I hate a scene, and do not wish To be mixed up in gales, But, oh, I longed to ask the Fish Whence came their silver scales!

_Oliver Herfora_.

THE SINGULAR SANGFROID OF BABY BUNTING

Bartholomew Benjamin Bunting Had only three pa.s.sions in life, And one of the trio was hunting, The others his babe and his wife.

And always, so rigid his habits, He frolicked at home until two, And then started hunting for rabbits, And hunted till fall of the dew.

Belinda Bellonia Bunting, Thus widowed for half of the day, Her duty maternal confronting, With baby would patiently play.

When thus was her energy wasted, A patented food she'd dispense.

(She had bought it the day that they pasted The posters all over her fence.)

But Bonaparte Buckingham Bunting, The infant thus blindly adored, Replied to her worship by grunting, Which showed he was brutally bored.

'Twas little he cared for the troubles Of life. Like a crab on the sands, From his sweet little mouth he blew bubbles, And threatened the air with his hands.

Bartholomew Benjamin Bunting One night, as his wife let him in, Produced as the fruit of his hunting A cottontail's velvety skin, Which, seeing young Bonaparte wriggle, He gave him without a demur, And the babe with an aqueous giggle He swallowed the whole of the fur!

Belinda Bellonia Bunting Behaved like a consummate loon: Her offspring in frenzy confronting She screamed herself mottled maroon: She felt of his vertebrae spinal, Expecting he'd surely succ.u.mb, And gave him one vigorous, final, Hard prod in the pit of his tum.

But Bonaparte Buckingham Bunting, At first but a trifle perplexed, By a change in his manner of grunting Soon showed he was horribly vexed.

He displayed not a sign of repentance But spoke, in a dignified tone, The only consecutive sentence He uttered. 'Twas: "Lemme alone."

The Moral: The parent that uses Precaution his folly regrets: An infant gets all that he chooses, An infant chews all that he gets.

And colics? He constantly has 'em So long as his food is the best, But he'll swallow with never a spasm What ostriches couldn't digest.

_Guy Wetmore Carryl_.

FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY

Ben Battle was a soldier bold, And used to war's alarms: But a cannon-ball took off his legs, So he laid down his arms!

Now, as they bore him off the field, Said he, "Let others shoot, For here I leave my second leg, And the Forty-second Foot!"

The army surgeons made him limbs: Said he, "They're only pegs; But there's as wooden members quite, As represent my legs!"

Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, Her name was Nelly Gray; So he went to pay her his devours When he'd devoured his pay!

But when he called on Nelly Gray, She made him quite a scoff; And when she saw his wooden legs, Began to take them off!

"O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!

Is this your love so warm?

The love that loves a scarlet coat, Should be more uniform!"

Said she, "I loved a soldier once, For he was blithe and brave; But I will never have a man With both legs in the grave!"

"Before you had those timber toes, Your love I did allow, But then you know, you stand upon Another footing now!"

"O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!

For all your jeering speeches, At duty's call I left my legs In Badajos's breaches!"

"Why, then," said she, "you've lost the feet Of legs in war's alarms, And now you cannot wear your shoes Upon your feats of arms!"

"Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray; I know why you refuse: Though I've no feet--some other man Is standing in my shoes!"

"I wish I ne'er had seen your face; But now a long farewell!

For you will be my death--alas!

You will not be my Nell!"

Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, His heart so heavy got-- And life was such a burden grown, It made him take a knot!

So round his melancholy neck A rope he did entwine, And, for his second time in life Enlisted in the Line!

One end he tied around a beam, And then removed his pegs, And as his legs were off,--of course, He soon was off his legs!

And there he hung till he was dead As any nail in town,-- For though distress had cut him up, It could not cut him down!

A dozen men sat on his corpse, To find out why he died-- And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, With a stake in his inside!

_Thomas Hood_.

THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN

By the side of a murmuring stream an elderly gentleman sat.

On the top of his head was a wig, and a-top of his wig was his hat.

The wind it blew high and blew strong, as the elderly gentleman sat; And bore from his head in a trice, and plunged in the river his hat.

The gentleman then took his cane which lay by his side as he sat; And he dropped in the river his wig, in attempting to get out his hat.

His breast it grew cold with despair, and full in his eye madness sat; So he flung in the river his cane to swim with his wig, and his hat.

Cool reflection at last came across while this elderly gentleman sat; So he thought he would follow the stream and look for his cane, wig, and hat.

His head being thicker than common, o'er-balanced the rest of his fat; And in plumped this son of a woman to follow his wig, cane, and hat.

_George Canning_.