Oh, that precentor's look, When the sopranos took Their own time and hook From the Old Hundred!

Screeched all the trebles here, Boggled the tenors there, Raising the parson's hair, While his mind wandered; Theirs not to reason why This psalm was pitched too high: Theirs but to gasp and cry Out the Old Hundred.

Trebles to right of them, Tenors to left of them, Ba.s.ses in front of them, Bellowed and thundered.

Stormed they with shout and yell, Not wise they sang nor well, Drowning the s.e.xton's bell, While all the church wondered.

Dire the percenter's glare, Flashed his pitchfork in air Sounding fresh keys to bear Out the Old Hundred.

Swiftly he turned his back, Reached he his hat from rack, Then from the screaming pack, Himself he sundered.

Tenors to right of him, Tenors to left of him, Discords behind him, Bellowed and thundered.

Oh, the wild howls they wrought: Right to the end they fought!

Some tune they sang, but not, Not the Old Hundred.

_Unknown._

MY FOE

John Alcohol, my foe, John, When we were first acquaint, I'd siller in my pockets, John, Which noo, ye ken, I want; I spent it all in treating, John, Because I loved you so; But mark ye, how you've treated me, John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John, We've been ower lang together, Sae ye maun tak' ae road, John, And I will take anither; For we maun tumble down, John, If hand in hand we go; And I shall hae the bill to pay, John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John, Ye've blear'd out a' my een, And lighted up my nose, John, A fiery sign atween!

My hands wi' palsy shake, John, My locks are like the snow; Ye'll surely be the death of me, John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John, 'Twas love to you, I ween, That gart me rise sae ear', John, And sit sae late at e'en; The best o' friens maun part, John, It grieves me sair, ye know; But "we'll nae mair to yon town,"

John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John, Ye've wrought me muckle skaith; And yet to part wi' you, John, I own I'm unko' laith; But I'll join the temperance ranks, John, Ye needna say me no; It's better late than ne'er do weel, John Alcohol, my foe.

_Unknown._

NURSERY SONG IN PIDGIN ENGLISH

Singee a songee sick a pence, Pockee muchee lye; Dozen two time blackee bird Cookee in e pie.

When him cutee topside Birdee bobbery sing; Himee tinkee nicey dish.

Setee foree King!

Kingee in a talkee loom Countee muchee money; Queeny in e kitchee, Chew-chee breadee honey.

Servant galo shakee, Hangee washee clothes; Cho-chop comee blackie bird, Nipee off her nose!

_Unknown._

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."

_Unknown._

A POE-'EM OF Pa.s.sION

It was many and many a year ago, On an island near the sea, That a maiden lived whom you mightn't know By the name of Cannibalee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than a pa.s.sionate fondness for me.

I was a child, and she was a child-- Tho' her tastes were adult Feejee-- But she loved with a love that was more than love, My yearning Cannibalee; With a love that could take me roast or fried Or raw, as the case might be.

And that is the reason that long ago, In that island near the sea, I had to turn the tables and eat My ardent Cannibalee-- Not really because I was fond of her, But to check her fondness for me.

But the stars never rise but I think of the size Of my hot-potted Cannibalee, And the moon never stares but it brings me nightmares Of my spare-rib Cannibalee; And all the night-tide she is restless inside, Is my still indigestible dinner-belle bride, In her pallid tomb, which is Me, In her solemn sepulcher, Me.

_C. F. Lummis._

HOW THE DAUGHTERS COME DOWN AT DUNOON

How do the daughters Come down at Dunoon?

Daintily, Tenderly, Fairily, Gingerly, Glidingly, Slidingly, Slippingly, Skippingly, Trippingly, Clippingly, b.u.mpingly, Thumpingly, Stumpingly, Clumpingly, Starting and bolting, And darting and jolting, And tottering and staggering, And lumbering and slithering, And hurrying and scurrying, And worrying and flurrying, And rushing and leaping and crushing and creeping; Feathers a-flying all--bonnets untying all-- Petticoats rapping and flapping and slapping all, Crinolines flowing and blowing and showing all Balmorals, dancing and glancing, entrancing all; Feats of activity-- Nymphs on declivity-- Mothers in extacies-- Fathers in vextacies-- Lady-loves whisking and frisking and clinging on True-lovers puffing and blowing and springing on, Dashing and clashing and shying and flying on, Blushing and flushing and wriggling and giggling on, Teasing and pleasing and squeezing and wheezing on, Everlastingly falling and bawling and sprawling on, Tumbling and rumbling and grumbling and stumbling on, Any fine afternoon, About July or June-- That's just how the Daughters Come down at Dunoon!

_H. Cholmondeley Pennell._

TO AN IMPORTUNATE HOST

DURING DINNER AND AFTER TENNYSON

Ask me no more: I've had enough Chablis; The wine may come again, and take the shape, From gla.s.s to gla.s.s, of "Mountain" or of "Cape;"