"Your majesty, sign me this, I pray— I come in a friendly kind of way

I come, if you please, with the best intents,
And Queen Victoria's compliments."

The kings were pleased as they well could be:
The most retiring of all the three,
In a "cellar-flap" to his joy gave vent
With a banjo-bones accompaniment.
The great Rear-Admiral Bailey Pip
Embarked on board his jolly big ship,
Blue Peter flew from his lofty fore,
And off he sailed to his native shore.

Admiral Pip directly went
To the lord at the head of the government,
Who made him, by a stroke of a quill,
Baron de Pippe, of Pippetonneville.

The college of heralds permission yield
That he should quarter upon his shield
Three islands, vert, on a field of blue,
With the pregnant motto "Chickeraboo."

Ambassadors, yes, and attachés, too,
Are going to sail for Chickeraboo.
And, see, on the good ship's crowded deck,
A bishop, who's going out there on spec.

And let us all hope that blissful things
May come of alliance with darkey kings.
Oh, may we never, whatever we do,
Declare a war with Chickeraboo!

THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER.

"Come here, my boy, hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, Sir; Just tell me who King David wasNow tell me if you can, Sir." "King David was a mighty man, And he was king of Spain, sir; His eldest daughter Jessie' was

The flower of Dunblane,' sir."

"You're right, my boy; hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, Sir; Sir Isaac Newton-who was he?

Now tell me if you can, Sir. "Sir Isaac Newton was the boy

That climbed the apple-tree, Sir;

He then fell down and broke his crown,
And lost his gravity, Sir."

"You're right, my boy; hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, Sir;

Jist tell me who ould Marmion was-
Now tell me if you can, Sir."
"Ould Marmion was a soldier bold,
But he went all to pot, Sir;

He was hanged upon the gallows tree,
For killing Sir Walter Scott, Sir!"

"You're right, my boy, hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, Sir.

Jist tell me who Sir Rob Roy was;
Now tell me if you can, Sir."
"Sir Rob Roy was a tailor to

The King of the Cannibal Islands;
He spoiled a pair of breeches, and

Was banished to the Highlands."

"You're right, my boy; hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, Sir.

Then Bonaparte-who was he?
Now tell me if you can, Sir."
Old Bonaparte was King of France
Before the Revolution;
But he was kilt at Waterloo,

Which ruined his constitution."

"You're right, my boy, hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, Sir.

Jist tell me who King Jonah was;
Now tell me if you can, Sir."
"King Jonah was the strangest man
That ever wore a crown, Sir;

For though the whale did swallow him,
It couldn't keep him down, Sir."

"You're right, my boy; hould up your head; And look like a jintleman, Sir. Just tell me who that Moses was,

Now tell me if you can, Sir." "Shure Moses was the Christian name Of good King Pharaoh's daughter; She was a milkmaid and she took A profit from the water."

"You're right my boy; hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, Sir,

Jist tell me now where Dublin is;
Now tell me if you can, Sir."
"Och, Dublin is a town in Cork
And built on the equator;
Its close to Mount Vesuvius,

And watered by the crathur.'"

"You're right, my boy; hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, Sir;

Jist tell me now where London is ;
Now tell me if you can, Sir.
"Och, London is a town in Spain';
'Twas lost in the earthquake, Sir:
The cockneys murther English there
Whenever they do spake, sir.

"You're right, my boy; hould up your head, Ye're now a jintleman, Sir;

For in history and geography

I've taught you all I can, Sir.
And if any one should ask you now,
Where you got all your knowledge,
Jist tell them 'twas from Paddy Blake,
Of Bally Blarney College,"

JAMES A. SIDEY.❘

YE CARPETTE KNYGHTE.

I have a horse-a right good horse-
Ne doe I envie those

Who scoure ye plaine in headie course,
Tyll soddaine on theyre nose
They lyghte wyth unexpected force-
It ys a horse of clothes.

I have a saddel-Sayest thou soe?
With styrrupes, Knyghte to boote?"
I sayde not that-I answere "Noe".
It lacketh such, I woot-

It ys a mutton-saddel, loe!
Parte of ye fleecie brute.

I have a bytte-a ryghte good bytte-
As schall bee seene in tyme.

Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte-
Yts use is more sublime.
Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt?
Yt ys-thys bytte of rhyme.

LEWIS CARROLL