Mister Close expressed a wish that he could only get anigh to me;

And Mister Martin Tupper sent the following reply to me:

"A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit,"

Which I know was very clever; but I didn't understand it.

Seven weary years I wandered

way,

Patagonia, China, Nor

Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway.

There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle;

So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.

He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy,

And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy.

And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter hearty

He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.

And I said, "O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry? Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?'

But he answered, "I'm so happy dearer

no profession could be

If I am not humming 'Tra la la ' I'm singing 'Tirer, lirer!'

"First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the jellies,

Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is:

"Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers: Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers - "

"Found at last!" I madly shouted. Gentle pieman, you astound me!"

Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me,

And I shouted and I danced until he'd quite a crowd around him,

And I rushed away, exclaiming, "I have found him! I have found him!"

And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling,

"Tira! lira!' stop him, stop him! 'Tra! la la!' the soup's a shilling!

But until I reached Elvira's home, I never, never waited, And Elvira to her Ferdinand's irrevocably mated!

William S. Gilbert

THE ROMANCE OF THE CARPET

Basking in peace in the warm spring sun,
South Hill smiled upon Burlington.

The breath of May! and the day was fair,
And the bright motes danced in the balmy air.

And the sunlight gleamed where the restless breeze
Kissed the fragrant blooms on the apple-trees.

His beardless cheek with a smile was spanned,
As he stood with a carriage whip in his hand.

And he laughed as he doffed his bobtail coat,
And the echoing folds of the carpet smote.

And she smiled as she leaned on her busy mop,
And said she'd tell him when to stop.

So he pounded away till the dinner-bell.
Gave him a little breathing spell.

But he sighed when the kitchen clock struck one,
And she said the carpet wasn't done.

But he lovingly put in his biggest licks,

And he pounded like mad till the clock struck six.

66

And she said, in a dubious sort of way,

That she guessed he could finish it up next day.

Then all that day, and the next day, too,

That fuzz from the dirtless carpet flew.

And she'd give it a look at eventide,
"Now beat on the other side."

And say,

And the new days came as the old days went,
And the landlord came for his regular rent.

And the neighbors laughed at the tireless broom, And his face was shadowed with clouds of gloom.

Till at last, one cheerless winter day,
He kicked at the carpet and slid away.

Over the fence and down the street,
Speeding away with footsteps fleet.

And never again the morning sun
Smiled on him beating his carpet-drum.

And South Hill often said with a yawn, 'Where's the carpet-martyr gone?"

Years twice twenty had come and passed
And the carpet swayed in the autumn blast.

For never yet, since that bright spring-time,
Had it ever been taken down from the line.

Over the fence a gray-haired man
Cautiously clim, clome, clem, clum, clamb.

He found him a stick in the old woodpile,
And he gathered it up with a sad, grim smile.

A flush passed over his face forlorn
As he gazed at the carpet, tattered and torn.

And he hit it a most resounding thwack,
Till the startled air gave his echoes back.

And out of the window a white face leaned,
And a palsied hand the pale face screened.

She knew his face; she gasped, and sighed, 66 A little more on the other side."

Right down on the ground his stick he throwed,
And he shivered and said, "Well, I am blowed!"

And he turned away, with a heart full sore,
And he never was seen not more, not more.

Robert Jones Burdette

THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE
KNIFE - GRINDER

FRIEND OF HUMANITY

"Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order, —
Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches!

"Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day, 'Knives and
Scissors to grind O!'

"Tell me, Knife-grinder, how came you to grind knives? Did some rich man tyrannically use you?

Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?
Or the attorney?

“Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining? Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little

66

All in a lawsuit?

(Have you not read the 'Rights of Man,' by Tom

Paine?)

Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,

Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your

Pitiful story."

KNIFE GRINDER

Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
Only last night, a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.

"Constables came up, for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish

Stocks for a vagrant.

"I should be glad to drink your Honor's health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence ;
But for my part, I never love to meddle

With politics, sir."

FRIEND OF HUMANITY

"I give thee sixpence! I will see thee damned firstWretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance,

Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,

Spiritless outcast!

[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy

George Canning

LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS

I haf von funny leedle poy,

Vot comes schust to mine knee;

Der queerest schap, der createst rogue,

As efer you dit see.

He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings

In all barts off der house:

But vot off dot? He vas mine son,

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss.

He get der measles und der mumbs
Und eferyding dot's oudt;