He said that you had been to her, And seen me here before: But, in another character She was the same of yore.

There was not one that spoke to us, Of all that thronged the street; So he sadly got into a 'bus, And pattered with his feet.

They told me you had been to her, And mentioned me to him; She gave me a good character, But said I could not swim.

He sent them word I had not gone (We know it to be true); If she should push the matter on, What would become of you?

I gave her one, they gave him two, You gave us three or more; They all returned from him to you, Though they were mine before.

If I or she should chance to be Involved in this affair, He trusts to you to set them free, Exactly as we were.

My notion was that you had been (Before she had this fit) An obstacle that came between Him, and ourselves, and it.

Don't let him know she liked them best, For this must ever be A secret, kept from all the rest, Between yourself and me.

_Lewis Carroll_.

MY RECOLLECTEST THOUGHTS

My recollectest thoughts are those Which I remember yet; And bearing on, as you'd suppose, The things I don't forget.

But my resemblest thoughts are less Alike than they should be; A state of things, as you'll confess, You very seldom see.

And yet the mostest thought I love Is what no one believes-- That I'm the sole survivor of The famous Forty Thieves!

_Charles E. Carry_.

FATHER WILLIAM

"You are old, Father William," the young man said, "And your nose has a look of surprise; Your eyes have turned round to the back of your head, And you live upon cuc.u.mber pies."

"I know it, I know it," the old man replied, "And it comes from employing a quack, Who said if I laughed when the crocodile died I should never have pains in my back."

"You are old, Father William," the young man said, "And your legs always get in your way; You use too much mortar in mixing your bread, And you try to drink timothy hay."

"Very true, very true," said the wretched old man, "Every word that you tell me is true; And it's caused by my having my kerosene can Painted red where it ought to be blue."

"You are old, Father William," the young man said, "And your teeth are beginning to freeze, Your favorite daughter has wheels in her head, And the chickens are eating your knees."

"You are right," said the old man, "I cannot deny, That my troubles are many and great, But I'll b.u.t.ter my ears on the Fourth of July, And then I'll be able to skate."

_Anonymous_.

IN THE GLOAMING

The twilight twiles in the vernal vale, In adumbration of azure awe, And I listlessly list in my swallow-tail To the limpet licking his limber jaw.

And it's O for the sound of the daffodil, For the dry distillings of prawn and prout, When hope hops high and a heather hill Is a dear delight and a darksome doubt.

The snagwap sits in the bosky brae And sings to the gumplet in accents sweet; The gibwink hasn't a word to say, But pensively smiles at the fair keeweet.

And it's O for the jungles of Boorabul.

For the jingling jungles to jangle in, With a moony maze of mellado mull, And a protoplasm for next of kin.

O, sweet is the note of the s.h.a.green shard And mellow the mew of the mastodon, When the soboliferous Somminard Is scenting the shadows at set of sun.

And it's O for the timorous tamarind In the murky meadows of Mariboo, For the suave sirocco of Sazerkind, And the pimpernell pellets of Pangipoo.

_James C. Bayles_.

BALLAD OF BEDLAM

Oh, lady, wake! the azure moon Is rippling in the verdant skies, The owl is warbling his soft tune, Awaiting but thy snowy eyes.

The joys of future years are past, To-morrow's hopes have fled away; Still let us love, and e'en at last We shall be happy yesterday.

The early beam of rosy night Drives off the ebon morn afar, While through the murmur of the light The huntsman winds his mad guitar.

Then, lady, wake! my brigantine Pants, neighs, and prances to be free; Till the creation I am thine, To some rich desert fly with me.

_Punch_.

'TIS SWEET TO ROAM

'Tis sweet to roam when morning's light Resounds across the deep; And the crystal song of the woodbine bright Hushes the rocks to sleep, And the blood-red moon in the blaze of noon Is bathed in a crumbling dew, And the wolf rings out with a glittering shout, To-whit, to-whit, to-whoo!

_Anonymous_.

HYMN TO THE SUNRISE

The dreamy crags with raucous voices croon Across the zephyr's heliotrope career; I sit contentedly upon the moon And watch the sunlight trickle round the sphere.

The shiny trill of jagged, feathered rocks I hear with glee as swift I fly away; And over waves of subtle, woolly flocks Crashes the breaking day!

_Anonymous_.