck chucks his wood,
In the primitive solitude.

And then to the whitewashed dairy I'll turn,
Where the dairymaid hastening hies,
Her ruddy and golden-haired butter to churn
From the milk of her butterflies;
And I'll rise at morn with the early bird,
To the fragrant farm-yard pass,
When the farmer turns his beautiful herd
Of grasshoppers out to grass.

_Unknown._

TURVEY TOP

'Twas after a supper of Norfolk brawn
That into a doze I chanced to drop,
And thence awoke in the grey of dawn,
In the wonder-land of Turvey Top.

A land so strange I never had seen,
And could not choose but look and laugh--
A land where the small the great includes,
And the whole is less than the half!

A land where the circles were not lines
Round central points, as schoolmen show,
And the parallels met whenever they chose,
And went playing at touch-and-go!

There--except that every round was square,
And save that all the squares were rounds--
No surface had limits anywhere,
So they never could beat the bounds.

In their gardens, fruit before blossom came,
And the trees diminished as they grew;
And you never went out to walk a mile,
It was the mile that walked to you.

The people there are not tall or short,
Heavy or light, or stout or thin,
And their lives begin where they should leave off,
Or leave off where they should begin.

There childhood, with naught of childish glee,
Looks on the world with thoughtful brow;
'Tis only the aged who laugh and crow,
And cry "We have done with it now!";

A singular race! what lives they spent!
Got up before they went to bed!
And never a man said what he meant,
Or a woman meant what she said.

They blended colours that will not blend,
All hideous contrasts voted sweet;
In yellow and red their Quakers dress'd,
And considered it rather neat.

They didn't believe in the wise and good,
Said the best were worst, the wisest fools;
And 'twas only to have their teachers taught
That they founded national schools.

They read in "books that are no books,"
Their classics--chess-boards neatly bound;
Those their greatest authors who never wrote,
And their deepest the least profound.

Now, such were the folks of that wonder-land,
A curious people, as you will own;
But are there none of the race abroad,
Are no specimens elsewhere known?

Well, I think that he whose views of life
Are crooked, wrong, perverse, and odd,
Who looks upon all with jaundiced eyes--
Sees himself and believes it God,

Who sneers at the good, and makes the ill,
Curses a world he cannot mend;
Who measures life by the rule of wrong
And abuses its aim and end,

The man who stays when he ought to move,
And only goes when he ought to stop--
Is strangely like the folk in my dream,
And would flourish in Turvey Top.

_William Sawyer._

A BALLAD OF BEDLAM

O lady wake!--the azure moon
Is rippling in the verdant skies,
The owl is warbling his soft tune,
Awaiting but thy snowy eyes.
The joys of future years are past,
To-morrow's hopes have fled away;
Still let us love, and e'en at last,
We shall be happy yesterday.

The early beam of rosy night
Drives off the ebon morn afar,
While through the murmur of the light
The huntsman winds his mad guitar.
Then, lady, wake! my brigantine
Pants, neighs, and prances to be free;
Till the creation I am thine.
To some rich desert fly with me.

_Unknown._

XIV

NATURAL HISTORY

THE FASTIDIOUS SERPENT

There was a snake that dwelt in Skye,
Over the misty sea, oh;
He lived upon nothing but gooseberry pie
For breakfast, dinner and tea, oh.

Now gooseberry pie--as is very well known,--
Over the misty sea, oh,
Is not to be found under every stone,
Nor yet upon every tree, oh.

And being so ill to please with his meat,
Over the misty sea, oh;
The snake had sometimes nothing to eat,
And an angry snake was he, oh.

Then he'd flick his tongue and his head he'd shake,
Over the misty sea, oh,
Crying, "Gooseberry pie! For goodness' sake,
Some gooseberry pie for me, oh."

And if gooseberry pie was not to be had,
Over the misty sea, oh,
He'd twine and twist like an eel gone mad,
Or a worm just stung by a bee, oh.

But though he might shout and wriggle about,
Over the misty sea, oh,
The snake had often to go without
His breakfast, dinner and tea, oh.

_Henry Johnstone._

THE LEGEND OF THE FIRST CAM-U-EL

AN ARABIAN APOLOGUE

Across the sands of Syria,
Or, possibly, Algeria,
Or some benighted neighbourhood of barrenness and drouth,
There came the Prophet Sam-u-el
Upon the Only Cam-u-el--
A bumpy, grumpy Quadruped of discontented mouth.

The atmosphere was glutinous;
The Cam-u-el was mutinous;
He dumped the pack from off his back; with horrid grunts and squeals
He made the desert hideous;
With strategy perfidious
He tied his neck in curlicues, he kicked his paddy heels.

Then quoth the gentle Sam-u-el,
"You rogue, I ought to lam you well!
Though zealously I've shielded you from every grief and woe,
It seems, to voice a platitude,
You haven't any gratitude.
I'd like to hear what cause you have for doing thus and so!"

To him replied the Cam-u-el,
"I beg your pardon, Sam-u-el.
I know that I'm a Reprobate, I know that I'm a Freak;
But, oh! this utter loneliness!
My too-distinguished Onliness!
Were there but other Cam-u-els I wouldn't be Unique."

The Prophet beamed beguilingly.
"Aha," he answered, smilingly,
"You feel the need of company? I clearly understand.
We'll speedily create for you
The corresponding mate for you--
Ho! presto, change-o, dinglebat!"--he waved a potent hand,

And, lo! from out Vacuity
A second Incongruity,
To wit, a Lady Cam-u-el was born through magic art.
Her structure anatomical,
Her form and face were comical;
She was, in short, a Cam-u-el, the other's counterpart.

As Spaniards gaze on Aragon,
Upon that Female Paragon
So gazed the Prophet's Cam-u-el, that primal Desert Ship.
A connoisseur meticulous,
He found her that ridiculous
He grinned from ear to auricle _until he split his lip_!

Because of his temerity
That Cam-u-el's posterity
Must wear divided upper lips through all their solemn lives!
A prodigy astonishing
Reproachfully admonishing
Those, wicked, heartless married men who ridicule their wives.

_Arthur Guiterman._

UNSATISFIED YEARNING

Down in the silent hallway
Scampers the dog about,
And whines, and barks, and scratches,
In order to get out.

Once in the glittering starlight,
He straightway doth begin
To set up a doleful howling
In order to get in.

_R. K. Munkittrick._

KINDLY ADVICE

Be kind to the panther! for when thou wert young,
In thy country far over the sea,
'Twas a panther ate up thy papa and mama,
And had several mouthfuls of thee!

Be kind to the badger! for who shall decide
The depth of his badgery soul?
And think of the tapir, when flashes the lamp
O'er the fast and the free flowing bowl.

Be kind to the camel! nor let word of thine
Ever put up his bactrian back;
And cherish the she-kangaroo with her bag,
Nor venture to give her the sack.

Be kind to the ostrich! for how canst thou hope
To have such a stomach as it?
And when the proud day of your "bridal" shall come,
Do give the poor birdie a "bit."

Be kind to the walrus! nor ever forget
To have it on Tuesday to tea;
But butter the crumpets on only one side,
Save such as are eaten by thee.

Be kind to the bison! and let the jackal
In the light of thy love have a share;
And coax the ichneumon to grow a new tail,
And have lots of larks in its lair!

Be kind to the bustard, that genial bird,
And humour its wishes and ways;
And when the poor elephant suffers from bile,
Then tenderly lace up his stays!

_Unknown._

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS

Speak gently to the herring and kindly to the calf, Be blithesome with the bunny, at barnacles don't laugh! Give nuts unto the monkey, and buns unto the bear, Ne'er hint at currant jelly if you chance to see a hare! Oh, little girls, pray hide your combs when tortoises draw nigh, And never in the hearing of a pigeon whisper Pie! But give the stranded jelly-fish a shove into the sea,-- Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!

Oh, make not game of sparrows, nor faces at the ram, And ne'er allude to mint sauce when calling on a lamb. Don't beard the thoughtful oyster, don't dare the cod to crimp, Don't cheat the pike, or ever try to pot the playful shrimp. Tread lightly on the turning worm, don't bruise the butterfly, Don't ridicule the wry-neck, nor sneer at salmon-fry; Oh, ne'er delight to make dogs fight, nor bantams disagree,-- Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!

Be lenient with lobsters, and ever kind to crabs, And be not disrespectful to cuttle-fish or dabs; Chase not the Cochin-China, chaff not the ox obese, And babble not of feather-beds in company with geese. Be tender with the tadpole, and let the limpet thrive, Be merciful to mussels, don't skin your eels alive; When talking to a turtle don't mention calipee-- Be always kind to animals wherever you may be.

_J. Ashby-Sterry._

TO BE OR NOT TO BE

I

I sometimes think I'd rather crow And be a rooster than to roost And be a crow. But I dunno.

II

A rooster he can roost also, Which don't seem fair when crows can't crow. Which may help some. Still I dunno.

III

Crows should be glad of one thing, though; Nobody thinks of eating crow, While roosters they are good enough For anyone unless they're tough.

IV

There are lots of tough old roosters, though, And anyway a crow can't crow, So mebby roosters stand more show. It looks that way. But I dunno.

_Unknown._

THE HEN

Was once a hen of wit not small (In fact, 'twas not amazing), And apt at laying eggs withal, Who, when she'd done, would scream and bawl, As if the house were blazing. A turkey-cock, of age mature, Felt thereat indignation; 'Twas quite improper, he was sure-- He would no more the thing endure; So, after cogitation, He to the lady straight repaired, And thus his business he declared: "Madam, pray, what's the matter, That always, when you've laid an egg, You make so great a clatter? I wish you'd do the thing in quiet. Do be advised by me, and try it." "Advised by you!" the lady cried, And tossed her head with proper pride; "And what do you know, now I pray, Of the fashion of the present day, You creature ignorant and low? However, if you want to know, This is the reason why I do it: I lay my egg, and then review it!"

_Matthew Claudius._

OF BAITING THE LION

Remembering his taste for blood
You'd better bait him with a cow;
Persuade the brute to chew the cud
Her tail suspended from a bough;
It thrills the lion through and through
To hear the milky creature moo.

Having arranged this simple ruse,
Yourself you climb a neighboring tree;
See to it that the spot you choose
Commands the coming tragedy;
Take up a smallish Maxim gun,
A search-light, whisky, and a bun.

It's safer, too, to have your bike
Standing immediately below,
In case your piece should fail to strike,
Or deal an ineffective blow;
The Lion moves with perfect grace,
But cannot go the scorcher's pace.

Keep open ear for subtle signs;
Thus, when the cow profusely moans,
That means to say, the Lion dines.
The crunching sound, of course, is bones;
Silence resumes her ancient reign--
This shows the cow is out of pain.

But when a fat and torpid hum
Escapes the eater's unctuous nose,
Turn up the light and let it come
Full on his innocent repose;
Then pour your shot between his eyes,
And go on pouring till he dies.

Play, even so, discretion's part; Descend with stealth; bring on your gun; Then lay your hand above his heart To see if he is really done; Don't skin him till you know he's dead Or you may perish in his stead!

* * * * *

Years hence, at home, when talk is tall,
You'll set the gun-room wide agape,
Describing how with just a small
Pea-rifle, going after ape
You met a Lion unaware,
And felled him flying through the air.

_Owen Seaman._

THE FLAMINGO

Inspired by reading a chorus of spirits in a German play

|First Voice| Oh! tell me have you ever seen a red, long-leg'd Flamingo? Oh! tell me have you ever yet seen him the water in go?

|Second voice| Oh! yes at Bowling-Green I've seen a red long-leg'd Flamingo, Oh! yes at Bowling-Green I've there seen him the water in go.

|First Voice| Oh! tell me did you ever see a bird so funny stand-o When forth he from the water comes and gets upon the land-o?

|Second Voice| No! in my life I ne'er did see a bird so funny stand-o When forth he from the water comes and gets upon the land-o.

|First Voice| He has a leg some three feet long, or near it, so they say, Sir. Stiff upon one alone he stands, t'other he stows away, Sir.

|Second Voice| And what an ugly head he's got! I wonder that he'd wear it. But rather _more_ I wonder that his long, thin neck can bear it.

|First voice| And think, this length of neck and legs (no doubt they have their uses) Are members of a little frame, much smaller than a goose's!

|Both| Oh! isn't he a curious bird, that red, long-leg'd Flamingo? A water bird, a gawky bird, a sing'lar bird, by jingo!

_Lewis Gaylord Clark._

WHY DOTH A PUSSY CAT?

Why doth a pussy cat prefer, When dozing, drowsy, on the sill, To purr and purr and purr and purr Instead of merely keeping still? With nodding head and folded paws, She keeps it up without a cause.

Why doth she flaunt her lofty tail In such a stiff right-angled pose? If lax and limp she let it trail 'Twould seem more restful, Goodness knows! When strolling 'neath the chairs or bed, She lets it bump above her head.

Why doth she suddenly refrain From anything she's busied in And start to wash, with might and main, Most any place upon her skin? Why doth she pick that special spot, Not seeing if it's soiled or not?

Why doth she never seem to care To come directly when you call, But makes approach from here and there, Or sidles half around the wall? Though doors are opened at her mew, You often have to push her through.

Why doth she this? Why doth she that? I seek for cause--I yearn for clews; The subject of the pussy cat Doth endlessly inspire the mews. Why doth a pussy cat? Ah, me, I haven't got the least idee.

_Burges Johnson._

THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead--
There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"

"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.

"O Oysters come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."

The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But not a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.