Mobilising millions, marvellous mobility, John R. Edwards. LINES TO MISS FLORENCE HUNTINGDON SWEET maiden of Passamaquoddy Shall we seek for communion of souls Where the deep Mississippi meanders Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls? Ah, no!-for in Maine I will find thee There wander two beautiful rivers, With many a winding and crook: The one is the Skoodoowabskooksis; The other, the Skoodoowabskook. Ah, sweetest of haunts! though unmentioned How fair is the Skoodoowabskooksis, When joining the Skoodoowabskook! Lines to Miss Florence Huntingdon Our cot shall be close by the waters, Within that sequestrated nook, Reflected by Skoodoowabskooksis, And mirrored in Skoodoowabskook. You shall sleep to the music of leaflets, And, perhaps, of the Skoodoowabskook. Your food shall be fish from the waters, You shall quaff the most sparkling of waters, And you shall preside at the banquet, And we'll talk of the Skoodoowabskooksis, Let others sing loudly of Saco, Of Quoddy and Tattamagouche, Of Kenebeccasis and Quaco, Of Merigoniche and Buctouche, Of Nashwaak and Magaguadavique, Or Memmerimammericook: There's none like the Skoodoowabskooksis, 831 Unknown. TO MY NOSE KNOWS he that never took a pinch, Which my nose knows? O Nose, I am as proud of thee Albert A. Forrester (Alfred Crowquill). A POLKA LYRIC Qui nunc dancere vult modo, Wants to dance in the fashion, oh! Discere debet-ought to know, Kickere floor cum heel and toe, One, two, three, Hop with me, Whirligig, twirligig, rapide. Polkam jungere, Virgo, vis, Sic agimus-then let us try: Nunc vide, Skip with me, Whirlabout, roundabout, celere. Tum læva cito, tum dextra, First to the left, and then t'other way; Aspice retro in vultu, You look at her, and she looks at you. Das palmam Change hands, ma'am; Celere-run away, just in sham. Barclay Philips. Ode for a Social Meeting A CATALECTIC MONODY! A CAT I sing, of famous memory, By catenation join'd each one to one;- As cataphracts their arms through legions bear; Their lengths, like cattle after busy day, 833 Cruikshank's Omnibus. ODE FOR A SOCIAL MEETING WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER COME! fill a fresh bumper,-for why should we go logwood While the nectar still reddens our cups as they flow? decoction Pour out the rich-juices still bright with the sun, dye-stuff Till o'er the brimmed crystal the rubies shall run. half-ripened apples The purple-globed-elusters their life-dews have bled; How sweet is the-breath of the fragrance they shed! For Summer's last roses lie hid in the wines stable-boys smoking long-nines That were garnered by maidens who laughed through the vines, Then a smile, and a glass, and a toast, and a cheer, Down, down with the tyrant that masters us all! Oliver Wendell Holmes. THE JOVIAL PRIEST'S CONFESSION TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF WALTER DE MAPES, I DEVISE to end my days-in a tavern drinking, May some Christian hold for me the glass when I am shrinking, That the cherubim may cry when they see me sinking, God be merciful to a soul of this gentleman's way of thinking. A glass of wine amazingly-enlighteneth one's internals; Every one by nature hath-a mold which he was cast in; Writing so I'd just as lief-be buried; tomb'd and grass'd in. Every one by nature hath—a gift too, a dotation: |