Studs tumble out, leave you in doubt, Hustle-y, bustle-y; slow, slow; Hurrying, scurrying; rathery, lathery; washery, sloshery; rubbery, scrubbery; stumble-y, grumble-y; smashery, crashery; rumple-y, crumple-y; callery, bawlery; tear away, glare away; hustle-y, bustle-y; chokery, jokery; flushery, blushery, The tale of a toilet, &c. Head in a whirl, hair will not curl, Hurrying, scurrying; rathery, lathery; washery, sloshery; rubbery scrubbery; stumble-y, grumble-y; smashery, crashery; rumple-y, crumple-y ; callery, bawlery; tear away, glare away; hustle-y, bustle-y; chokery, jokery; flushery, blushery ; toilery, oilery; backery, knackery; spikery, likery; kissery, missery; glittery, flittery; flashery, dashery, The tale of a toilet, &c. (By kind permission of the Author.) THE APPLE DUMPLINGS AND A KING. DR. WOLCOT. ONCE on a time, a monarch, tired with whooping, A poor defenceless, harmless buck- Where sat a poor old woman and her pot. The wrinkled, blear-eyed, good old granny, In this same cot, illumed by many a cranny, Had finished apple dumplings for her pot: In tempting row the naked dumplings lay, When lo! the monarch in his usual way, Like lightning spoke, "What's this? what's this? what, what?" Then taking up a dumpling in his hand, And oft did majesty the dumpling grapple. He cried, ""Tis monstrous, monstrous hard, indeed! What makes it, pray, so hard ?" The dame replied, Low curtsying, "Please your majesty, the apple." "Very astonishing, indeed! strange thing!"Turning the dumpling round-rejoined the king. ""Tis most extraordinary then, all this is— It beats Pinette's conjuring all to pieces: Strange I should never of a dumpling dream! But, goody, tell me where, where, where's the seam?" "Sir, there's no seam," quoth she; "I ne'er did know That folks did apple dumplings sew." "No!" cried the staring monarch, with a grin; 66 How, how the devil got the apple in ?" On which the dame the curious scheme revealed Which made the Solomon of Britain start; THE STAG-EYED LADY. A MOORISH TALE. THOMAS HOOD. Scheherazade immediately began the following story. ALI BEN ALI (did you never read His wondrous acts that chronicles relate,— Ali was cruel-a most cruel one! 'Tis rumour'd he had strangled his own mother— Howbeit such deeds of darkness he had done, 'Tis thought he would have slain his elder brother And sister too-but happily that none Did live within harm's length of one another, Else he had sent the Sun in all its blaze To endless night, and shorten'd the Moon's days. Made Ali wicked-to a fault: 'tis fit Monarchs should have some check-strings; but he had No curb upon his will-no, not a bit— Wherefore he did not reign well-and full glad His slaves had been to hang him-but they falter'd, And let him live unhang'd-and still unalter'd, Until he got a sage bush of a beard, Wherein an Attic owl might roost-a trail Of bristly hair-that, honour'd and unshear'd, Grew downward like old women and cow's tail, Being a sign of age-some grey appear'd, Mingling with duskier brown its warnings pale; But yet not so poetic as when Time Comes like Jack Frost, and whitens it in rime. Ben Ali took the hint, and much did vex To stand in his Morocco shoes-not one To make a negro-pollard-or tread necks When he was gone-doom'd, when his days were done, To leave the very city of his fame Without an Ali to keep up his name. Therefore he chose a lady for his love, Singling from out the herd one stag-eyed dear; So call'd because her lustrous eyes, above All eyes, were dark, and timorous, and clear; Then through his Muftis piously he strove, And drumm'd with proxy-prayers Mohammed's ear, Knowing a boy for certain must come of it, Beer will grow mothery, and ladies fair Will grow like beer; so did that stag-eyed dame; Ben Ali hoping for a son and heir, Boy'd up his hopes, and even chose a name Of mighty hero that his child should bear; To-morrow came, and with to-morrow's sun Brought on another, like a pair of twins! Their little wits and scare them from their skins To hear their father stamp, and curse, and swear, Pulling his beard because he had no heir. Then strove their stag-eyed mother to calm down But not her words, nor e'en her tears, could slack Wherein a woman might be poked-a few Dark grimly men felt pity and look'd black At this sad order; but their slaveships knew When any dared demur, his sword so bending Cut off the "head and front of their offending." For Ali had a sword, much like himself, A crooked blade, guilty of human goreThe trophies it had lopp'd from many an elf Were stuck at his head-quarters by the scoreNor yet in peace he laid it on the shelf, But jested with it, and his wit cut sore; So that (as they of Public Houses speak) He often did his dozen butts a week. |