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 porridge crumbs all round his mouth, And he brushes them off with a j.a.panese 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-c.u.m-Jim_, Dadd!

Limb!

I'd go pardners with him!

Jes' jump my bob here and be pardners with him!"

_James Whitcomb Riley._

THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING-WHANG

Out on the margin of moonshine land, Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, Out where the whing-whang loves to stand Writing his name with his tail on the sand, And wiping it out with his oogerish hand; Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

Is it the gibber of gungs and keeks?

Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, Or what _is_ the sound the whing-whang seeks, Crouching low by the winding creeks, And holding his breath for weeks and weeks?

Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things!

Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, 'Tis a fair whing-whangess with phosphor rings, And bridal jewels of fangs and stings, And she sits and as sadly and softly sings As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings; Tickle me, dear; tickle me here; Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs.

_James Whitcomb Riley._

THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO

I

On the Coast of Coromandel Where the early pumpkins blow, In the middle of the woods Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

Two old chairs, and half a candle, One old jug without a handle,-- These were all his worldly goods: In the middle of the woods, These were all the worldly goods Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

II

Once, among the Bong-trees walking Where the early pumpkins blow, To a little heap of stones Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

There he heard a Lady talking, To some milk-white Hens of Dorking, "'Tis the Lady Jingly Jones!

On that little heap of stones Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!"

Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

III

"Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!

Sitting where the pumpkins blow, Will you come and be my wife?"

Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, "I am tired of living singly,-- On this coast so wild and shingly,-- I'm a-weary of my life; If you'll come and be my wife, Quite serene would be my life!"

Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

IV

"On this Coast of Coromandel Shrimps and watercresses grow, Prawns are plentiful and cheap,"

Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

"You shall have my chairs and candle, And my jug without a handle!

Gaze upon the rolling deep (Fish is plentiful and cheap): As the sea, my love is deep!"

Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

V

Lady Jingly answered sadly, And her tears began to flow,-- "Your proposal comes too late, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

I would be your wife most gladly!"

(Here she twirled her fingers madly,) "But in England I've a mate!

Yes! you've asked me far too late, For in England I've a mate, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

VI

"Mr. Jones (his name is Handel,-- Handel Jones, Esquire & Co.) Dorking fowls delights to send, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

Keep, oh, keep your chairs and candle, And your jug without a handle,-- I can merely be your friend!

Should my Jones more Dorkings send, I will give you three, my friend!

Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

VII

"Though you've such a tiny body, And your head so large doth grow,-- Though your hat may blow away, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy, Yet I wish that I could modi- fy the words I needs must say!

Will you please to go away?

That is all I have to say, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!"

VIII

Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle, Where the early pumpkins blow, To the calm and silent sea Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle, Lay a large and lively Turtle.

"You're the Cove," he said, "for me: On your back beyond the sea, Turtle, you shall carry me!"