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Studs tumble out, leave you in doubt,
Tear away, glare away; no! no!
Hustle-y, bustle-y; slow, slow;
Chokery, jokery; throw, throw;
Flushery, blushery; glow, glow;
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,
Toilery, oilery ; quick, quick;
Backery, knackery; stick, stick;
Spikery, likery; twirl, twirl ;
Kissery, missery; girl, girl;
Glittery, flittery; shine, shine;
the swell, Flashery, dashery ; fine, fine. 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.
ONCE on a time, a monarch, tired with whooping,
Whipping and spurring,
Happy in worrying A
poor defenceless, harmless buck-
Entered through curiosity a cot,
In this same cot, illumed by many a cranny,
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,
with admiration did expand;
Low curtsying, “Please your majesty, the apple." “Very astonishing, indeed l 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;
How, how the devil got the apple in ?"
On which the dame the curious scheme revealed
Which made the Solomon of Britain start;
All with the wonders of the dumpling art. There did he labour one whole week to show
The wisdom of an apple-dumpling maker; And lo! so deep was majesty in dough,
The palace seemed the lodging of a baker!
THE STAG-EYED LADY.
A MOORISH TALE.
Scheherazade immediately began the following story. ALI BEN Ali (did you never read
His wondrous acts that chronicles relate, How there was one in pity might exceed
The sack of Troy ?) magnificent he sate
For those that he had under him were great-
'Tis rumour'd he had strangled his own motherHowbeit 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,
And makes a bad man absolutely bad,
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
His royal bosom that he had no son, No living child of the more noble sex,
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, Or else he was not praying to his Profit.
Beer will grow mothery, and ladies fair
grow like beer; so did that stay-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;
He made so certain ere his chicken came;
A little daughter to this world of sins,-
Brought on another, like a pair of twins! Twins ! female twins !—it was enough to stun
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
This his paternal rage, and thus addrest : 0! Most Serene! why dost thou stamp and frown,
And box the compass of the royal chest ? Ah ! thou wilt mar that portly trunk, I own
I love to gaze on !-Prythee, thou hadst best Pocket thy fists. Nay, love, if you so thin Your beard, you'll want a wig upon your chin! But not her words, nor e'en her tears, could slack
The quicklime of his rage, that hotter grew : He call'd his slaves to bring an ample sack
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
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 scorem Nor
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.