The cases held,—what do you think?-
"PRIME MISSIONARY-TINNED."

Nay! gentle reader, do not shrink-
The man who made it sinned:
He thus had labelled bloater-paste
To captivate the native taste.
He hoped, of course,

This fraud to force

On them. In this he sinned.

Our simple friends knew naught of sin;
They thought that this confection
Was missionary in a tin

According to direction.

For very joy they shed salt tears.
""Tis what we've waited for, for years,"

Said they.. "Hooray!

We'll feast to-day
According to direction."

""Tis very tough," said one, for he
The tin and all had eaten.

"Too salt," the other said, "for me;
The flavour might be beaten."
It was enough. Soon each one swore
He'd missionary eat no more:
Their tastes were cured,
They felt assured

This flavour might be beaten.

And, should a missionary call

To-day, he'd find them gentle,

With no perverted tastes at all,
And manners ornamental;

He'd be received, I'm bound to say,
In courteous and proper way;

Nor need he fear

To taste their cheer
However ornamental.

G. E. Farrow.

The Retired Pork-Butcher and the Spook 685

THE RETIRED PORK-BUTCHER AND THE

SPOOK

I MAY as well

Proceed to tell

About a Mister Higgs,
Who grew quite rich
In trade the which
Was selling pork and pigs.

From trade retired,
He much desired
To rank with gentlefolk,
So bought a place

He called "The Chase,"
And furnished it-old oak.

Ancestors got

(Twelve pounds the lot,
In Tottenham Court Road);
A pedigree-

For nine pounds three,-
The Heralds' Court bestowed.

Within the hall,

And on the wall,

Hung armour bright and strong.

"To Ethelbred "

The label read

"De Higgs, this did belong."

'Twas quite complete,

This country seat,

Yet neighbours stayed away.

Nobody called,

Higgs was blackballed,

Which caused him great dismay.

66 Why can it be?"
One night said he
When thinking of it o'er.
There came a knock

('Twas twelve o'clock) Upon his chamber door.

Higgs cried, "Come in!"
A vapour thin

The keyhole wandered through.
Higgs rubbed his eyes

In mild surprise:

A ghost appeared in view.

"I beg," said he, "You'll pardon me, In calling rather late. A family ghost,

I seek a post,

With wage commensurate.

"I'll serve you well;

My fiendish yell' Is certain sure to please. 'Sepulchral tones,'

And rattling bones,' I'm very good at these.

"Five bob I charge

To roam at large,

With clanking chains' ad lib.;

I do such things

As 'gibberings'

At one-and-three per gib.

"Or, by the week,

I merely seek

Two pounds-which is not dear;

Because I need,

Of course, no feed,

No washing, and no beer."

SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE

Of all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme,-
On Apuleius's Golden Ass,

Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human back,
Islam's prophet on Al-Borak,—
The strangest ride that ever was sped
Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!

Body of turkey, head of owl,
Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,

Feathered and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.
Scores of women, old and young,
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,
Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:
"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,
Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,
Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase
Bacchus round some antique vase,
Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,

With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang,

Over and over the Mænads sang:

"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt

By the women o' Morble'ead!"