EARL RUSSELL the small, to make himself tall,
Close by on his dignity stood,
While LITTLE JOHN sang the "Song of the Shirt"
'Till I thought he was ROBBIN' HOOD!
BRUTUS was taking a "whiskey straight,"
Which I didn't think orthodox;
While GRANT, with his usual zeal for sport,
Seemed busy with fighting Cox!
But I woke at last with a boisterous laugh
From a dream that was simply ridiculous,
For I knew (so did you) it couldn't be true
That France had succumbed to St. NICHOLAS.
* * * * *
[Illustration: RAILWAY TALK.
_Old Lady_. "SONNY, BE THEM EGGS FRESH OR STALE?"
_Boy_. "FRESH, 'M. I _buys_ MY EGGS, I DOESN'T STALE 'EM!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: EGGS-ACTLY!
_Mr. Benedick._ "BY JOVE! WHAT AN AWFUL SMELL OF ASAFOETIDA THIS EGG
HAS!"
_Mrs. B._ "O, HOW SHOCKING! NOW THAT I THINK OF IT, I _did_ THROW AWAY
SOME ASAFOETIDA PILLS, AND I SUPPOSE THE HENS HAVE BEEN EATING THEM!"]
* * * * *
POEMS OF THE CRADLE.
CANTO XIV.
By by, baby bunting,
Daddy's gone a-hunting,
To get a little rabbit skin
To wrap the baby bunting in.
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