fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe;
Or if a statement I aver
Of which I am not sure,
I think of that strange wanderer
Upon the lonely moor.
Miss Jones
(This frolicsome verse was written for a medley of twenty-two tunes that ranged from “The Captain and His Whiskers” to “Rule Britannia.”)
’Tis a melancholy song, and it will not keep you long, Tho I specs it will work upon your feelings very strong, For the agonising moans of Miss Arabella Jones Were warranted to melt the hearts of any paving stones.
Simon Smith was tall and slim, and she doted upon him, But he always called her Miss Jones—he never got so far, As to use her Christian name—it was too familiar.
When she called him “Simon dear” he pretended not to hear, And she told her sister Susan he behaved extremely queer, Who said, “Very right! very right! Shews his true affection.
If you’d prove your Simon’s love follow my direction.
I’d certainly advise you just to write a simple letter, And to tell him that the cold he kindly asked about is better.
And say that by the tanyard you will wait in loving hope, At nine o’clock this evening if he’s willing to elope With his faithful Arabella.”
So she wrote it, & signed it, & sealed it, & sent it, & dressed herself out in her holiday things.
With bracelets & brooches, & earrings, & necklace, a watch, & an eyeglass, & diamond rings, For man is a creature weak and impressible, thinks such a deal of appearance, my dear.
So she waited for her Simon beside the tanyard gate, regardless of the pieman, who hinted it was late.
Waiting for Simon, she coughed in the chilly night, until the tanner found her, And kindly brought a light old coat to wrap around her.
She felt her cold was getting worse,
Yet still she fondly whispered, “Oh, take your time, my Simon, although I’ve waited long.
I do not fear my Simon dear will fail to come at last, Although I know that long ago the time I named is past.
My Simon! My Simon! Oh, charming man! Oh, charming man!
Dear Simon Smith, sweet Simon Smith.”
Oh, there goes the church-clock, the town-clock, the station-clock and there go the other clocks, they are all striking twelve!
Oh, Simon, it is getting late, it’s very dull to sit and wait.
And really I’m in such a state, I hope you’ll come at any rate, quite early in the morning, quite early in the morning.
Then with prancing bays & yellow chaise, we’ll away to Gretna Green.
For when I am with my Simon Smith—oh, that common name! Oh that vulgar name!
I shall never rest happy till he’s changed that name, but when he has married me, maybe he’ll love me to that degree, that he’ll grant me my prayer And will call himself “Clare”— So she talked all alone, as she sat upon a stone, Still hoping he would come and find her, and she started most unkimmon, when instead of darling “Simmon” ’twas a strange man that stood behind her, Who civilly observed “Good evening, M’am,
I really am surprised to see that you’re out here alone, for you must own from thieves you’re not secure.
A watch, I see. Pray lend it me (I hope the gold is pure).
And all those rings, & other things—Don’t scream, you know, for long ago The policeman off from his beat has gone.
In the kitchen—” “Oh, you desperate villain! Oh, you treacherous thief!”
And these were the words of her anger and grief.
“When first to Simon Smith I gave my hand I never could have thought he would have acted half so mean as this, And where’s the new police? Oh, Simon, Simon! how could you treat your love so ill?”
They sit & chatter, they chatter with the cook, the guardians, so they’re called, of public peace.
Through the tanyard was heard the dismal sound, “How on earth is it policemen never, never, never, can be found?”
Puzzles from Wonderland
I
Dreaming of apples on a wall,
And dreaming often, dear, I dreamed that, if I counted all,
—How many would appear?
II
A stick I found that weighed two pound: I sawed it up one day
In pieces eight of equal weight!
How much did each piece weigh?
(Everybody says “a quarter of a pound,” which is wrong.)
III
John gave his brother James a box:
About it there were many locks.
James woke and said it gave him pain; So gave it back to John again.
The box was not with lid supplied,
Yet caused two lids to open wide:
And all these locks had never a key— What kind of a box, then, could it be?
IV
What is most like a bee in May?
“Well, let me think: perhaps—” you say.
Bravo! You’re guessing well to-day!
V
Three sisters at breakfast were feeding the cat, The first gave it sole—Puss was grateful for that: The next gave it salmon—which Puss thought a treat: The third gave it herring—which Puss wouldn’t eat.
(Explain the conduct of the cat.)
VI
Said the Moon to the Sun,
“Is the daylight begun?”
Said the Sun to the Moon,
“Not a minute too soon.”
“You’re a Full Moon,” said he.
She replied with a frown, “Well! I never did see
So uncivil a clown!”
(Query. Why was the moon so angry?)
VII
When the King found that his money was nearly all gone, and that he really must live more economically, he decided on sending away most of his Wise Men. There were some hundreds of them—very fine old men, and magnificently dressed in green velvet gowns with gold buttons: if they had a fault, it was that they always contradicted one another when he asked for their advice—and they certainly