Exit mother, half distraught,

Exit father, muttering "Bore!"
Exit children, blubbering still,

"Want to see the monkeys more!"

THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS.

O. W. HOLMES.

I wrote some lines once on a time
In wondrous merry mood,

And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good.

They were so queer-so very queer,
I laughed as I would die;

Albeit, in a general way,
A sober man am I.

I called my servant and he came;
How kind it was of him

To mind a slender man like me,
He of the mighty limb!

"These to the printer," I exclaimed,
And, in my humorous way
I added (as a trifling jest)

"There'll be the devil to pay."

He took the paper, and I watched
And saw him peep within;
At the first line he read his face
Was all upon the grin.

He read the next, the grin grew broad,

And shot from ear to ear;

He read the third, a chuckling noise
I now began to hear.

The fourth, he broke into a roar;
The fifth, his waistband split;
The sixth, he burst five buttons off
And tumbled in a fit.

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye,
I watched that wretched man,
And since I never dared to write
As funny as I can!

THE TWINS.

H. 8. LEIGH.

In form and feature, face and limb,
I grew so like my brother,
That folks got taking me for him
And each for one another.
It puzzled all, both kith and kin,
It reached a dreadful pitch;
For one of us was born a twin,
And not a soul knew which.

One day, to make the matter worse,
Before our names were fix'd,
As we were being washed by nurse,
We got completely mix’d.

And so you see, by Fate's decree,
Or, rather, nurse's whim,

My brother John was christened "me,"
While I was christened "him."

This fatal likeness ever dogged
Our footsteps when at school,
For I was always getting flogged
Since John turned out a fool.
In fact, year after year the same
Absurd mistake went on

And when I died the neighbors came
And buried brother "John."

FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN.

HOOD.

Young Ben, he was a nice young man,
A carpenter by trade;

And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.

But as they fetched a walk one day
They met a press-gang crew;
And Sally she did faint away,

Whilst Ben he was brought to.

The boatswain swore with wicked words, Enough to shock a saint,

That, though she did seem in a fit,

"Twas nothing but a feint.

"Come girl," said he, "hold up your head,

He'll be as good as me;

For when your swain is in our boat

A boatswain he will be."

So when they'd made their game of her,

And taken off her elf,

She roused and found she only was

A-coming to herself.

"And is he gone, and is he gone ?”`

She cried, and wept outright; "Then I will to the waterside And see him out of sight."

A waterman came up to her

"Now, young woman," said he, "If you weep so, you will make Eye-water in the sea."

"Alas! they've taken my beau, Ben, To sail with old Benbow;"

And her woe began to run afresh,
As if she'd said gee woe!

Says he, "They've only taken him
To the tender ship, you see;"
"The tender-ship," cried Sally Brown,
What a hard-ship that must be!

"Oh, would I were a mermaid now,
For then I'd follow him ;
But, oh! I'm not a fishwoman,
And so I cannot swim.

"Alas! I was not born beneath
The virgin and the scales;
So I must curse my cruel stars,
And walk about in Wales."

Now, Ben had sailed to many a place
That's underneath the world,
But in two years the ship came home
And all her sails were furled.

But when he called on Sally Brown,
To see how she got on,

He found she'd got another Ben,

Whose Christian name was John.

"O, Sally Brown, O, Sally Brown,
How could you serve me so?
I've met with many a breeze before,
But never such a blow!"

Then reading on his 'bacco-box,
He heaved a heavy sigh,

And then began to eye his pipe,
And then to pipe his eye.

And then he tried to sing

"All's well,"

But could not, though he tried;

His head was turned, and so he chewed
His pigtail till he died.

His death, which happened in his berth,
At forty odd befel;

They went and told the sexton, and
The sexton tolled the bell.

SEVEN TIMES TEN.

HUGH HOWARD.

[After Jean Ingelow.]

should like a walk in the fresh rod clover
This beautiful morn, but then

My joints are stiff and my back bent over;
To-day I'm seven times ten.

I am old-so old I can't read a letter

Without my specs on nose;

And my cough doesn't seem to get much better, And gout's in two of my toes.

O moon! in the night I have seen you floating At the sweet age of nineteen years,

While a maudlin goose at my side was quoting Lord Byron and shedding tears.

You moon! you've done lots of bad in heaven,
In your quiet manner and cool.

Was there ever a swain you haven't given
The wish to act like a fool?

O bee! you're an overrated fellow
Not pretty and quite a scold.

I wish, marsh-marybuds, rich and yellow,
You were eighteen carat gold!

O Columbine! as for that folded wrapper,
Don't open it, please, a bit;

And, cuckoo-pint, bother your purple clapper,
I'm mortally tired of it!