A Nonsense Anthology
by Collected by Carolyn Wells
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When whitings do walk forests to chase harts, And herrings their horns in forests boldly blow, And marmsets mourn in moors and lakes, And gurnards shoot rooks out of a crossbow, And goslings hunt the wolf to overthrow, And sprats bear spears in armes of defence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When swine be cunning in all points of music, And asses be doctors of every science, And cats do heal men by practising of physic, And buzzards to scripture give any credence, And merchants buy with horn, instead of groats and pence, And pyes be made poets for their eloquence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When sparrows build churches on a height, And wrens carry sacks unto the mill, And curlews carry timber houses to dight, And fomalls bear butter to market to sell, And woodcocks bear woodknives cranes to kill, And greenfinches to goslings do obedience, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When crows take salmon in woods and parks, And be take with swifts and snails, And camels in the air take swallows and larks, And mice move mountains by wagging of their tails, And shipmen take a ride instead of sails, And when wives to their husbands do no offence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When antelopes surmount eagles in flight, And swans be swifter than hawks of the tower, And wrens set gos-hawks by force and might, And muskets make verjuice of crabbes sour, And ships sail on dry land, silt give flower, And apes in Westminster give judgment and sentence, Then put women in trust and confidence.




Here is the tale—and you must make the most of it! Here is the rhyme—ah, listen and attend! Backwards—forwards—read it all and boast of it If you are anything the wiser at the end!

Now Jack looked up—it was time to sup, and the bucket was yet to fill, And Jack looked round for a space and frowned, then beckoned his sister Jill, And twice he pulled his sister's hair, and thrice he smote her side; "Ha' done, ha' done with your impudent fun—ha' done with your games!" she cried; "You have made mud-pies of a marvellous size—finger and face are black, You have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay—now up and wash you, Jack! Or else, or ever we reach our home, there waiteth an angry dame— Well you know the weight of her blow—the supperless open shame! Wash, if you will, on yonder hill—wash, if you will, at the spring,— Or keep your dirt, to your certain hurt, and an imminent walloping!"

"You must wash—you must scrub—you must scrape!" growled Jack, "you must traffic with cans and pails, Nor keep the spoil of the good brown soil in the rim of your finger-nails! The morning path you must tread to your bath—you must wash ere the night descends, And all for the cause of conventional laws and the soapmakers' dividends! But if 'tis sooth that our meal in truth depends on our washing, Jill, By the sacred right of our appetite—haste—haste to the top of the hill!"

They have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay, they have toiled and travelled far, They have climbed to the brow of the hill-top now, where the bubbling fountains are, They have taken the bucket and filled it up—yea, filled it up to the brim; But Jack he sneered at his sister Jill, and Jill she jeered at him: "What, blown already!" Jack cried out (and his was a biting mirth!) "You boast indeed of your wonderful speed—but what is the boasting worth? Now, if you can run as the antelope runs, and if you can turn like a hare, Come, race me, Jill, to the foot of the hill—and prove your boasting fair!"

"Race? What is a race" (and a mocking face had Jill as she spake the word) "Unless for a prize the runner tries? The truth indeed ye heard, For I can run as the antelope runs, and I can turn like a hare:— The first one down wins half-a-crown—and I will race you there!" "Yea, if for the lesson that you will learn (the lesson of humbled pride) The price you fix at two-and-six, it shall not be denied; Come, take your stand at my right hand, for here is the mark we toe: Now, are you ready, and are you steady? Gird up your petticoats! Go!"

And Jill she ran like a winging bolt, a bolt from the bow released, But Jack like a stream of the lightning gleam, with its pathway duly greased; He ran down hill in front of Jill like a summer-lightning flash— Till he suddenly tripped on a stone, or slipped, and fell to the earth with a crash. Then straight did rise on his wondering eyes the constellations fair, Arcturus and the Pleiades, the Greater and Lesser Bear, The swirling rain of a comet's train he saw, as he swiftly fell— And Jill came tumbling after him with a loud triumphant yell: "You have won, you have won, the race is done! And as for the wager laid— You have fallen down with a broken crown—the half-crown debt is paid!"

They have taken Jack to the room at the back where the family medicines are, And he lies in bed with a broken head in a halo of vinegar; While, in that Jill had laughed her fill as her brother fell to earth, She had felt the sting of a walloping—she hath paid the price of her mirth!

Here is the tale—and now you have the whole of it, Here is the story—well and wisely planned, Beauty—Duty—these make up the soul of it— But, ah, my little readers, will you mark and understand?

Anthony C. Deane.


The auld wife sat at her ivied door, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) A thing she had frequently done before; And her spectacles lay on her aproned knees.

The piper he piped on the hill-top high, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) Till the cow said "I die" and the goose asked "Why;" And the dog said nothing, but searched for fleas.

The farmer he strode through the square farmyard; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) His last brew of ale was a trifle hard, The connection of which with the plot one sees.

The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies, As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas.

The farmer's daughter hath ripe red lips; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) If you try to approach her, away she skips Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.

The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And I met with a ballad, I can't say where, Which wholly consisted of lines like these.

She sat with her hands 'neath her dimpled cheeks, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And spake not a word. While a lady speaks There is hope, but she didn't even sneeze.

She sat with her hands 'neath her crimson cheeks; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) She gave up mending her father's breeks, And let the cat roll in her best chemise.

She sat with her hands 'neath her burning cheeks (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese), And gazed at the piper for thirteen weeks; Then she followed him out o'er the misty leas.

Her sheep followed her as their tails did them (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese), And this song is considered a perfect gem, And as to the meaning, it's what you please.

Charles S. Calverley.


Some like drink In a pint pot, Some like to think, Some not.

Strong Dutch cheese, Old Kentucky Rye, Some like these; Not I.

Some like Poe, And others like Scott; Some like Mrs. Stowe, Some not.

Some like to laugh, Some like to cry, Some like to chaff; Not I.

R.L. Stevenson.


Minnie and Winnie Slept in a shell. Sleep, little ladies! And they slept well.

Pink was the shell within, Silver without; Sounds of the great sea Wandered about.

Sleep little ladies! Wake not soon! Echo on echo Dies to the moon.

Two bright stars Peep'd into the shell, What are they dreaming of? Who can tell?

Started a green linnet Out of the croft; Wake, little ladies, The sun is aloft!

Lord Tennyson.


The Mayor of Scuttleton burned his nose Trying to warm his copper toes; He lost his money and spoiled his will By signing his name with an icicle quill; He went bareheaded, and held his breath, And frightened his grandame most to death; He loaded a shovel and tried to shoot, And killed the calf in the leg of his boot;

He melted a snowbird and formed the habit Of dancing jigs with a sad Welsh rabbit; He lived on taffy and taxed the town; And read his newspaper upside down; Then he sighed and hung his hat on a feather, And bade the townspeople come together; But the worst of it all was, nobody knew What the Mayor of Scuttleton next would do.

Mary Mapes Dodge.


I never saw a Purple Cow, I never hope to see one; But I can tell you, anyhow, I'd rather see than be one.


Ah yes, I wrote the Purple Cow, I'm sorry now I wrote it. But I can tell you anyhow, I'll kill you if you quote it.

Gelett Burgess.


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!

Gelett Burgess.


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!

Gelett Burgess.


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.


Alas! my Child, where is the Pen That can do Justice to the Hen? Like Royalty, She goes her way, Laying foundations every day, Though not for Public Buildings, yet For Custard, Cake and Omelette.

Or if too Old for such a use They have their Fling at some Abuse, As when to Censure Plays Unfit Upon the Stage they make a Hit, Or at elections Seal the Fate Of an Obnoxious Candidate. No wonder, Child, we prize the Hen, Whose Egg is Mightier than the Pen.

Oliver Herford.


The Cow is too well known, I fear, To need an introduction here. If She should vanish from earth's face It would be hard to fill her place; For with the Cow would disappear So much that every one holds Dear. Oh, think of all the Boots and Shoes, Milk Punches, Gladstone Bags and Stews, And Things too numerous to count, Of which, my child, she is the Fount. Let's hope, at least, the Fount may last Until our Generation's past.

Oliver Herford.


Children, behold the Chimpanzee: He sits on the ancestral tree From which we sprang in ages gone. I'm glad we sprang: had we held on, We might, for aught that I can say, Be horrid Chimpanzees today.

Oliver Herford.


"Oh, say, what is this fearful, wild, Incorrigible cuss?" "This creature (don't say 'cuss,' my child; 'Tis slang)—this creature fierce is styled The Hippopotamus. His curious name derives its source From two Greek words: hippos—a horse, Potamos—river. See? The river's plain enough, of course; But why they called that thing a horse, That's what is Greek to me."

Oliver Herford.


My child, the Duck-billed Platypus A sad example sets for us: From him we learn how Indecision Of character provokes Derision.

This vacillating Thing, you see, Could not decide which he would be, Fish, Flesh or Fowl, and chose all three. The scientists were sorely vexed To classify him; so perplexed Their brains, that they, with Rage at bay, Call him a horrid name one day,— A name that baffles, frights and shocks us, Ornithorhynchus Paradoxus.

Oliver Herford.


Ev-er-y child who has the use Of his sen-ses knows a goose. See them un-der-neath the tree Gath-er round the goose-girl's knee, While she reads them by the hour From the works of Scho-pen-hau-er.

How pa-tient-ly the geese at-tend! But do they re-al-ly com-pre-hend What Scho-pen-hau-er's driv-ing at? Oh, not at all; but what of that? Nei-ther do I; nei-ther does she; And, for that mat-ter, nor does he.

Oliver Herford.


Inspired by reading a chorus of spirits in a German play


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?


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.


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?


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.


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.


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.


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!


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.


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.


The lion is the beast to fight, He leaps along the plain, And if you run with all your might, He runs with all his mane. I'm glad I'm not a Hottentot, But if I were, with outward cal-lum I'd either faint upon the spot Or hie me up a leafy pal-lum.

The chamois is the beast to hunt; He's fleeter than the wind, And when the chamois is in front, The hunter is behind. The Tyrolese make famous cheese And hunt the chamois o'er the chaz-zums; I'd choose the former if you please, For precipices give me spaz-zums.

The polar bear will make a rug Almost as white as snow; But if he gets you in his hug, He rarely lets you go. And Polar ice looks very nice, With all the colors of a pris-sum; But, if you'll follow my advice, Stay home and learn your catechissum.

A.T. Quiller-Couch.


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.


Be kind and tender to the Frog, And do not call him names, As "Slimy-Skin," or "Polly-wog," Or likewise, "Uncle James," Or "Gape-a-grin," or "Toad-gone-wrong," Or "Billy-Bandy-knees;" The Frog is justly sensitive To epithets like these.

No animal will more repay A treatment kind and fair, At least, so lonely people say Who keep a frog (and, by the way, They are extremely rare).

Hilaire Belloc.


As a friend to the children commend me the yak, You will find it exactly the thing: It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its back, Or lead it about with a string.

A Tartar who dwells on the plains of Thibet (A desolate region of snow) Has for centuries made it a nursery pet, And surely the Tartar should know!

Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got, And if he is awfully rich, He will buy you the creature—or else he will not, (I cannot be positive which).

Hilaire Belloc.


A python I should not advise, It needs a doctor for its eyes, And has the measles yearly.

However, if you feel inclined To get one (to improve your mind, And not from fashion merely),

Allow no music near its cage; And when it flies into a rage Chastise it most severely.

I had an Aunt in Yucatan Who bought a Python from a man And kept it for a pet.

She died because she never knew These simple little rules and few;— The snake is living yet.

Hilaire Belloc.


The Bison is vain, and (I write it with pain) The Door-mat you see on his head Is not, as some learned professors maintain, The opulent growth of a genius' brain; But is sewn on with needle and thread.

Hilaire Belloc.


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 mamma, And had several mouthfuls of thee!

Be kind to the badger! for who shall decide The depths of his badgerly 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 humor its wishes and ways; And when the poor elephant suffers from bile, Then tenderly lace up his stays!



When the monkey in his madness Took the glue to mend his voice, 'Twas the crawfish showed his sadness That the bluebird could rejoice.

Then the perspicacious parrot Sought to save the suicide By administering carrot, But the monkey merely died.

So the crawfish and the parrot Sauntered slowly toward the sea, While the bluebird stole the carrot And returned the glue to me.

Goldwin Goldsmith.


There was a frog swum in the lake, The crab came crawling by: "Wilt thou," coth the frog, "be my make?" Coth the crab, "No, not I." "My skin is sooth and dappled fine, I can leap far and nigh. Thy shell is hard: so is not mine." Coth the crab, "No, not I." "Tell me," then spake the crab, "therefore, Or else I thee defy: Give me thy claw, I ask no more." Coth the frog, "That will I." The crab bit off the frog's fore-feet; The frog then he must die. To woo a crab it is not meet: If any do, it is not I.

From Christ Church MS., I. 549.


The bloated Biggaboon Was so haughty, he would not repose In a house, or a hall, or ces choses, But he slept his high sleep in his clothes— 'Neath the moon. The bloated Biggaboon Pour'd contempt upon waistcoat and skirt, Holding swallow-tails even as dirt— So he puff'd himself out in his shirt, Like a b'loon.

H. Cholmondeley-Pennell.


"Of what are you afraid, my child?" inquired the kindly teacher. "Oh, sir! the flowers, they are wild," replied the timid creature.

Peter Newell.


"Now, if the fish will only bite, we'll have some royal fun." "And do fish bite? The horrid things! Indeed, I'll not catch one!"

Peter Newell.


She played upon her music-box a fancy air by chance, And straightway all her polka-dots began a lively dance.

Peter Newell.


"A milkweed, and a buttercup, and cowslip," said sweet Mary, "Are growing in my garden-plot, and this I call my dairy."

Peter Newell.


'Twas after a supper of Norfolk brawn That into a doze I chanced to drop, And thence awoke in the gray 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, 'Twas 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.



I dreamt it! such a funny thing— And now it's taken wing; I s'pose no man before or since Dreamt such a funny thing?

It had a Dragon; with a tail; A tail both long and slim, And ev'ry day he wagg'd at it— How good it was of him!

And so to him the tailest Of all three-tailed Bashaws, Suggested that for reasons The waggling should pause;

And held his tail—which, parting, Reversed that Bashaw, which Reversed that Dragon, who reversed Himself into a ditch.

* * * * *

It had a monkey—in a trap— Suspended by the tail: Oh! but that monkey look'd distress'd, And his countenance was pale.

And he had danced and dangled there; Till he grew very mad: For his tail it was a handsome tail And the trap had pinched it—bad.

The trapper sat below, and grinn'd; His victim's wrath wax'd hot: He bit his tail in two—and fell— And killed him on the spot.

* * * * *

It had a pig—a stately pig; With curly tail and quaint: And the Great Mogul had hold of that Till he was like to faint.

So twenty thousand Chinamen, With three tails each at least, Came up to help the Great Mogul, And took him round the waist.

And so, the tail slipp'd through his hands; And so it came to pass, That twenty thousand Chinamen Sat down upon the grass.

* * * * *

It had a Khan—a Tartar Khan— With tail superb, I wis; And that fell graceful down a back Which was considered his.

Wherefore all sorts of boys that were Accursed, swung by it; Till he grew savage in his mind And vex'd, above a bit:

And so he swept his tail, as one Awak'ning from a dream; And those abominable ones Flew off into the stream.

Likewise they hobbled up and down, Like many apples there; Till they subsided—and became Amongst the things that were.

* * * * *

And so it had a moral too, That would be bad to lose; "Whoever takes a Tail in hand Should mind his p's and queues."

I dreamt it!—such a funny thing! And now it's taken wing; I s'pose no man before or since Dreamt such a funny thing?

H. Cholmondeley-Pennell.


In an ocean, 'way out yonder (As all sapient people know), Is the land of Wonder-Wander, Whither children love to go; It's their playing, romping, swinging, That give great joy to me While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing In the Amfalula-tree!

There the gum-drops grow like cherries, And taffy's thick as peas,— Caramels you pick like berries When, and where, and how you please: Big red sugar-plums are clinging To the cliffs beside that sea Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the Amfalula-tree.

So when children shout and scamper And make merry all the day, When there's naught to put a damper To the ardor of their play; When I hear their laughter ringing, Then I'm sure as sure can be That the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the Amfalula-tree.

For the Dinkey-Bird's bravuras And staccatos are so sweet— His roulades, appogiaturas, And robustos so complete, That the youth of every nation— Be they near or far away— Have especial delectation In that gladsome roundelay.

Their eyes grow bright and brighter, Their lungs begin to crow, Their hearts get light and lighter, And their cheeks are all aglow; For an echo cometh bringing The news to all and me. That the Dinkey-Bird is singing In the Amfalula-tree.

I'm sure you'd like to go there To see your feathered friend— And so many goodies grow there You would like to comprehend! Speed, little dreams, your winging To that land across the sea Where the Dickey-Bird is singing In the Amfalula-Tree!

Eugene Field.


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 doctors 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 the 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.


This is the Wild Huntsman that shoots the hares; With the grass-green coat he always wears; With game-bag, powder-horn and gun, He's going out to have some fun. He finds it hard without a pair Of spectacles, to shoot the hare.

He put his spectacles upon his nose, and said, "Now I will shoot the hares and kill them dead." The hare sits snug in leaves and grass, And laughs to see the green man pass. Now as the sun grew very hot, And he a heavy gun had got, He lay down underneath a tree And went to sleep as you may see. And, while he slept like any top, The little hare came, hop, hop, hop,— Took gun and spectacles, and then Softly on tiptoe went off again. The green man wakes, and sees her place The spectacles upon her face. She pointed the gun at the hunter's heart, Who jumped up at once with a start. He cries, and screams, and runs away. "Help me, good people, help! I pray." At last he stumbled at the well, Head over ears, and in he fell. The hare stopped short, took aim, and hark! Bang went the gun!—she missed her mark! The poor man's wife was drinking up Her coffee in her coffee-cup; The gun shot cup and saucer through; "Oh dear!" cried she, "what shall I do?" Hiding close by the cottage there, Was the hare's own child, the little hare. When he heard the shot he quickly arose, And while he stood upon his toes, The coffee fell and burned his nose; "Oh dear," he cried, "what burns me so?" And held up the spoon with his little toe.

Dr. Heinrich Hoffman.


Thothmes, who loved a pyramid, And dreamed of wonders that it hid, Took up again one afternoon, His longest staff, his sandal shoon, His evening meal, his pilgrim flask, And set himself at length the task, Scorning the smaller and the small, To climb the highest one of all.

The sun was very hot indeed, Yet Thothmes never slacked his speed Until upon the topmost stone He lightly sat him down alone To make himself some pleasant cheer And turned to take his flask of beer, For he was weary and athirst. Forth from the neck the stopper burst And rudely waked the sleeping dead. In terror guilty Thothmes fled As rose majestic, wroth and slow, The Pharaoh's Ka of long ago. "Help! help!" he cried, "or I am lost! Oh! save me from old Pharaoh's ghost!"

Till, uttering one fearful yell, He stumbled at the base and fell Where Anubis was at his side, And, by the god of death, he died.

The wife of Thothmes learned his tale First from the "Memphis Evening Mail," And called her son, and told their woe; "Alas!" said she, "I told him so! Oh, think upon these awful things And mount not on the graves of kings! A pyramid is strange to see, Though only at its base you be."



Here is cruel Psamtek, see. Such a wicked boy was he! Chased the ibis round about, Plucked its longest feathers out, Stamped upon the sacred scarab Like an unbelieving Arab, Put the dog and cat to pain, Making them to howl again. Only think what he would do— Tease the awful Apis too! Basking by the sacred Nile Lay the trusting crocodile; Cruel Psamtek crept around him, Laughed to think how he had found him, With his pincers seized his tail, Made the holy one to wail; Till a priest of Isis came, Called the wicked boy by name, Shut him in a pyramid, Where his punishment was hid. —But the crocodile the while Bore the pincers up the Nile— Here the scribe who taught him letters, And respect for all his betters, Gave him many a heavy task, Horrid medicines from a flask, While on bread and water, too, Bitter penance must he do.

The Crocodile is blythe and gay, With friends and family at play, And cries, "O blessed Land of Nile, Where sacred is the crocodile, Where no ill deed unpunished goes, And man himself rewards our foes!"



I strolled beside the shining sea, I was as lonely as could be; No one to cheer me in my walk But stones and sand, which cannot talk— Sand and stones and bits of shell, Which never have a thing to tell.

But as I sauntered by the tide I saw a something at my side, A something green, and blue, and pink, And brown, and purple, too, I think. I would not say how large it was; I would not venture that, because It took me rather by surprise, And I have not the best of eyes.

Should you compare it to a cat, I'd say it was as large as that; Or should you ask me if the thing Was smaller than a sparrow's wing, I should be apt to think you knew, And simply answer, "Very true!"

Well, as I looked upon the thing, It murmured, "Please, sir, can I sing?" And then I knew its name at once— It plainly was a Cumberbunce.

You are amazed that I could tell The creature's name so quickly? Well, I knew it was not a paper-doll, A pencil or a parasol, A tennis-racket or a cheese, And, as it was not one of these, And I am not a perfect dunce— It had to be a Cumberbunce!

With pleading voice and tearful eye It seemed as though about to cry. It looked so pitiful and sad It made me feel extremely bad. My heart was softened to the thing That asked me if it, please, could sing. Its little hand I longed to shake, But, oh, it had no hand to take! I bent and drew the creature near, And whispered in its pale blue ear, "What! Sing, my Cumberbunce? You can! Sing on, sing loudly, little man!"

The Cumberbunce, without ado, Gazed sadly on the ocean blue, And, lifting up its little head, In tones of awful longing, said:

"Oh, I would sing of mackerel skies, And why the sea is wet, Of jelly-fish and conger-eels, And things that I forget. And I would hum a plaintive tune Of why the waves are hot As water boiling on a stove, Excepting that they're not!"

"And I would sing of hooks and eyes, And why the sea is slant, And gayly tips the little ships, Excepting that I can't! I never sang a single song, I never hummed a note. There is in me no melody, No music in my throat."

"So that is why I do not sing Of sharks, or whales, or anything!"

I looked in innocent surprise, My wonder showing in my eyes. "Then why, O, Cumberbunce," I cried, "Did you come walking at my side And ask me if you, please, might sing, When you could not warble anything?"

"I did not ask permission, sir, I really did not, I aver. You, sir, misunderstood me, quite. I did not ask you if I might. Had you correctly understood, You'd know I asked you if I could. So, as I cannot sing a song, Your answer, it is plain, was wrong. The fact I could not sing I knew, But wanted your opinion, too."

A voice came softly o'er the lea. "Farewell! my mate is calling me!"

I saw the creature disappear, Its voice, in parting, smote my ear—

"I thought all people understood The difference 'twixt 'might' and 'could'!"

Paul West.


Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Ahkond of Swat?

Is he tall or short, or dark or fair? Does he sit on a stool or sofa or chair, or Squat, The Ahkond of Swat?

Is he wise or foolish, young or old? Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold, or Hot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk, And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk, or Trot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he wear a turban, a fez or a hat? Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed or a mat, or a Cot, The Ahkond of Swat?

When he writes a copy in round-hand size, Does he cross his t's and finish his i's with a Dot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Can he write a letter concisely clear, Without a speck or a smudge or smear or Blot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Do his people like him extremely well? Or do they, whenever they can, rebel, or Plot, At the Ahkond of Swat?

If he catches them then, either old or young, Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung, or Shot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Do his people prig in the lanes or park? Or even at times, when days are dark, Garotte? Oh, the Ahkond of Swat?

Does he study the wants of his own dominion? Or doesn't he care for public opinion a Jot, The Ahkond of Swat?

To amuse his mind do his people show him Pictures, or any one's last new poem, or What, For the Ahkond of Swat?

At night if he suddenly screams and wakes, Do they bring him only a few small cakes, or a Lot, For the Ahkond of Swat?

Does he live on turnips, tea or tripe, Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe or a Dot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he like to lie on his back in a boat Like the lady who lived in that isle remote, Shalott. The Ahkond of Swat?

Is he quiet, or always making a fuss? Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ, or a Scot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave? Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave, or a Grott, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he drink small beer from a silver jug? Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug? or a Pot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe, When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe, or Rot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he wear a white tie when he dines with his friends, And tie it neat in a bow with ends, or a Knot, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies? When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes, or Not, The Ahkond of Swat?

Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake? Does he sail about on an inland lake, in a Yacht, The Ahkond of Swat?

Some one, or nobody knows I wot Who or which or why or what Is the Ahkond of Swat!

Edward Lear.


What, what, what, What's the news from Swat? Sad news, Bad news, Comes by the cable led Through the Indian Ocean's bed, Through the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea and the Med- Iterranean—he's dead; The Ahkoond is dead!

For the Ahkoond I mourn, Who wouldn't? He strove to disregard the message stern, But he Ahkoodn't. Dead, dead, dead; (Sorrow Swats!) Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled, Swats whom he hath often led Onward to a gory bed, Or to Victory, As the case might be, Sorrow Swats! Tears shed, Tears shed like water, Your great Ahkoond is dead! That Swats the matter!

Mourn, city of Swat! Your great Ahkoond is not, But lain 'mid worms to rot. His mortal part alone, his soul was caught (Because he was a good Ahkoond) Up to the bosom of Mahound. Though earthly walls his frame surround (Forever hallowed be the ground!) And sceptics mock the lowly mound And say "He's now of no Ahkoond!" His soul is in the skies— The azure skies that bend above his loved Metropolis of Swat. He sees with larger, other eyes, Athwart all earthly mysteries— He knows what's Swat.

Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With a noise of mourning and of lamentation! Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation! Fallen is at length Its tower of strength, Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned; Dead lies the great Ahkoond, The great Ahkoond of Swat Is not!

George Thomas Lanigan.


Rival of the Akhoond of Swat


Alas, unhappy land; ill-fated spot Kotal—though where or what On earth Kotal is, the bard has forgot; Further than this indeed he knoweth not— It borders upon Swat!


When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battal- Ions: the gloom that lay on Swat now lies Upon Kotal, On sad Kotal, whose people ululate For their loved Moolla late. Put away his little turban, And his narghileh embrowned, The lord of Kotal—rural urban— 'S gone unto his last Akhoond, 'S gone to meet his rival Swattan, 'S gone, indeed, but not forgotten.


His rival, but in what? Wherein did the deceased Akhoond of Swat Kotal's lamented Moolla late, As it were, emulate? Was it in the tented field With crash of sword on shield, While backward meaner champions reeled And loud the tom-tom pealed? Did they barter gash for scar With the Persian scimetar Or the Afghanistee tulwar, While loud the tom-tom pealed— While loud the tom-tom pealed, And the jim-jam squealed, And champions less well heeled Their war-horses wheeled And fled the presence of these mortal big bugs o' the field? Was Kotal's proud citadel— Bastioned, and demi-luned, Beaten down with shot and shell By the guns of the Akhoond? Or were wails despairing caught, as The burghers pale of Swat Cried in panic, "Moolla ad Portas"? —Or what? Or made each in the cabinet his mark Kotalese Gortschakoff, Swattish Bismarck? Did they explain and render hazier The policies of Central Asia? Did they with speeches from the throne, Wars dynastic, Ententes cordiales, Between Swat and Kotal; Holy alliances, And other appliances Of statesmen with morals and consciences plastic Come by much more than their own? Made they mots, as "There to-day are No more Himalayehs," Or, if you prefer it, "There to-day are No more Himalaya"? Oi, said the Akhoond, "Sah, L'Etat de Swat c'est moi"? Khabu, did there come great fear On thy Khabuldozed Ameer Ali Shere?

Or did the Khan of far Kashgar Tremble at the menace hot Of the Moolla of Kotal, "I will extirpate thee, pal Of my foe the Akhoond of Swat"? Who knows Of Moolla and Akhoond aught more than I did? Namely, in life they rivals were, or foes, And in their deaths not very much divided? If any one knows it, Let him disclose it!

George Thomas Lanigan.


There was a Russian came over the sea, Just when the war was growing hot; And his name it was Tjalikavakaree- Karindobrolikanahudarot- Shibkadirova- Ivarditztova Sanilik Danerik Varagobhot.

A Turk was standing upon the shore— Right where the terrible Russian crossed, And he cried: "Bismillah! I'm Ab-El Kor- Bazarou-Kilgonautosgobross- Getfinpravadi- Kligekoladji Grivino Blivido- Jenikodosk!"

So they stood like brave men long and well; And they called each other their proper names, Till the lockjaw seized them, and where they fell They buried them both by the Irdesholmmes Kalatalustchuk Mischtaribusiclup- Bulgari- Dulbary- Sagharimsing.



Sweet maiden of Passamaquoddy, Shall we seek for communion of souls Where the deep Mississippi meanders, Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls?

Ah no,—for in Maine I will find thee A sweetly sequestrated nook, Where the far-winding Skoodoowabskooksis Conjoins with the Skoodoowabskook.

There wander two beautiful rivers, With many a winding and crook; The one is the Skoodoowabskooksis, The other—the Skoodoowabskook.

Ah, sweetest of haunts! though unmentioned In geography, atlas, or book, How fair is the Skoodoowabskooksis, When joining the Skoodoowabskook!

Our cot shall be close by the waters Within that sequestrated nook— Reflected in Skoodoowabskooksis And mirrored in Skoodoowabskook.

You shall sleep to the music of leaflets, By zephyrs in wantonness shook, And dream of the Skoodoowabskooksis, And, perhaps, of the Skoodoowabskook.

When awaked by the hens and the roosters, Each morn, you shall joyously look On the junction of Skoodoowabskooksis With the soft gliding Skoodoowabskook.

Your food shall be fish from the waters, Drawn forth on the point of a hook, From murmuring Skoodoowabskooksis, Or wandering Skoodoowabskook!

You shall quaff the most sparkling of water, Drawn forth from a silvery brook Which flows to the Skoodoowabskooksis, And then to the Skoodoowabskook!

And you shall preside at the banquet, And I will wait on thee as cook; And we'll talk of the Skoodoowabskooksis, And sing of the Skoodoowabskook!

Let others sing loudly of Saco, Of Quoddy, and Tattamagouche, Of Kennebeccasis, and Quaco, Of Merigonishe, and Buctouche,

Of Nashwaak, and Magaguadavique, Or Memmerimammericook,— There's none like the Skoodoowabskooksis, Excepting the Skoodoowabskook!



When the day and the night do meete And the houses are even with the streete: And the fire and the water agree, And blinde men have power to see: When the Wolf and the Lambe lie down togither, And the blasted trees will not wither: When the flood and the ebbe run one way, And the Sunne and the Moone are at a stay; When Age and Youth are all one, And the Miller creepes through the Mill-stone: When the Ram butts the Butcher on the head, And the living are buried with the dead. When the Cobler doth worke without his ends, And the Cutpurse and the Hangman are friends: Strange things will then be to see, But I think it will never be!



If down his throat a man should choose In fun, to jump or slide, He'd scrape his shoes against his teeth, Nor dirt his own inside. But if his teeth were lost and gone, And not a stump to scrape upon, He'd see at once how very pat His tongue lay there by way of mat, And he would wipe his feet on that!

Edward Cannon.


Werther had a love for Charlotte Such as words could never utter; Would you know how first he met her? She was cutting bread and butter.

Charlotte was a married lady, And a moral man was Werther, And for all the wealth of Indies, Would do nothing for to hurt her.

So he sigh'd and pined and ogled, And his passion boil'd and bubbled, Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled.

Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person, Went on cutting bread and butter.

W.M. Thackeray.


Lazy-bones, lazy-bones, wake up and peep! The cat's in the cupboard, your mother's asleep. There you sit snoring, forgetting her ills; Who is to give her her Bolus and Pills? Twenty fine Angels must come into town, All for to help you to make your new gown: Dainty aerial Spinsters and Singers; Aren't you ashamed to employ such white fingers? Delicate hands, unaccustom'd to reels, To set 'em working a poor body's wheels? Why they came down is to me all a riddle, And left Hallelujah broke off in the middle: Jove's Court, and the Presence angelical, cut— To eke out the work of a lazy young slut. Angel-duck, Angel-duck, winged and silly, Pouring a watering-pot over a lily, Gardener gratuitous, careless of pelf, Leave her to water her lily herself, Or to neglect it to death if she chuse it: Remember the loss is her own if she lose it.

Charles Lamb.


Americus, as he did wend With A. J. Mortimer, his chum, The two were greeted by a friend, "And how are you, boys, Hi, Ho, Hum?"

He spread a note so crisp, so neat (Ho, and Hi, and tender Hum), "If you of this a fifth can eat I'll give you the remainder. Come!"

To the tuck-shop three repair, (Ho, and Hum, and pensive Hi), One looks on to see all's fair, Two call out for hot mince-pie.

Thirteen tarts, a few Bath buns (Hi, and Hum, and gorgeous Ho), Lobster cakes (the butter'd ones), All at once they cry, "No go."

Then doth tuck-man smile. "Them there (Ho, and Hi, and futile Hum) Jellies three and sixpence air, Use of spoons an equal sum."

Three are rich. Sweet task 'tis o'er, "Tuckman, you're a brick," they cry, Wildly then shake hands all four (Hum and Ho, the end is Hi).

Jean Ingelow.


Nothing to do but work, Nothing to eat but food, Nothing to wear but clothes To keep one from going nude.

Nothing to breathe but air, Quick as a flash 'tis gone; Nowhere to fall but off, Nowhere to stand but on.

Nothing to comb but hair, Nowhere to sleep but in bed, Nothing to weep but tears, Nothing to bury but dead.

Nothing to sing but songs, Ah, well, alas! alack! Nowhere to go but out, Nowhere to come but back.

Nothing to see but sights, Nothing to quench but thirst, Nothing to have but what we've got; Thus thro' life we are cursed.

Nothing to strike but a gait; Everything moves that goes. Nothing at all but common sense Can ever withstand these woes.

Ben King.


He killed the noble Mudjokivis. Of the skin he made him mittens, Made them with the fur side inside, Made them with the skin side outside. He, to get the warm side inside, Put the inside skin side outside; He, to get the cold side outside, Put the warm side fur side inside. That's why he put the fur side inside, Why he put the skin side outside, Why he turned them inside outside.



Said Folly to Wisdom, "Pray, where are we going?" Said Wisdom to Folly, "There's no way of knowing."

Said Folly to Wisdom, "Then what shall we do?" Said Wisdom to Folly, "I thought to ask you."

Tudor Jenks.


Uncle Simon he Clum up a tree To see what he could see When presentlee Uncle Jim Clum up beside of him And squatted down by he.

Artemus Ward.


What is the matter with Grandpapa? What can the matter be? He's broken his leg in trying to spell Tommy without a T.

D' Arcy W. Thompson.


All bones but yours will rattle when I say I'm the sea-serpent from America. Mayhap you've heard that I've been round the world; I guess I'm round it now, Mister, twice curled. Of all the monsters through the deep that splash, I'm "number one" to all immortal smash. When I lie down and would my length unroll, There ar'n't half room enough 'twixt pole and pole. In short, I grow so long that I've a notion I must be measured soon for a new ocean.



I am a peevish student, I; My star is gone from yonder sky. I think it went so high at first That it just went and gone and burst.



The monkey married the Baboon's sister, Smacked his lips and then he kissed her, He kissed so hard he raised a blister. She set up a yell. The bridesmaid stuck on some court plaster, It stuck so fast it couldn't stick faster, Surely 't was a sad disaster, But it soon got well.

What do you think the bride was dressed in? White gauze veil and a green glass breast-pin, Red kid shoes—she was quite interesting, She was quite a belle. The bridegroom swell'd with a blue shirt collar, Black silk stock that cost a dollar, Large false whiskers the fashion to follow; He cut a monstrous swell.

What do you think they had for supper? Black-eyed peas and bread and butter, Ducks in the duck-house all in a flutter, Pickled oysters too. Chestnuts raw and boil'd and roasted, Apples sliced and onions toasted, Music in the corner posted, Waiting for the cue.

What do you think was the tune they danced to? "The drunken Sailor"—sometimes "Jim Crow," Tails in the way—and some got pinched, too, 'Cause they were too long. What do you think they had for a fiddle? An old Banjo with a hole in the middle, A Tambourine made out of a riddle, And that's the end of my song.



Mr. Finney had a turnip And it grew and it grew, And it grew behind the barn, And that turnip did no harm.

There it grew and it grew Till it could grow no longer; Then his daughter Lizzie picked it And put it in the cellar.

There it lay and it lay Till it began to rot; And his daughter Susie took it And put it in the pot.

And they boiled it and boiled it As long as they were able, And then his daughters took it And put it on the table.

Mr. Finney and his wife They sat down to sup; And they ate and they ate And they ate that turnip up.



The Sun, yon glorious orb of day, Ninety-four million miles away, Will keep revolving in its orbit Till heat and motion reabsorb it.

J. Davis.


The Autumn leaves are falling, Are falling here and there. They're falling through the atmosphere And also through the air.



The night was growing old As she trudged through snow and sleet; Her nose was long and cold, And her shoes were full of feet.



How very sad it is to think Our poor benighted brother Should have his head upon one end, His feet upon the other.



Down through the snow-drifts in the street With blustering joy he steers; His rubber boots are full of feet And his tippet full of ears.

Eugene Field.


Behold the wonders of the mighty deep, Where crabs and lobsters learn to creep, And little fishes learn to swim, And clumsy sailors tumble in.



There was a little girl, And she had a little curl Right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good She was very, very good, And when she was bad she was horrid.

One day she went upstairs, When her parents, unawares, In the kitchen were occupied with meals And she stood upon her head In her little trundle-bed, And then began hooraying with her heels.

Her mother heard the noise, And she thought it was the boys A-playing at a combat in the attic; But when she climbed the stair, And found Jemima there, She took and she did spank her most emphatic.

H. W. Longfellow.


The sorry world is sighing now; La Grippe is at the door; And many folks are dying now Who never died before.

Newton Mackintosh.


Mary Jane was a farmer's daughter, Mary Jane did what she oughter. She fell in love—but all in vain; Oh, poor Mary! oh, poor Jane!



Little Willie, in the best of sashes, Fell in the fire and was burned to ashes. By and by the room grew chilly, But no one liked to poke up Willie.

Col. D. Streamer.


Sam had spirits naught could check, And to-day, at breakfast, he Broke his baby sister's neck, So he sha'n't have jam for tea!

Col. D. Streamer.


Making toast at the fireside, Nurse fell in the grate and died; And, what makes it ten times worse, All the toast was burned with Nurse.

Col. D. Streamer.


In the drinking-well (Which the plumber built her) Aunt Eliza fell,— We must buy a filter.

Col. D. Streamer.


Susan poisoned her grandmother's tea; Grandmamma died in agonee. Susan's papa was greatly vexed, And he said to Susan, "My dear, what next?"



Baby sat on the window-seat; Mary pushed Baby into the street; Baby's brains were dashed out in the "arey"; And mother held up her forefinger at Mary.



I dined with a friend in the East, one day, Who had no window-sashes; A sunbeam through the window came And burnt his wife to ashes. "John, sweep your mistress away," said he, "And bring fresh wine for my friend and me."



Little Willie hung his sister, She was dead before we missed her. "Willie's always up to tricks! Ain't he cute? He's only six!"



Pity now poor Mary Ames, Blinded by her brother James; Red-hot nails in her eyes he poked,— I never saw Mary more provoked.



By a Moore-ose Melodist

Oh, ever thus from childhood's hour, I've seen my fondest hopes recede! I never loved a tree or flower That didn't trump its partner's lead.

I never nursed a dear gazelle, To glad me with its dappled hide, But when it came to know me well, It fell upon the buttered side.

I never taught a cockatoo To whistle comic songs profound, But, just when "Jolly Dogs" it knew, It failed for ninepence in the pound.

I never reared a walrus cub In my aquarium to plunge, But, when it learned to love its tub, It placidly threw up the sponge!

I never strove a metaphor To every bosom home to bring But—just as it had reached the door— It went and cut a pigeon's wing!

Tom Hood, Jr.


"Tout aux tavernes et aux fiells"

Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack? Or fake the broads? or fig a nag? Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack? Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag? Suppose you duff? or nose and lag? Or get the straight, and land your pot? How do you melt the multy swag? Booze and the blowens cop the lot.

Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack; Or moskeneer, or flash the drag; Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack; Pad with a slang, or chuck a fag; Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag; Rattle the tats, or mark the spot; You cannot bag a single stag; Booze and the blowens cop the lot.

Suppose you try a different tack, And on the square you flash your flag? At penny-a-lining make your whack, Or with the mummers mug and gag? For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag! At any graft, no matter what, Your merry goblins soon stravag: Booze and the blowens cop the lot.


It's up the spout and Charley Wag With wipes and tickers and what not Until the squeezer nips your scrag, Booze and the blowens cop the lot.

W. E. Henley.


Blind Thamyris, and blind M. aeonides, Pursue the triumph and partake the gale! Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees, To point a moral or adorn a tale.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears, Like angels' visits, few and far between, Deck the long vista of departed years.

Man never is, but always to be bless'd; The tenth transmitter of a foolish face, Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest, And makes a sunshine in the shady place.

For man the hermit sigh'd, till woman smiled, To waft a feather or to drown a fly, (In wit a man, simplicity a child,) With silent finger pointing to the sky.

But fools rush in where angels fear to tread, Far out amid the melancholy main; As when a vulture on Imaus bred, Dies of a rose in aromatic pain.

Laman Blanchard.


There was an old person of Ware Who rode on the back of a bear; When they said, "Does it trot?" He said: "Certainly not, It's a Moppsikon Floppsikon bear."

There was an old person of Wick, Who said, "Tick-a-Tick, Tick-a-Tick, Chickabee, Chickabaw," And he said nothing more, This laconic old person of Wick.

There was an old person of Woking, Whose mind was perverse and provoking; He sate on a rail, With his head in a pail, That illusive old person of Woking.

There was once a man with a beard Who said, "It is just as I feared!— Two Owls and a Hen, Four Larks and a Wren Have all built their nests in my beard."

There was an old man of Thermopylae, Who never did anything properly; But they said: "If you choose To boil eggs in your shoes, You cannot remain in Thermopylae."

There was an Old Man who said, "Hush! I perceive a young bird in this bush!" When they said, "Is it small?" He replied, "Not at all; It is four times as big as the bush!"

There was an Old Man who supposed That the street door was partially closed; But some very large Rats Ate his coats and his hats, While that futile Old Gentleman dozed.

There was an Old Man of Leghorn, The smallest that ever was born; But quickly snapt up he Was once by a Puppy, Who devoured that Old Man of Leghorn.

There was an Old Man of Kamschatka Who possessed a remarkably fat Cur; His gait and his waddle Were held as a model To all the fat dogs in Kamschatka.

Edward Lear.

[From books printed for the benefit of the New York Fair in aid of the Sanitary Commission, 1864]

There was a gay damsel of Lynn, Whose waist was so charmingly thin, The dressmaker needed A microscope—she did— To fit this slim person of Lynn.

There was a young lady of Milton, Who was highly disgusted with Stilton; When offered a bite, She said, "Not a mite!" That suggestive young lady of Milton.

There was a dear lady of Eden, Who on apples was quite fond of feedin'; She gave one to Adam, Who said, "Thank you, Madam," And then both skedaddled from Eden.

There was a young lady of Wales, Who wore her back hair in two tails; And a hat on her head That was striped black and red, And studded with ten-penny nails.

There was an old man who said, "Do Tell me how I'm to add two and two? I'm not very sure That it doesn't make four— But I fear that is almost too few."

There once was a man who said, "How Shall I manage to carry my cow? For if I should ask it To get in my basket, 'Twould make such a terrible row."


There once was an old man of Lyme Who married three wives at a time; When asked, "Why a third?" He replied, "One's absurd! And bigamy, sir, is a crime."

There once was a person of Benin, Who wore clothes not fit to be seen in; When told that he shouldn't, He replied, "Gumscrumrudent!" A word of inscrutable meanin'.

There once was a girl of New York Whose body was lighter than cork; She had to be fed For six weeks upon lead, Before she went out for a walk.

Cosmo Monkhouse.

There was a young man who was bitten By twenty-two cats and a kitten; Sighed he, "It is clear My finish is near; No matter; I'll die like a Briton!"

There was a princess of Bengal, Whose mouth was exceedingly small; Said she, "It would be More easy for me To do without eating at all!"

There was an old stupid who wrote The verses above that we quote; His want of all sense Was something immense, Which made him a person of note.

Walter Parke.


A Potsdam, les totaux absteneurs, Comme tant d'autres titotalleurs, Sont gloutons, omnivores, Nasorubicolores, Grands manchons, et terribles duffeurs.

Un vieux due (le meilleur des epoux) Demandait (en lui tatant le pouls) A sa vielle duchesse (Qu'un vieux catarrhe oppresse):— "Et ton the, t'a-t-il ote ta toux?"

II naquit pres de Choisy-le-Roi; Le Latin lui causait de l'effroi; Et les Mathematiques Lui donnaient des coliques, Et le Grec l'enrhumait. Ce fut moi.

Il etait un gendarme, a Nanteuil, Qui n'avait qu'une dent et qu'un oeil; Mais cet oeil solitaire Etait plein de mystere; Cette dent, d'importance et d'orgueil.

"Cassez-vous, cassez-vous, cassez-vous, O mer, sur vos froids gris calloux!" Ainsi traduisit Laure Au profit d'Isadore (Bon jeune homme, at son futur epoux.)

Un marin naufrage (de Doncastre) Pour priere, an milieu du desastre Repetait a genoux Ces mots simples et doux:— "Scintillez, scintillez, petit astre!"

George du Maurier.

* * * * *

There was a young man of Cohoes, Wore tar on the end of his nose; When asked why he done it, He said for the fun it Afforded the men of Cohoes.

Robert J. Burdette.

* * * * *

I'd rather have habits than clothes, For that's where my intellect shows. And as for my hair, Do you think I should care To comb it at night with my toes?

I'd rather have ears than a nose, I'd rather have fingers than toes, But as for my hair: I'm glad it's all there; I'll be awfully sad when it goes.

I wish that my Room had a Floor; I don't so much care for a Door, But this walking around Without touching the ground Is getting to be quite a bore!

Gelett Burgess.

H was an indigent Hen, Who picked up a corn now and then; She had but one leg On which she could peg, And behind her left ear was a wen.

Bruce Porter.

Cleopatra, who thought they maligned her, Resolved to reform and be kinder; "If, when pettish," she said, "I should knock off your head, Won't you give me some gentle reminder?"

Newton Mackintosh.

When that Seint George hadde sleyne ye draggon, He sate him down furninst a flaggon; And, wit ye well, Within a spell He had a bien plaisaunt jag on.


There was a young lady of Niger Who smiled as she rode on a Tiger; They came back from the ride With the lady inside, And the smile on the face of the Tiger.


There was a young maid who said, "Why Can't I look in my ear with my eye? If I give my mind to it, I'm sure I can do it, You never can tell till you try."



ABSTEMIA Gelett Burgess Abstrosophy Gelett Burgess Aestivation O. W. Holmes Ahkond of Swat, The Edward Lear Alone As with my Hat upon my Head Dr. Johnson Auld Wife, The C. S. Calverley Aunt Eliza Col. D. Streamer Autumn Leaves, The

BABY AND MARY Ballade of the Nurserie John Twig Ballad of Bedlam Ballad of High Endeavor, A Ballad with an Ancient Refrain Bison, The Hilaire Relloc Bloated Biggaboon, The H. Cholmondeley-Pennell Blue Moonshine Francis G. Stokes Boy, The Eugene Field Bulbul, The Owen Seaman Buz, quoth the Blue Fly Ben Jonson

CENTIPEDE, A Chimpanzee, The Oliver Herford Chronicle, A Classic Ode, A Charles Battell Loomis Cobbe's Prophecies Cock and the Bull, The C. S. Calverley Collusion between a Alegaiter and a Water-Snaik J. W. Morris Companions C. S. Calverley Cossimbazar Henry S. Leigh Cow, The Oliver Herford Cruise of the "P. C.", The Cumberbunce, The Paul West

DARWINITY Herman Merivale Dinkey-Bird, The Eugene Field Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal George T. Lanigan

ELDERLY GENTLEMAN, THE George Canning Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog Oliver Goldsmith Elegy on Madam Blaize Oliver Goldsmith

FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY Thomas Hood Famous Ballad of the Jubilee Cup, The A. T. Stiller-Couch Father William Ferdinando and Elvira W. S. Gilbert Fin de Siecle Newton Mackintosh Flamingo, The Lewis Gaylord Clark Forcing a Way Frangipanni Frog, The Hilaire Belloc

GENERAL JOHN W. S. Gilbert Gentle Alice Brown W. S. Gilbert Great Man, A Oliver Goldsmith Guinea Pig, The

HEN, THE Oliver Herford Her Dairy Peter Newell Here is the Tale Anthony C. Deane Her Polka Dots Peter Newell Higher Pantheism in a Nutshell, The A. C. Swinburne Hippopotamus, The Oliver Herford Holiday Task, A Gilbert Abbott a Becket Hunting of the Snark, The Lewis Carroll Hyder iddle diddle dell Hymn to the Sunrise

IF If Half the Road If a Man who Turnips Cries Dr. Johnson I Love to Stand Imitation of Wordsworth Catharine M. Fanshawe Impetuous Samuel Col. D. Streamer Incidents in the Life of my Uncle Arly Edward Lear Indifference In Immemorian Cuthbert Bede In the Dumps In the Gloaming James C. Bayles In the Night Invisible Bridge, The Gelett Burgess

JABBERWOCKY Lewis Carroll John Jones A. C. Swinburne Jumblies, The Edward Lear

KEN YE AUGHT O' CAPTAIN GROSE Robert Burns Kindness to Animals J. Ashby-Sterry King Arthur

LAYE OF YE WOODPECKORE, YE Henry A. Beers Lazy Roof, The Gelett Burgess Like to the Thundering Tone Bishop Corbet LIMERICKS: Cleopatra, who thought they maligned her Newton Mackintosh H was an indigent H Bruce Porter I'd rather have habits than clothes Gelett Burgess I wish that my room had a door Gelett Burgess There once was a girl of New York Cosmo Monkhouse There once was a man who said "How" There once was an old man of Lyme Cosmo Monkhouse There once was a person of Benin Cosmo Monkhouse There was a dear lady of Eden There was a gay damsel of Lynn There was an old man in a tree Edward Lear There was an Old Man of Kamschatka Edward Lear There was an Old Man of Leghorn Edward Lear There was an old man of St. Bees W. S. Gilbert There was an old man of Thermopylae Edward Lear There was an old man who said "Do" There was an Old Man who said "Hush" Edward Lear There was an Old Man who supposed Edward Lear There was an old person of Ware Edward Lear There was an old person of Wick Edward Lear There was an old person of Woking Edward Lear There was an old stupid who wrote Walter Parke There was once a man with a beard Edward Lear There was a princess of Bengal Walter Parke There was a small boy of Quebec Rudyard Kipling There was a young lady of Milton There was a young lady of Niger There was a young lady of Wales There was a young maid who said "Why" There was a young man at St. Kitts There was a young man of Cohoes Robert J. Burdette There was a young man who was bitten Walter Parke Vers Nonsensiques George du Maurier When that Seint George hadde sleyne ye dragon Lines by a Fond Lover Lines by a Medium Lines by a Person of Quality Alexander Pope Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon Lines to a Young Lady Edward Lear Little Billee W.M. Thackeray Little Peach, The Little Willie Lobster wooed a Lady Crab, A Lovers and a Reflection C.S. Calverley Love Song by a Lunatic Lugubrious Whing-Whang, The James W. Riley Lunar Stanzas H.C. Knight

MALUM OPUS J. Appleton Morgan Man in the Moon, The James W. Riley Martin Luther at Potsdam Barry Pain Martin to his Man Mary Ames Mary Jane Master and Man Mayor of Scuttleton, The Mary Mapes Dodge Melancholia Metaphysics Oliver Herford Minnie and Winnie Lord Tennyson Misfortunes Col. D. Streamer Mr. Finney's Turnip Modern Hiawatha, The Monkey's Glue, The Goldwin Goldsmith Monkey's Wedding The Monsieur McGinte Moon is up, The Moorlands of the Not Mors Iabrochii Muddled Metaphors Tom Hood, Jr. My Dream My Feet Gelett Burgess My Home My Recollectest Thoughts Charles E. Carryl

Nephelidia A. C. Swinburne Noble Tuckman, The Jean Ingelow Nonsense Nonsense Thomas Moore Nonsense Verses Charles Lamb Not I R.L. Stevenson Nyum-Nyum, The

Ocean Wanderer, The Odd to a Krokis Ode to the Human Heart Laman Blanchard Of Baiting the Lion Owen Seaman Oh, my Geraldine F.C. Burnand Oh, Weary Mother Barry Pain On the Oxford Carrier John Milton On the Road Tudor Jenks Owl and the Pussy-Cat, The Edward Lear

PANTHER, THE Parson Gray Oliver Goldsmith Parterre, The E. H. Palmer Personified Sentimental, The Bret Harte Pessimist, The Ben King Platypus, The Oliver Herford Pobble who has no Toes, The Edward Lear Poor Brother Poor Dear Grandpapa D'Arcy W. Thompson Psycholophon Gelett Burgess Puer ex Jersey Purple Cow, The Gelett Burgess Python, The Hilaire Belloc


RIDDLE, A Rollicking Mastodon, The Arthur Macy Russian and Turk

SAGE COUNSEL A. T. Quiller-Couch Sailor's Yarn, A James Jeffrey Roche Sea, The Sea-Serpent, The Planche She's All my Fancy Painted Him Lewis Carroll She Went into the Garden S. Foote Shipwreck, The E. H. Palmer Silver Question, The Oliver Herford Sing for the Garish Eye W. S. Gilbert Singular Sangfroid of Baby Bunting, The Guy W. Carryl Some Geese Oliver Herford Some Verses to Snaix Song of Impossibilities William M. Praed Song of the Screw, The Song on King William III Sonnet Found in a Deserted Madhouse Sorrows of Werther, The W. M. Thackeray Spirk Troll-Derisive James W. Riley Story of Cruel Psamtek, The Story of Prince Agib, The W. S. Gilbert Story of Pyramid Thothmes Story of the Wild Huntsman Heinrich Hoffman Sun, The J. Davis Sunbeam, The Superior Nonsense Verses Susan Swiss Air Bret Harte Sylvie and Bruno Lewis Carroll

Tender-Heartedness Col. D. Streamer Tender Infant, The Dr. Johnson There was a Frog There was a Little Girl H. W. Longfellow There was a Monkey Three Acres of Land Three Children Three Jovial Huntsmen Threnody George T. Lanigan Thy Heart Timid Hortense Peter Newell Timon of Archimedes Charles Battell Loomis 'Tis Midnight and the Setting Sun 'Tis Sweet to Roam To Marie To Mollidusta Planche Transcendentalism Trust in Women Turvey Top Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee

Uffia Harriet R. White Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim Artemui Ward Unsuspected Fact, An Edward Cannon Uprising See the Fitful Lark

Villon's Straight Tip W. E. Henley

Walloping Window-Blind, The Charles E. Carryl Walrus and the Carpenter, The Lewis Carroll Ways and Means Lewis Carroll Whango Tree, The What the Prince of I Dreamt H. Cholmondeley-Pennell When Moonlike ore the Hazure Seas W.M. Thackeray Where Avalanches Wail Wild Flowers Peter Newell Wonderful Old Man, The Wreck of the "Julie Plante" W.H. Drummond

Yak, The Hilaire Belloc Yonghy-Bonghy-BO, The Edward Lear


A BECKET, GILBERT ABBOTT A Holiday Task ASHBY-STERRY, J. Kindness to Animals

BAYLES, JAMES C. In the Gloaming BEDE, CUTHBERT In Immemoriam BEERS, HENRY A. Ye Laye of ye Woodpeckore BELLOC, HILAIRE The Bison The Frog The Python The Yak BLANCHARD, LAMAN Ode to the Human Heart BURDETTE, ROBERT J. Limerick BURGESS, GELETT Abstemia Abstrosophy The Invisible Bridge The Lazy Roof Limericks My Feet Psycholophon The Purple Cow BURNAND, F. C. Oh, my Geraldine BURNS, ROBERT Ken ye Aught o' Captain Grose?

CALVERLEY, CHARLES S. The Auld Wife The Cock and the Bull Companions Lovers and a Reflection CANNING, GEORGE The Elderly Gentleman CANNON, EDWARD An Unsuspected Fact CARROLL, LEWIS The Hunting of the Snark Jabberwocky She's All my Fancy Painted Him Sylvie and Bruno The Walrus and the Carpenter Ways and Means CARRYL, CHARLES E. My Recollectest Thoughts The Walloping Window-Blind CARRYL, GUY WETMORE The Singular Sangfroid of Baby Bunting CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL, H. The Bloated Biggaboon What the Prince of I Dreamt CLARK, LEWIS GAYLORD The Flamingo CORBET, BISHOP Like to the Thundering Tone

DAVIS, J. The Sun DEANE, ANTHONY C. Here is the Tale DODGE, MARY MAPES The Mayor of Scuttleton DRUMMOND, W.H. Wreck of the "Julie Plante," The DU MAURIER, GEORGE Vers Nonsensiques

FANSHAWE, CATHARINE M. Imitation of Wordsworth FIELD, EUGENE The Boy The Dinkey Bird FOOTE, S. Farrago of Nonsense

GILBERT, W.S. Ferdinando and Elvira General John Gentle Alice Brown Sing for the Garish Eye The Story of Prince Agib There was an Old Man of St. Bees GOLDSMITH, GOLDWIN The Monkey's Glue GOLDSMITH, OLIVER Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog Elegy on Madam Blaize A Great Man Parson Gray

HARTE, BRET The Personified Sentimental Swiss Air HENLEY, W.E. Villon's Straight Tip HERFORD, OLIVER. The Chimpanzee The Cow The Hen The Hippopotamus Metaphysics The Platypus The Silver Question Some Geese HOFFMAN, HEINRICH The Story of the Wild Huntsman HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL AEstivation HOOD, THOMAS Faithless Nelly Gray HOOD, THOMAS, JR. Muddled Metaphors

INGELOW, JEAN The Noble Tuckman

JENKS, TUDOR On the Road JOHNSON, SAMUEL As with my Hat If a Man who Turnips Cries The Tender Infant JONSON, BEN Buz, quoth the Blue Fly

KING, BEN The Pessimist KIPLING, RUDYARD Limerick KNIGHT, HENRY C. Lunar Stanzas

LAMB, CHARLES Nonsense Verses LANIGAN, GEORGE T. Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal A Threnody LEAR, EDWARD The Ahkond of Swat Incidents in the Life of my Uncle Arly The Jumblies Limericks Lines to a Young Lady The Owl and the Pussy-Cat The Pobble There was an Old Man in a Tree The Yonghy-Bonghy-BO LEIGH, HENRY S. Cossimbazar LONGFELLOW, H.W. There was a Little Girl LOOMIS, CHARLES BATTELL A Classic Ode Timon of Archimedes

MACKINTOSH, NEWTON Fin de Siecle Limerick MACY, ARTHUR The Rollicking Mastodon MERIVALE, HERMAN Darwinity MILTON, JOHN On the Oxford Carrier MONKHOUSE, COSMO Limericks MOORE, THOMAS Nonsense MORGAN, JAMES APPLETON Malum Opus MORRIS, J. W. Collusion between a Alegaiter and a Water-Snaik

NEWELL, PETER Her Dairy Her Polka Dots Timid Hortense Wild Flowers

PAIN, BARRY Martin Luther at Potsdam Oh, Weary Mother PALMER, E. H. The Parterre The Shipwreck PARKE, WALTER Limericks PLANCHE The Sea-Serpent To Mollidusta POPE, ALEXANDER Lines by a Person of Quality PORTER, BRUCE Limerick PRAED, W. M. Song of Impossibilities

QUILLER-COUCH, A. T. The Famous Ballad of the Jubilee Cup Sage Counsel

RILEY, JAMES W. The Lugubrious Whing-Whang The Man in the Moon Spirk Troll-Derisive ROCHE, JAMES JEFFREY A Sailor's Yarn

SEAMAN, OWEN The Bulbul Of Baiting the Lion STEVENSON, R. L. Not I STOKES, FRANCIS G. Blue Moonshine STREAMER, COL. D. Aunt Eliza Impetuous Samuel STREAMER, COL. D.—Continued Misfortunes Tender-Heartedness SWINBURNE, A. C. The Higher Pantheism John Jones Nephelidia

TENNYSON, LORD Minnie and Winnie THACKERAY, W.M. Little Billee The Sorrows of Werther When Moonlike ore the Hazure Seas THOMPSON, D'ARCY W. Poor Dear Grandpapa TWIG, JOHN Ballade of the Nurserie

WARD, ARTEMUS Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim WEST, PAUL The Cumberbunce WHITE, HARRIET R. Uffia


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