THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT 
 
 From the Library of 
 
 Henry Goldman, Ph.D. 
 
 1886-1972
 
 A NONSENSE ANTHOLOGY
 
 T T E must be a fool indeed who cannot at 
 
 * * times play the fool ; and be who does not 
 enjoy nonsense must be lacking in sense. 
 
 WILLIAM J. ROLFE.
 
 A 
 
 Nonsense 
 Anthology 
 
 Collected by 
 
 Carolyn Veils 
 
 oivn 
 
 Charles Scribner's Sons
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 PUBLISHED, OCTOBER, 1902
 
 TO 
 
 GELETT BURGESS 
 A NONSENSE LOVER
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 
 PAGE 
 XV 
 
 JABBERWOCKY 
 
 Lewis Carroll .... 
 
 3 
 
 MORS IABROCHII . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 4 
 
 THE NYUM-NYUM 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 6 
 
 UFFIA 
 
 Harriet R. White . . 
 
 10 
 
 SPIRK TROLL-DERISIVE . 
 
 James Whitcomb Riley . 
 
 10 
 
 THE WHANGO TREE 
 
 1840 
 
 12 
 
 SING FOR THE GARISH 
 
 
 
 EYE 
 
 W. S. Gilbert . . . 
 
 13 
 
 THE CRUISE OF THE 
 
 
 
 "P. C." .... 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 *3 
 
 To MARIE 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 14. 
 ~ 
 
 LUNAR STANZAS . . . 
 
 Henry Coggswell Knight 
 
 15 
 
 NONSENSE 
 
 Anonymous, 1617 
 
 16 
 
 SONNET FOUND IN A DE- 
 
 
 
 SERTED MAD HOUSE . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 18 
 
 THE OCEAN WANDERER . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 18 
 
 SHE'S ALL MY FANCY 
 
 
 
 PAINTED HIM . 
 
 Lewis Carroll .... 
 
 20 
 
 MY RECOLLECTEST 
 
 
 
 THOUGHTS .... 
 
 Charles E. Carryl . . . 
 
 2 I 
 
 FATHER WILLIAM 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 22 
 
 IN THE GLOAMING 
 
 James C. Bayles . 
 
 23 
 
 BALLAD OF BEDLAM . 
 
 Punch < 
 
 2,4. 
 
 'Tis SWEET TO ROAM . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 *r 
 
 25 
 
 HYMN TO THE SUNRISE . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 25 
 
 THE MOON is UP . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 26 
 
 
 [vii] 

 
 Contents 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 'T is MIDNIGHT . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 26 
 
 UPRISING SEE THE FITFUL 
 
 
 
 LARK 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 *7 
 
 LIKE TO THE THUNDER- 
 
 
 
 ING TONE .... 
 
 Bishop Corbet 
 
 *7 
 
 MY DREAM .... 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 28 
 
 MY HOME 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 2Q 
 
 IN IMMEMORIAM . 
 
 Cuthbert Bede . . . 
 
 7 
 2 9 
 
 THE HIGHER PANTHEISM 
 
 
 
 IN A NUTSHELL . 
 
 A. C. Swinburne . 
 
 3 
 
 DARWINITY .... 
 
 Herman Merivale . 
 
 3i 
 
 SONG OF THE SCREW . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 33 
 
 MOORLANDS OF THE NOT 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 36 
 
 METAPHYSICS .... 
 
 Oliver Herford 
 
 36 
 
 ABSTROSOPHY .... 
 
 Gelett Burgess 
 
 37 
 
 ABSTEMIA 
 
 Gelett Burgess 
 
 18 
 
 PSYCHOLOPHON 
 
 Gelett Burgess 
 
 J w 
 
 39 
 
 TIMON OF ARCHIMEDES . 
 
 Charles Battell Loomis . 
 
 39 
 
 ALONE 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 40 
 
 LINES BY A MEDIUM . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 4i 
 
 TRANSCENDENTALISM . 
 
 From the Times of India 
 
 4i 
 
 INDIFFERENCE .... 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 42 
 
 QUATRAIN 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 4.1 
 
 COSSIMBAZAR .... 
 
 Henry S. Leigh . 
 
 T 3 
 
 43 
 
 THE PERSONIFIED SENTI- 
 
 
 
 MENTAL 
 
 Bret Harte .... 
 
 A<1 
 
 A CLASSIC ODE . - . 
 
 Charles Battell Loomis . 
 
 'T'T 
 
 45 
 
 WHERE AVALANCHES 
 
 
 
 WAIL 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 4.C 
 
 BLUE MOONSHINE . 
 
 Francis G. Stokes 
 
 T J 
 
 46 
 
 NONSENSE 
 
 Thomas Moore 
 
 47 
 
 c 
 
 viii J 
 
 ~ /
 
 Contents 
 
 SUPERIOR NONSENSE 
 
 VERSES Anonymous .... 47 
 
 WHEN MOONLIKE ORE 
 
 THE HAZURE SEAS . . W. M. Thackeray . . 49 
 LINES BY A PERSON OF 
 
 QUALITY .... Alexander Pope ... 50 
 FRANGIPANNI .... Anonymous .... 51 
 LINES BY A FOND LOVER Anonymous .... 53 
 FORCING A WAY . . . Anonymous .... 54 
 THY HEART . . . Anonymous .... 55 
 A LOVE-SONG BY A LU- 
 NATIC ... . . Anonymous .... 55 
 THE PARTERRE . . . E. H. Palmer. ... 56 
 
 To MOLLIDUSTA . . . Planche 57 
 
 JOHN JONES .... A. C. Swinburne . . 57 
 THE OWL AND THE PUSSY- 
 CAT Edward Lear .... 59 
 
 A BALLADE OF THE NUR- 
 
 SERIE John Twig .... 60 
 
 A BALLAD OF HIGH EN- 
 DEAVOR Anonymous .... 62 
 
 THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING- 
 
 WHANG James Whitcomb Riley . 63 
 
 OH ! WEARY MOTHER . Barry Pain 64 
 
 Swiss AIR Bret Harte 64 
 
 THE BULBUL .... Owen Seaman ... 65 
 
 BALLAD Anonymous .... 65 
 
 OH, MY GERALDINE . . F. C. Burnand ... 66 
 Buz, QUOTH THE BLUE 
 
 FLY Ben Jonson 66 
 
 A SONG ON KING WIL- 
 LIAM III .... Anonymou c .... 67 
 
 [brj
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THERE WAS A MONKEY . . Anonymous, 1626 . 67 
 
 THE GUINEA PIG .... Anonymous ... 68 
 
 THREE CHILDREN . . . . London, 1662 . . 69 
 
 IF Anonymous ... 70 
 
 A RIDDLE Anonymous ... 70 
 
 THREE JOVIAL HUNTSMEN . Anonymous ... 70 
 
 THREE ACRES OF LAND . . Anonymous ... 71 
 
 MASTER AND MAN . . . Anonymous ... 72 
 
 HYDER IDDLE Anonymous ... 73 
 
 KING ARTHUR .... Anonymous ... 73 
 
 IN THE DUMPS .... Anonymous ... 74 
 
 TWEEDLE-DUM AND TwEE- 
 
 DLE-DEE Anonymous ... 74 
 
 MARTIN TO HIS MAN . . . From Deuteromelia . 74 
 
 THE YoNGHY-BoNGHY-B6 . Edward Lear ... 76 
 
 THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO 
 
 TOES Edward Lear ... 81 
 
 THE JUMBLIES Edward Lear . . . 83 
 
 INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 MY UNCLE ARLY . . . Edward Lear ... 86 
 LINES TO A YOUNG LADY . Edward Lear ... 88 
 WAYS AND MEANS . . . Lewis Carroll ... 90 
 THE WALRUS AND THE CAR- 
 PENTER ... . . Lewis Carroll ... 93 
 THE HUNTING OF THE ' 
 
 SNARK Lewis Carroll ... 97 
 
 SYLVIE AND BRUNO . . . Lewis Carroll . . . 101 
 
 GENTLE ALICE BROWN . . W. S. Gilbert . . 102 
 
 THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB W. S. Gilbert . . 107 
 FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA, OR 
 
 THE GENTLE PIEMAN . . W. S. Gilbert . . no 
 
 [*]
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 GENERAL JOHN . . . W. S. Gilbert . . . 112 
 
 LITTLE BILLEE . . . W. M. Thackeray . . 114 
 THE WRECK OF THE 
 
 " JULIE PLANTE " . William H. Drummond 116 
 THE SHIPWRECK . . . E. H. Palmer. . . . 118 
 A SAILOR'S YARN . . J. J. Roche .... 120 
 THE WALLOPING WIN- 
 DOW-BLIND .... Charles E. Carryl . . 123 
 THE ROLLICKING MASTO- 
 DON Arthur Macy . . . . 125 
 
 THE SILVER QUESTION . Oliver Herford . . . 127 
 THE SINGULAR SANGFROID 
 
 OF BABY BUNTING . Guy Wetmore Carryl . 129 
 FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY . Thomas Hood . . . 131 
 THE ELDERLY GENTLE- 
 MAN George Canning . . . 134 
 
 MALUM OPUS .... James Appleton Morgan 135 
 
 ESTIVATION O. W. Holmes . . . 136 
 
 A HOLIDAY TASK . . Gilbert Abbott a Becket 137 
 
 PUER EX JERSEY . . . Anonymous . . . . 138 
 
 THE LITTLE PEACH . . ^Anonymous . . . . 138 
 
 MONSIEUR McGiNTE . . Anonymous . . . . 139 
 YE LAYE OF YE WOOD- 
 
 PECKORE Henry A. Beers . . . 139 
 
 COLLUSION BETWEEN A 
 ALEGAITER AND A 
 
 WATER-SNAIK J. W. Morris . . . 143 
 
 ODD TO A KROKIS . . Anonymous .... 146 
 
 SOME VERSES TO SNAIX . Anonymous . . . . 147 
 
 A GREAT MAN . . . Oliver Goldsmith . . . 148 
 
 AN ELEGY Oliver Goldsmith . . 149
 
 Contents 
 
 PARSON GRAY .... 
 
 AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH 
 OF A MAD DOG 
 
 THE WONDERFUL OLD 
 MAN 
 
 A CHRONICLE .... 
 
 ON THE OXFORD CARRIER 
 
 NEPHELIDIA . . . . 
 
 MARTIN LUTHER AT 
 POTSDAM .... 
 
 COMPANIONS .... 
 
 THE COCK AND THE BULL 
 
 LOVERS AND A REFLEC- 
 TION 
 
 AN IMITATION OF WORDS- 
 WORTH 
 
 THE FAMOUS BALLAD OF 
 THE JUBILEE Cup . 
 
 A SONG OF IMPOSSIBILI- 
 TIES 
 
 TRUST IN WOMEN 
 
 HERE is THE TALE 
 
 THE AULD WIFE 
 
 NOT I 
 
 MINNIE AND WINNIE 
 
 THE MAYOR OF SCUTTLE- 
 TON 
 
 THE PURPLE Cow 
 
 THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE . 
 
 THE LAZY ROOF . 
 
 MY FEET 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith . 
 Oliver Goldsmith . 
 
 Anonymous . 
 Anonymous . 
 John Milton . 
 A. C. Swinburne 
 
 Barry Pain 
 
 C. S. Calverley . 
 
 C. S. Calverley . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ISO 
 
 IS 1 
 
 153 
 
 155 
 
 *57 
 158 
 
 160 
 163 
 165 
 
 C. S. Calverley ... 170 
 
 Catharine M. Fanshawe . 173 
 
 Arthur T. Quiller-Couch 175 
 
 W. M. Praed . . . 183 
 
 Anonymous . . . . 186 
 
 Anthony C. Deane . . 188 
 
 C. S. Calverley . . . 192 
 
 R. L. Stevenson . . . 194 
 
 Lord Tennyson . . . 194 
 
 Mary Mapes Dodge . . 195 
 
 Gelett Burgess . . . 196 
 
 Gelett Burgs . . . 196 
 
 Gelett Burgess . . . 197 
 
 Gelett Burge . . . 197 
 xii ]
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE HEN Oliver Herford . . . 197 
 
 THE Cow Oliver Herford . . . 198 
 
 THE CHIMPANZEE . . . Oliver Herford . . . 199 
 
 THE HIPPOPOTAMUS . . Oliver Herford . . . 199 
 
 THE PLATYPUS . . . Oliver Herford . . . 199 
 
 SOME GEESE .... Oliver Herford . . . 200 
 
 THE FLAMINGO . . . Lewis Gaylord Clark . 201 
 
 KINDNESS TO ANIMALS . J. Ashby-Sterry . . . 203 
 
 SAGE COUNSEL . . . A. T. Quiller-Couch . 204 
 
 OF BAITING THE LION . Owen Seaman . . . 205 
 
 THE FROG Hilaire Belloc . . . 207 
 
 THE YAK Hilaire Belloc . . . 207 
 
 THE PYTHON .... Hilaire Belloc . . . 208 
 
 THE BISON Hilaire Belloc . . . 209 
 
 THE PANTHER . . . Anonymous .... 209 
 
 THE MONKEY'S GLUE . Goldwin Goldsmith . . 210 
 
 THERE WAS A FROG . . Christ Church MS. . . 211 
 
 THEBLOATEDBIGGABOON H. Cholmondeley-Penncll 211 
 
 WILD FLOWERS . . . Peter Newell . . . . 212 
 
 TIMID HORTENSE . . . Peter Newell . . . . 212 
 
 HER POLKA DOTS. . . Peter Newell . . . . 212 
 
 HER DAIRY .... Peter Newell . . . . 213 
 
 TURVEY TOP .... Anonymous . . . . 213 
 WHAT THE PRINCE OF I 
 
 DREAMT H. Cholmondeley-Pennell 215 
 
 THE DINKEY-BIRD . . Eugene Field . . . . 218 
 
 THE MAN IN THE MOON James Whitcomb Riley . 220 
 THE STORY OF THE WILD 
 
 HUNTSMAN .... Dr. Heinrich Hoffman . 222 
 THE STORY OF PYRAMID 
 
 THOTHMES .... Anonymous .... 224 
 
 C xiii ]
 
 Contents 
 
 
 
 FACE 
 
 THE STORY OF CRUEL 
 
 
 
 PSAMTEK .... 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 225 
 
 THE CUMBERBUNCE . 
 
 Paul West 
 
 226 
 
 THE AHKOND OF SWAT . 
 
 Edward Lear .... 
 
 230 
 
 A THRENODY .... 
 
 George Thomas Lanigan 
 
 233 
 
 DIRGE OF THE MOOLLA 
 
 
 
 OF KOTAL .... 
 
 George Thomas Lanigan 
 
 235 
 
 RUSSIAN AND TURK . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 238 
 
 LINES TO Miss FLORENCE 
 
 
 
 HUNTINGDON 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 239 
 
 COBBE'S PROPHECIES . 
 
 I 6 I 4. 
 
 2AI 
 
 AN UNSUSPECTED FACT . 
 
 Edward Cannon . 
 
 miff A 
 
 242 
 
 THE SORROWS OF WER- 
 
 
 
 THER 
 
 W. M. Thackeray . 
 
 242 
 
 NONSENSE VERSES . 
 
 Charles Lamb .... 
 
 243 
 
 THE NOBLE TUCK-MAN . 
 
 Jean Ingelow .... 
 
 244 
 
 THE PESSIMIST 
 
 Ben King , . , , . 
 
 24.C 
 
 THE MODERN HIAWATHA 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 T J 
 
 246 
 
 ON THE ROAD .... 
 
 Tudor jenks .... 
 
 247 
 
 UNCLE SIMON AND UNCLE 
 
 
 
 JIM ... . 
 
 Artemus \Vard 
 
 2A7 
 
 POOR DEAR GRANDPAPA 
 
 D'Arcy W. Thompson . 
 
 *"TP/ 
 
 247 
 
 THE SEA-SERPENT 
 
 Planche 
 
 24.8 
 
 MELANCHOLIA .... 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 **T*' 
 
 248 
 
 THE MONKEY'S WEDDING 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 248 
 
 MR. FINNEY'S TURNIP . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 250 
 
 THE SUN 
 
 
 2 C I 
 
 THE AUTUMN LEAVES . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 "5* 
 
 2 5 I 
 
 IN THE NIGHT .... 
 
 Anonymou* .... 
 
 2 C I 
 
 POOR BROTHER . . . 
 
 Anonymous .... 
 
 " J ' 
 251 
 
 THE BOY 
 
 Eugene Field .... 
 
 2C2 
 
 [ 
 
 xiv ] 
 
 j
 
 Contents 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SEA 
 
 Anonymous 
 
 2 ?2 
 
 THERE WAS A LITTLEGIRL 
 
 H. W. Longfellow . 
 
 j 
 253 
 
 FlN DE SlECLE .... 
 
 Newton Mackintosh . 
 
 2 53 
 
 MARY JANE .... 
 
 Anonymous . 
 
 253 
 
 TENDER-HEARTEDNESS . 
 
 Col. D. Streamer . 
 
 253 
 
 IMPETUOUS SAMUEL . 
 
 Col. D. Streamer . 
 
 254. 
 
 MISFORTUNES .NEVER 
 
 
 
 COME SINGLY . 
 
 Col. D. Streamer . 
 
 254 
 
 AUNT ELIZA .... 
 
 Col. D. Streamer. . 
 
 254 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 Anonymous . 
 
 254 
 
 BABY AND MARY . 
 
 Anonymous . 
 
 255 
 
 THE SUNBEAM .... 
 
 Anonymous . 
 
 255 
 
 LITTLE WILLIE 
 
 Anonymous . 
 
 255 
 
 MARY AMES .... 
 
 Anonymous . 
 
 256 
 
 MUDDLED METAPHORS . 
 
 Tom Hood, Jr. . 
 
 . 256 
 
 VILLON'S STRAIGHT TIP 
 
 
 
 TO ALL CROSS COVES . 
 
 W. E. Henley . . 
 
 257 
 
 OI/E TO THE HUMAN 
 
 
 
 HEART 
 
 Laman Blanchard 
 
 . 258 
 
 L<v(ERICKS 
 
 Edward Lear . 
 
 260 
 
 
 Anonymous 
 
 262 
 
 
 Cosmo Monkhouse . 
 
 263 
 
 
 Walter Parke . . . 
 
 264 
 
 
 George du Maurier . 
 
 265 
 
 
 Robert J. Burdette . 
 
 . 266 
 
 
 Gelett Burgess . . 
 
 . 266 
 
 
 Bruce Porter . 
 
 267 
 
 
 Newton Mackintosh . 
 
 . 267 
 
 
 Anonymous . 
 
 267 
 
 
 Anonymous . 
 
 . 268 
 
 
 Anonymous . 
 
 . 268 
 
 [XV]
 
 INTRODUCTION
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 ON a topographical map of Literature Non- 
 sense would be represented by a small and 
 sparsely settled country, neglected by the 
 average tourist, but affording keen delight to the 
 few enlightened travellers who sojourn within its 
 borders. It is a field which has been neglected 
 by anthologists and essayists ; one of its few seri- 
 ous recognitions being in a certain " Treatise of 
 Figurative Language," which says : " Nonsense ; 
 shall we dignify that with a place on our list ? 
 Assuredly will vote for doing so every one who 
 hath at all duly noticed what admirable and wise 
 uses it can be, and often is, put to, though never 
 before in rhetoric has it been so highly honored. 
 How deeply does clever or quaint nonsense abide 
 in the memory, and for how many a decade from 
 earliest youth to age's most venerable years." 
 
 And yet Hazlitt's " Studies in Jocular Litera- 
 ture " mentions six divisions of the Jest, and 
 omits Nonsense ! 
 
 Perhaps, partly because of such neglect, the 
 work of the best nonsense writers is less widely 
 known than it might be. 
 
 [xix]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 But a more probable reason is that the majority 
 of the reading world does not appreciate or enjdy 
 real nonsense, and this, again, is consequent upon 
 their inability to discriminate between nonsense of 
 integral merit and simple chaff. 
 
 A jest's prosperity lies in the ear 
 
 Of him that hears it. Never in the tongue 
 
 Of him that makes it, 
 
 and a sense of nonsense is as distinct a part of 
 our mentality as a sense of humor, being by no 
 means identical therewith. 
 
 It is a fad at present for a man to relate a non- 
 sensical story, and then, if his hearer does not 
 laugh, say gravely : " You have no sense of humor. 
 That is a test story, and only a true humorist 
 laughs at it." Now, the hearer may have an ex- 
 quisite sense of humor, but he may be lacking in 
 a sense of nonsense, and so the story gives him 
 no pleasure. De Quincey said, " None but a man 
 of extraordinary talent can write first-rate non- 
 sense." Only a short study of the subject is required 
 to convince us that De Quincey was right ; and 
 he might have added, none but a man of extraor- 
 dinary taste can appreciate first-rate nonsense. As 
 an instance of this, we may remember that Edward 
 Lear, " the parent of modern nonsense-writers," 
 was a talented author and artist, and a prime favor- 
 ite of such men as Tennyson and the Earls of 
 [xx]
 
 Introduction 
 
 Derby ; and John Ruskin placed Lear's name at 
 the head of his list of the best hundred authors. 
 
 " Don't tell me," said William Pitt, " of a man's 
 being able to talk sense ; every one can talk sense. 
 Can he talk nonsense ? " 
 
 The sense of nonsense enables us not only to 
 discern pure nonsense, but to consider intelligently 
 nonsense of various degrees of purity. Absence 
 of sense is not necessarily nonsense, any more than 
 absence of justice is injustice. 
 
 Etymologically speaking, nonsense may be either 
 words without meaning, or words conveying absurd 
 or ridiculous ideas. It is the second definition 
 which expresses the great mass of nonsense litera- 
 ture, but there is a small proportion of written 
 nonsense which comes under the head of language 
 without meaning. 
 
 Again, there are verses composed entirely of 
 meaningless words, which are not nonsense litera- 
 ture, because they are written with some other 
 intent. 
 
 The nursery rhyme, of which there are almost 
 as many versions as there are nurseries, 
 
 Eena, meena, mona, mi, 
 Bassalona, bona, stri, 
 Hare, ware, frown, whack, 
 Halico balico, we, wi, wo, wack, 
 
 is not strictly a nonsense verse, because it was in- 
 [xxi]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 vented and used for " counting out," and the 
 arbitrary words simply take the place of the num 
 bers i, 2, 3, etc. 
 
 Also, the nonsense verses with which students 
 of Latin composition are sometimes taught to 
 begin their efforts, where words are used with no 
 relative meaning, simply to familiarize the pupil 
 with the mechanical values of quantity and metre, 
 are not nonsense. It is only nonsense for non- 
 sense' sake that is now under our consideration. 
 
 Doubtless the best and best-known example of 
 versified words without meaning is " Jabberwocky." 
 Although (notwithstanding Lewis Carroll's expla- 
 nations) the coined words are absolutely without 
 meaning, the rhythm is perfect and the poetic 
 quality decidedly apparent, and the poem appeals 
 to the nonsense lover as a work of pure genius. 
 Bayard Taylor is said to have recited "Jabber- 
 wocky " aloud for his own delectation until he was 
 forced to stop by uncontrollable laughter. To us 
 who know our Alice it would seem unnecessary to 
 quote this poem, but it is a fact that among the 
 general reading community the appreciators of 
 Lewis Carroll are surprisingly few. An editor of 
 a leading literary review, when asked recently if 
 he had read " Alice in Wonderland," replied, 
 " No, but I mean to. It is by the author of c As 
 in a J ooking-Glass,' is it not?" 
 [ xxii ]
 
 Introduction 
 
 But of far greater interest and merit than non- 
 sense of words, is nonsense of ideas. Here, again, 
 we distinguish between nonsense and no sense. 
 Ideas conveying no sense are often intensely funny, 
 and this type is seen in some of the best of our 
 nonsense literature. 
 
 A perfect specimen is the bit of evidence read 
 by the White Rabbit at the Trial of the Knave of 
 Hearts. 1 One charm of these verses is the serious 
 air of legal directness which pervades their am- 
 biguity, and another is the precision with which the 
 metrical accent coincides exactly with the natural 
 emphasis. They are marked, too, by the liquid 
 euphony that always distinguishes Lewis Carroll's 
 poetry. 
 
 A different type is found in verses that refer to 
 objects in terms the opposite of true, thereby sug- 
 gesting ludicrous incongruity, and there is also the 
 nonsense verse that uses word effects which have 
 been confiscated by the poets and tacitly given 
 over to them. 
 
 A refrain of nonsense words is a favorite diver- 
 sion of many otherwise serious poets. 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 
 is one of Shakespeare's many musical nonsense 
 refrains. 
 
 1 " She '* all my Fancy painted him," page 20. 
 [ xxiii J
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Burns gives us : 
 
 Ken ye aught o' Captain Grose ? 
 
 Igo and ago, 
 If he 's 'mang his freens or foes ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 Is he slain by Highlan' bodies ? 
 
 Igo and ago 5 
 And eaten like a weather haggis ? 
 
 Iram, coram, dago. 
 
 Another very old refrain runs thus : 
 
 , corum, sunt di-vorum, 
 Harum, scarum, divo; 
 
 Tag-rag, merry-derry, periwig and hat-band, 
 Hie, hoc, horum, genitivo. 
 
 An old ballad written before the Reformation 
 has for a refrain : 
 
 Sing go trix, 
 Trim go trix, 
 Under the greenwood tree. 
 
 While a celebrated political ballad is known by its 
 nonsense chorus, 
 
 Lilliburlero bullin a-la. 
 
 Mother Goose rhymes abound in these non- 
 sense refrains, and they are often fine examples of 
 onomatopoeia. 
 
 By far the most meritorious and most interesting 
 kind of nonsense is that which embodies an absurd
 
 Introduction 
 
 or ridiculous idea, and treats it with elaborate seri- 
 ousness. The greatest masters of this art are un- 
 doubtedly Edward Lear and Lewis Carroll. These 
 Englishmen were men of genius, deep thinkers, 
 and hard workers. 
 
 Lear was an artist draughtsman, his subjects 
 being mainly ornithological and zoological. Lewis 
 Carroll (Charles L. Dodgson) was an expert in 
 mathematics and a lecturer on that science in 
 Christ Church, Oxford. 
 
 Both these men numbered among their friends 
 many of the greatest Englishmen of the day. 
 Tennyson was a warm friend and admirer of each, 
 as was also John Ruskin. 
 
 Lear's first nonsense verses, published in 1846, 
 are written in the form of the well-known stanza 
 beginning : 
 
 There was an old man of Tobago. 
 
 This type of stanza, known as the " Limerick," 
 is said by a gentleman who speaks with authority to 
 have flourished in the reign of William IV. This 
 is one of several he remembers as current at his 
 public school in 1834: 
 
 There was a young man at St. Kitts 
 Who was very much troubled with fits ; 
 
 The eclipse of the moon 
 
 Threw him into a swoon, 
 When he tumbled and broke into bits. 
 xxv J
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Lear distinctly asserts that this form of verse was 
 not invented by him, but was suggested by a friend 
 as a useful model for amusing rhymes. It proved 
 so in his case, for he published no less than two 
 hundred and twelve of these " Limericks." 
 
 In regard to his verses, Lear asserted that " non- 
 sense, pure and absolute," was his aim through- 
 out , and remarked, further, that to have been the 
 means of administering innocent mirth to thou- 
 sands was surely a just excuse for satisfaction. 
 He pursued his aim with scrupulous consistency, 
 and his absurd conceits are fantastic and ridiculous, 
 but never cheaply or vulgarly funny. 
 
 Twenty-five years after his first book came out, 
 Lear published other books of nonsense verse and 
 prose, with pictures which are irresistibly mirth- 
 provoking. Lear's nonsense songs, while retain- 
 ing all the ludicrous merriment of his Limericks, 
 have an added quality of poetic harmony. They 
 are distinctly singable, and many of them have 
 been set to music by talented composers. Perhaps 
 the best-known songs are "The Owl and the 
 Pussy-Cat " and " The Daddy-Long-Legs and the 
 Fly." 
 
 Lear himself composed airs for u The Pelican 
 Chorus " and " The Yonghy-Bonghy Bo," which 
 were arranged for the piano by Professor Pome, of 
 San Remo, Italy. 
 
 [ xxvi ]
 
 introduction 
 
 Although like Lear's in some respects, Lewis 
 Carroll's nonsense is perhaps of a more refined 
 type. There is less of the grotesque and more 
 poetic imagery. But though Carroll was more of 
 a poet than Lear, both had the true sense of non- 
 sense. Both assumed the most absurd conditions, 
 and proceeded to detail their consequences with 
 a simple seriousness that convulses appreciative 
 readers, and we find ourselves uncertain whether 
 it is the manner or the matter that is more 
 amusing. 
 
 Lewis Carroll was a man of intellect and edu- 
 cation ; his funniest sayings are often based 
 on profound knowledge or deep thought. Like 
 Lear, he never spoiled his quaint fancies by 
 over-exaggerating their quaintness or their fanci- 
 fulness, and his ridiculous plots are as carefully 
 conceived, constructed, and elaborated as though 
 they embodied the soundest facts. No funny 
 detail is ever allowed to become too funny ; and it 
 is in this judicious economy of extravagance that 
 his genius is shown. As he remarks in one of his 
 own poems : 
 
 Then, fourthly, there are epithets 
 
 That suit with any word 
 As well as Harvey's Reading Sauce 
 
 With fish, or flesh, or bird. 
 
 xxvii
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Such epithets, like pepper, 
 Give zest to what you write ; 
 
 And, if you strew them sparely, 
 They whet the appetite ; 
 
 But if you lay them on too thick, 
 You spoil the matter quite ! 
 
 Both Lear and Carroll suffered from the undis- 
 cerning critics who persisted in seeing in their 
 nonsense a hidden meaning, a cynical, political, or 
 other intent, veiled under the apparent foolery. 
 Lear takes occasion to deny this in the preface 
 to one of his books, and asserts not only that his 
 rhymes and pictures have no symbolical meaning, 
 but that he "took more care than might be sup- 
 posed to make the subjects incapable of such 
 misinterpretation." 
 
 Likewise, " Jabberwocky " was declared by one 
 critic to be a translation from the German, and 
 by others its originality was doubted. The truth 
 is, that it was written by Lewis Carroll at an even- 
 ing party; it was quite impromptu, and no ulterior 
 meaning was intended. " The Hunting of the 
 Snark " was also regarded by some as an allegory, 
 or, perhaps, a burlesque on a celebrated case, in 
 which the Snark was used as a personification of 
 popularity, but Lewis Carroll protested that the 
 poem had no meaning at all. 
 
 A favorite trick of the Nonsensists is the coining 
 [ xxviii J
 
 Introduction 
 
 of words to suit their needs, and Lear and Carroll 
 are especially happy in their inventions of this kind. 
 
 Lear gives us such gems as scroobious, meloobi- 
 ous, ombliferous, borascible, slobaciously, himmel- 
 tanious, flumpetty, and mumbian ; while the best 
 of Lewis Carroll's coined words are those found in 
 ' ; Jabberwocky." 
 
 Another of the great Nonsensists is W. S. 
 Gilbert. Unlike Lear or Carroll, his work is not 
 characterized by absurd words or phrases ; he pre- 
 fers a still wider scope, and invents a ridiculous 
 plot. The " Bab Ballads," as well as Mr. Gilbert's 
 comic opera librettos, hinge upon schemes of ludi- 
 crous impossibility, which are treated as the most 
 natural proceedings in the world. The best known 
 of the " Bab Ballads " is no doubt " The Yam of 
 the c Nancy Bell,' " which was long since set to 
 music and is still a popular song. In addition 
 to his talent for nonsense, Mr. Gilbert possesses a 
 wonderful rhyming facility, and juggles cleverly 
 with difficult and unusual metres. 
 
 In regard to his " Bab Ballads," Mr. Gilbert 
 gravely says that " they are not, as a rule, founded 
 on fact," and, remembering their gory and often 
 cannibalistic tendencies, we are grateful for this 
 assurance. An instance of Gilbert's appreciation 
 of other people's nonsense is his parody of Lear's 
 verse 
 
 f xxix ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 There was an old man in a tree 
 Who was horribly bored by a bee ; 
 
 When they said, " Does it buzz ? " 
 
 He replied, ' Yes, it does ! 
 It 's a regular brute of a bee ! " 
 
 The parody attributed to Gilbert is called " A 
 Nonsense Rhyme in Blank Verse " : 
 
 There was an old man of St. Bees, 
 Who was stung in the arm by a wasp ; 
 
 When they asked, "Does it hurt?" 
 
 He replied, " No, it does n't, 
 But I thought all the while 't was a Hornet ! " 
 
 Thackeray wrote spirited nonsense, but much of 
 it had an under-meaning, political or otherwise, 
 which bars it from the field of sheer nonsense. 
 
 The sense of nonsense is no respecter of per- 
 sons ; even staid old Dr. Johnson possessed it, 
 though his nonsense verses are marked by credible 
 fact and irrefutable logic. Witness these two 
 examples : 
 
 As with my hat upon my head 
 
 I walked along the Strand, 
 I there did meet another man 
 
 With his hat in his hand. 
 
 The tender infant, meek and mild, 
 
 Fell down upon the stone ; 
 The nurse took up the squealing child, 
 
 But still the child squealed on. 
 [xxx J
 
 Introduction 
 
 The Doctor is also responsible for 
 
 If a man who turnips cries, 
 Cry not when his father dies, 
 'Tis a proof that he would rather 
 Have a turnip than a father. 
 
 And indeed, among our best writers there are 
 few who have not dropped into nonsense or semi- 
 nonsense at one time or another. 
 
 A familiar bit of nonsense prose is by S. Foote, 
 and it is said that Charles Macklin used to recite it 
 with great gusto : 
 
 " She went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf to make 
 an apple-pie, and at the same time a great she-bear coming 
 up the street, pops its head into the shop. ' What, no 
 soap ? * so he died. She imprudently married the barber, 
 and there were present the Pickaninnies, the Joblilies, the 
 Gayrulies, and the Grand Panjandrum himself with the little 
 round button on top, and they all fell to playing catch-as- 
 catch-can till the gunpowder ran out at the heels of their 
 boots." 
 
 An old nonsense verse attributed to an Oxford 
 student, is the well known 
 
 A centipede was happy quite, 
 
 Until a frog in fun 
 
 Said, " Pray, which leg comes after which ?** 
 This raised her mind to such a pitch, 
 She lay distracted in the ditch 
 
 Considering how to run. 
 
 So far as we know, Kipling has never printed 
 [ xxxi J
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 anything which can be called nonsense verse, but 
 it is doubtless only a question of time when that 
 branch shall be added to his versatility. His u Just 
 So " stories are capital nonsense prose, and the 
 following rhyme proves him guilty of at least one 
 Limerick : 
 
 There was a small boy of Quebec, 
 Who was buried in snow to his neck ; 
 
 When they said, " Are you friz ? " 
 
 He replied, " Yes, I is 
 But we don't call this cold in Quebec." 
 
 Among living authors, one who has written a 
 great amount of good nonsense is Mr. Gelett Bur- 
 gess, late editor of The Lark. 
 
 According to Mr. Burgess' own statement, the 
 test of nonsense is its quotability, and his work 
 stands this test admirably, for what absurd rhyme 
 ever attained such popularity as his " Purple 
 Cow"? This was first printed in The Lark, 
 a paper published in San Francisco for two years, 
 the only periodical of any merit that has ever made 
 intelligent nonsense its special feature. 
 
 Another of the most talented nonsense writers of 
 to-day is Mr. Oliver Herford. It is a pity, however, 
 to reproduce his verse without his illustrations, for as 
 nonsense these are as admirable as the text. But 
 the greater part of Mr. Herford's work belongs to 
 the realm of pure fancy, and though of a whimsical 
 [ xxxii J
 
 Introduction 
 
 delicacy often equal to Lewis Carroll's, it is rarely 
 sheer nonsense. 
 
 As a proof that good nonsense is by no means 
 an easy achievement, attention is called to a recent 
 competition inaugurated by the London Academy. 
 
 Nonsense rhymes similar to those quoted from 
 The Lark were asked for, and though many were 
 received, it is stated that no brilliant results were 
 among them. 
 
 The prize was awarded to this weak and 
 uninteresting specimen : 
 
 " If half the road was made of jam, 
 
 The other half of bread, 
 How very nice my walks would be," 
 The greedy infant said. 
 
 These two were also offered by competitors: 
 
 I love to stand upon my head 
 
 And think of things sublime 
 Until my mother interrupts 
 
 And says it's dinner-time. 
 
 A lobster wooed a lady crab, 
 
 And kissed her lovely face. 
 " Upon my sole," the crabbess cried, 
 " I wish you 'd mind your plaice ! " 
 
 Let us, then, give Nonsense its place among the 
 divisions of Humor, and though we cannot reduce 
 it to an exact science, let us acknowledge it as a 
 fine art. 
 
 [ c ] [ xxxiii j
 
 A NONSENSE ANTHOLOGY
 
 4 Nonsense Anthology 
 
 JABBERWOCKY 
 
 * r I ^> WAS brillig, and the slithy toves 
 
 Did gyre and gimble in the wabe ; 
 All mimsy were the borogoves, 
 And the mome raths outgrabe. 
 
 " Beware the Jabberwock, my son ! 
 
 The jaws that bite, the claws that catch ! 
 Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun 
 
 The frumious Bandersnatch ! " 
 
 He took his vorpal sword in hand : 
 
 Long time the manxome foe he sought. 
 
 So rested he by the Tumtum tree, 
 And stood awhile in thought. 
 
 And as in uffish thought he stood, 
 The Jabberwock with eyes of flame, 
 
 Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, 
 And burbled as it came ! 
 
 One, two ! One, two ! And through, and through 
 The vorpal blade went snicker-snack ! 
 
 He left it dead, and with its head 
 He went galumphing back. 
 [3]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " And hast thou slain the Jabberwock ? 
 
 Come to my arms, my beamish boy ! 
 Oh, frabjous day ! Callooh ! callay ! " 
 
 He chortled in his joy. 
 
 'T was brillig, and the slithy toves 
 Did gyre and gimble in the wabe ; 
 
 All mimsy were the borogoves 
 And the mome raths outgrabe. 
 
 Lewis Carroll. 
 
 MORS IABROCHII 
 
 CCESPER 1 erat: tune lubriciles 2 ultravia 
 circum 
 Urgebant gyros gimbiculosque tophi ; 
 Moestenui visae borogovides ire meatu ; 
 Et profugi gemitus exgrabuere rathae. 
 
 O fuge labrochium, sanguis meus ! 3 Ille recurvis 
 Unguibus, estque avidis dentibus ille minax. 
 
 Ububae fuge cautus avis vim, gnate ! Neque 
 
 unquam 
 Faederpax contra te frumiosus eat ! 
 
 1 Caesper from Cana and 'vesper. 
 
 2 lubriciles from lubricui and graciles. See the Commen- 
 tary in Humpty Dumpty's square, which will also explain 
 ultravia, and if it requires explanation mtzstenut. 
 
 8 Sanguis meus: cf. Verg. JEn. 6. 836, 
 " Projice tela manu, sanguis meus !" 
 
 [4]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Vorpali gladio juvenis succingitur : hostis 
 
 Manxumus ad medium quaeritur usque diem : 
 
 Jamque via fesso, sed plurima mente prementi, 
 Tumtumiae frondis suaserat umbra moram. 
 
 Consilia interdum stetit egnia 1 mene revolvens; 
 
 At gravis in densa fronde susufFrus 2 erat, 
 Spiculaque 3 ex oculis jacientis flammea, tulseam 
 
 Per silvam venit burbur 4 labrochii ! 
 
 Vorpali, semel atque iterum collectus in ictum, 
 Persnicuit gladis persnacuitque puer : 
 
 Deinde galumphatus, spernens informe Cadaver, 
 Horrendum monstri rettulit ipse caput. 
 
 Victor labrochii, spoliis insignis opimis, 
 Rursus in amplexus, o radiose, meos ! 
 
 O frabiose dies ! CALLO clamateque CALL A ! 
 Vix potuit laetus chorticulare pater. 
 
 Coesper erat : tune lubriciles ultravia circum 
 Urgebant gyros gimbiculosque tophi ; 
 
 Moestenui visae borogovides ire meatu ; 
 Et profugi gemitus exgrabuere rathae. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 1 egnia: " muffish" segnis ; . . . uffish"=r egnis. This 
 is a conjectural analogy, but I ran suggest no better solution. 
 
 2 susuffrus : "whiffling" : : susurrus : "whistling." 
 8 spicula : see the picture. 
 
 4 burbur : apparently a labial variation of murmur , 
 stronger but more dissonant. 
 
 [5]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE NYUM-NYUM 
 
 r \ "VHE Nyum-Nyum chortled by the sea, 
 
 And sipped the wavelets green : 
 He wondered how the sky could be 
 So very nice and clean ; 
 
 He wondered if the chambermaid 
 
 Had swept the dust away, 
 And if the scrumptious Jabberwock 
 
 Had mopped it up that day. 
 
 And then in sadness to his love 
 
 The Nyum-Nyum weeping said, 
 I know no reason why the sea 
 
 Should not be white or red. 
 
 I know no reason why the sea 
 
 Should not be red, I say ; 
 And why the slithy Bandersnatch 
 
 Has not been round to-day. 
 
 He swore he 'd call at two o'clock, 
 
 And now it 's half-past four. 
 "Stay," said the Nyum-Nyum's love, "I think 
 
 I hear him at the door." 
 
 In twenty minutes in there came 
 
 A creature black as ink, 
 Which put its feet upon a chair 
 
 And called for beer to drink.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 They gave him porter in a tub, 
 But, " Give me more ! " he cried ; 
 
 And then he drew a heavy sigh, 
 And laid him down, and died. 
 
 He died, and in the Nyum-Nyum's cave 
 
 A cry of mourning rose ; 
 The Nyum-Nyum sobbed a gentle sob, 
 
 And slily blew his nose. 
 
 The Nyum-Nyum's love, we need not state, 
 
 Was overwhelmed and sad ; 
 She said, " Oh, take the corpse away, 
 
 Or you will drive me mad ! " 
 
 The Nyum-Nyum in his supple arms 
 Took up the gruesome weight, 
 
 And, with a cry of bitter fear, 
 He threw it at his mate. 
 
 And then he wept, and tore his hair, 
 
 And threw it in the sea, 
 And loudly sobbed with streaming eyes 
 
 That such a thing could be. 
 
 The ox, that mumbled in his stall, 
 Perspired and gently sighed, 
 
 And then, in sympathy, it fell 
 Upon its back and died. 
 [7]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The hen that sat upon her eggs, 
 With high ambition fired, 
 
 Arose in simple majesty, 
 And, with a cluck, expired. 
 
 The jubejube bird, that carolled there, 
 
 Sat down upon a post, 
 And with a reverential caw, 
 
 Gave up its little ghost. 
 
 And ere its kind and loving life 
 
 Eternally had ceased, 
 The donkey, in the ancient barn, 
 
 In agony deceased. 
 
 The raven, perched upon the elm, 
 Gave forth a scraping note, 
 
 And ere the sound had died away, 
 Had cut its tuneful throat. 
 
 The Nyum-Nyum's love was sorrowful ; 
 
 And, after she had cried, 
 She, with a brand-new carving-knife, 
 
 Committed suicide. 
 
 " Alas ! " the Nyum-Nyum said, "alas ! 
 
 With thee I will not part," 
 And straightway seized a rolling-pin 
 
 And drove it through his heart.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The mourners came and gathered up 
 
 The bits that lay about ; 
 But why the massacre had been, 
 
 They could not quite make out. 
 
 One said there was a mystery 
 Connected with the deaths; 
 
 But others thought the silent ones 
 Perhaps had lost their breaths. 
 
 The doctor soon arrived, and viewed 
 
 The corpses as they lay ; 
 He could not give them life again, 
 
 So he was heard to say. 
 
 But, oh ! it was a horrid sight ; 
 
 It made the blood run cold, 
 To see the bodies carried off 
 
 And covered up with mould. 
 
 The Toves across the briny sea 
 Wept buckets-full of tears ; 
 
 They were relations of the dead, 
 And had been friends for years. 
 
 The Jabberwock upon the hill 
 Gave forth a gloomy wail, 
 
 When in his airy seat he sat, 
 And told the awful tale. 
 [9]
 
 Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And who can wonder that it made 
 
 That loving creature cry ? 
 For he had done the dreadful work 
 
 And caused the things to die. 
 
 That Jabberwock was passing bad 
 That Jabberwock was wrong, 
 
 And with this verdict I conclude 
 One portion of my song. 
 
 dnonymou* , 
 
 UFFIA 
 
 WHEN sporgles spanned the floreate mead 
 And cogwogs gleet upon the lea, 
 Uffia gopped to meet her love 
 Who smeeged upon the equat sea. 
 
 Dately she walked aglost the sand ; 
 
 The boreal wind sect in her face ; 
 The moggling waves yalped at her feet ; 
 
 Pangwangling was her pace. 
 
 Harriet R. White. 
 
 SPIKK TROLL-DERISIVE* 
 
 ^r^HE Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the 
 
 moon, 
 
 And wistfully gazed on the sea 
 Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune 
 To the air of " Ti-fol-de-ding-dee." 
 
 o 
 
 * By permission of the author ; from ' ' Spirk and Wunk Rhymes, ' ' 
 copyright, 1891, 1898. 
 
 [10]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The quavering shriek of the Fliupthecreek 
 
 Was fitfully wafted afar 
 
 To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her 
 cheek 
 
 With the pulverized rays of a star. 
 
 The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the 
 Grig, 
 
 And his heart it grew heavy as lead 
 As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wig 
 
 On the opposite side of his head ; 
 And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill 
 
 Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies 
 To plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill 
 
 To pick the tears out of his eyes. 
 
 The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance ; 
 
 And the Squidjum hid under a tub 
 As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken 
 advance 
 
 With a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub dub ! 
 And the Crankadox cried as he laid down and died, 
 
 " My fate there is none to bewail ! " 
 While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the 
 tide 
 
 With a long piece of crape to her tail. 
 
 James Wbitcomb Riley
 
 T 
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE WHANGO TREE 
 
 HE woggly bird sat on the whango tree, 
 
 Nooping the rinkum corn, 
 And graper and graper, alas ! grew he, 
 And cursed the day he was born. 
 His crute was clum and his voice was rum, 
 
 As curiously thus sang he, 
 " Oh, would I 'd been rammed and eternally 
 
 clammed 
 Ere I perched on this whango tree." 
 
 Now the whango tree had a bubbly thorn, 
 
 As sharp as a nootie's bill, 
 And it stuck in the woggly bird's umptum lorn 
 
 And weepadge, the smart did thrill. 
 He fumbled and cursed, but that was n't the worst, 
 
 For he could n't at all get free, 
 And he cried, " I am gammed, and injustibly 
 nammed 
 
 On the luggardly whango tree." 
 
 And there he sits still, with no worm in his bill, 
 
 Nor no guggledom in his nest ; 
 He is hungry and bare, and gobliddered with care, 
 
 And his grabbles give him no rest ; 
 He is weary and sore and his tugmut is soar, 
 
 And nothing to nob has he, 
 
 A^s he chirps, " I am blammed and corruptibly 
 jammed, 
 
 In this cuggerdom whango tree." 1840
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 SING FOR THE GARISH EYE 
 
 SING for the garish eye, 
 When moonless brandlings cling ! 
 Let the froddering crooner cry, 
 And the braddled sapster sing. 
 For never and never again, 
 
 Will the tottering beechlings play, 
 For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud, 
 And the throngers croon in May ! 
 
 W. S. Gilbert. 
 
 THE CRUISE OF THE "P. C." 
 
 ACROSS the swiffling waves they went, 
 The gumly bark yoked to and fro.- 
 The jupple crew on pleasure bent, 
 Galored, " This is a go ! " 
 
 Beside the poo's'l stood the Gom, 
 He chirked and murgled in his glee; 
 
 While near him, in a grue jipon, 
 The Bard was quite at sea. 
 
 " Gollop ! Golloy ! Thou scrumjous Bard ! 
 
 Take pen (thy stylo) and endite 
 A pome, my brain needs kurgling hard, 
 And I will feast tonight." 
 C'3]
 
 . A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 That wansome Bard he took his pen, 
 
 A flirgly look around he guv ; 
 He squoffled once, he squirled, and then 
 
 He wrote what 's writ above. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 TO MARIE 
 
 WHEN the breeze from the bluebottle's blus- 
 tering blim 
 Twirls the toads in a tooroomaloo, 
 And the whiskery whine of the wheedlesome 
 
 whim 
 
 Drowns the roll of the rattatattoo, 
 Then I dream in the shade of the shally-go-shee, 
 
 And the voice of the bally-molay 
 Brings the smell of stale poppy-cods blummered 
 
 in blet 
 From the willy-wad over the way. 
 
 Ah, the shuddering shoo and the blinketty-blanks 
 
 When the yungalung falls from the bough 
 In the blast of a hurricane's hicketty-hanks 
 
 On the hills of the hocketty-how! 
 Give the rigamarole to the clangery-whang, 
 
 If they care for such fiddlededee ; 
 But the thingumbob kiss of the whangery-bang 
 
 Keeps the higgledy-piggle for me. 
 f'4]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 I/ENVOI 
 
 It is pilly-po-doddle and aligobung 
 
 When the lollypop covers the ground, 
 Yet the poldiddle perishes punketty-pung 
 
 When the heart jimmy-coggles around. 
 If the soul cannot snoop at the giggle-some cart, 
 
 Seeking surcease in gluggety-glug, 
 [t is useless to say to the pulsating heart, 
 
 " Panky -doodle ker-chuggetty-chug ! " 
 
 John Bennett. 
 
 LUNAR STANZAS 
 
 N r IGHT saw the crew like pedlers with their 
 packs 
 Altho' it were too dear to pay for eggs ; 
 Walk crank along with coffin on their backs 
 While in their arms they bow their weary legs. 
 
 And yet 't was strange, and scarce can one suppose 
 That a brown buzzard-fly should steal and wear 
 
 His white jean breeches and black woollen hose, 
 But thence that flies have souls is very clear. 
 
 But, Holy Father ! what shall save the soul, 
 
 When cobblers ask three dollars for their shoes ? 
 When cooks their biscuits with a shot-tower roll, 
 And farmers rake their hay-cocks with their 
 hoes. 
 
 C'5]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Yet, 't were profuse to see for pendant light, 
 
 A tea-pot dangle in a lady's ear; 
 And 'twere indelicate, although she might 
 
 Swallow two whales and yet the moon shine 
 clear. 
 
 But what to me are woven clouds, or what, 
 
 If dames from spiders learn to warp their looms ? 
 
 If coal-black ghosts turn soldiers for the State, 
 With wooden eyes, and lightning-rods for 
 plumes ? 
 
 Oh ! too, too shocking ! barbarous, savage taste ! 
 
 To eat one's mother ere itself was born ! 
 To gripe the tall town-steeple by the waste, 
 
 And scoop it out to be his drinking-horn. 
 
 No more : no more ! I 'm sick and dead and gone ; 
 
 Boxed in a coffin, stifled six feet deep ; 
 Thorns, fat and fearless, prick my skin and bone, 
 
 And revel o'er me, like a soulless sheep. 
 
 Henry Coggswell Knight, 1815. 
 
 NONSENSE 
 
 OH that my Lungs could bleat like butter'd 
 Pease ; 
 But bleating of my lungs hath Caught the 
 
 itch, 
 
 And are as mangy as the Irish Seas 
 That offer wary windmills to the Rich. 
 [.6]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 I grant that Rainbowes being lull'd asleep, 
 Snort like a woodknife in a Lady's eyes ; 
 
 Which makes her grieve to see a pudding creep, 
 For Creeping puddings only please the wise. 
 
 Not that a hard-row'd herring should presume 
 To swing a tyth pig in a Cateskin purse ; 
 
 For fear the hailstons which did fall at Rome, 
 By lesning of the fault should make it worse. 
 
 For 'tis most certain Winter woolsacks grow 
 From geese to swans if men could keep them so, 
 
 Till that the sheep shorn Planets gave the hint 
 To pickle pancakes in Geneva print. 
 
 Som< men there were that did suppose the skie 
 Was made of Carbonado'd Antidotes ; 
 
 But my opinion is, a Whale's left eye, 
 
 Need not be coyned all King Harry groates. 
 
 The reason's plain, for Charon's Westerne barge 
 Running a tilt at the Subjunctive mood, 
 
 Beckoned to Bednal Green, and gave him charge 
 To fasten padlockes with Antartic food. 
 
 The End will be the Mill ponds must be laded, 
 To fish for white pots in a Country dance ; 
 
 So they that suffered wrong and were upbraded 
 Shall be made friends in a left-handed trance. 
 
 l6f/. 
 [a] [17] t-
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 SONNET FOUND IN A DESERTED 
 MAD HOUSE 
 
 OH that my soul a marrow-bone might seize ! 
 For the old egg of my desire is broken, 
 Spilled is the pearly white and spilled the 
 
 yolk, and 
 
 As the mild melancholy contents grease 
 My path the shorn lamb baas like bumblebees. 
 Time's trashy purse is as a taken token 
 Or like a thrilling recitation, spoken 
 By mournful mouths filled full of mirth and cheese. 
 
 And yet, why should I clasp the earthful urn ? 
 
 Or find the frittered fig that felt the fast ? 
 
 Or choose to chase the cheese around the churn ? 
 
 Or swallow any pill from out the past ? 
 
 Ah, no Love, not while your hot kisses burn 
 
 Like a potato riding on the blast. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THE OCEAN WANDERER 
 
 BRIGHT breaks the warrior o'er the ocean 
 wave 
 Through realms that rove not, clouds that 
 
 cannot save, 
 
 Sinks in the sunshine ; dazzles o'er the tomb 
 And mocks the mutiny of Memory's gloom. 
 [18]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Oh ! who can feel the crimson ecstasy 
 
 That soothes with bickering jar the Glorious 
 
 Tree ? 
 
 O'er the high rock the foam of gladness throws, 
 While star-beams lull Vesuvius to repose : 
 Girds the white spray, and in the blue lagoon, 
 Weeps like a walrus o'er the waning moon ? 
 Who can declare ? not thou, pervading boy 
 Whom pibrochs pierce not, crystals cannot cloy ; 
 Not thou soft Architect of silvery gleams, 
 Whose soul would simmer in Hesperian streams, 
 Th' exhaustless fire the bosom's azure bliss, 
 That hurtles, life-like, o'er a scene like this ; 
 Defies the distant agony of Day 
 And sweeps o'er hetacombs away ! away ! 
 Say shall Destruction's lava load the gale, 
 The furnace quiver and the mountain quail ? 
 Say shall the son of Sympathy pretend 
 His cedar fragrance with our Chiefs to blend ? 
 There, where the gnarled monuments of sand 
 Howl their dark whirlwinds to the levin brand; 
 Conclusive tenderness ; fraternal grog, 
 Tidy conjunction ; adamantine bog, 
 Impetuous arrant toadstool ; Thundering quince, 
 Repentant dog-star, inessential Prince, 
 Expound. Pre-Adamite eventful gun, 
 Crush retribution, currant-jelly, pun, 
 Oh ! eligible Darkness, fender, sting, 
 Heav'n-born Insanity, courageous thing. 
 Intending, bending, scouring, piercing all, 
 Death like pomatum, tea, and crabs must fall. 
 
 Anonymous.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 SHE'S ALL MY FANCY PAINTED 
 HIM 
 
 SHE's all my fancy painted him, 
 (I make no idle boast) ; 
 If he or you had lost a limb, 
 Which would have suffered most ? 
 
 He said that you had been to her, 
 And seen me here before : 
 
 But, in another character 
 She was the same of yore. 
 
 There was not one that spoke to us, 
 Of all that thronged the street; 
 
 So he sadly got into a 'bus, 
 And pattered with his feet. 
 
 They told me you had been to her, 
 And mentioned me to him j 
 
 She gave me a good character, 
 But said I could not swim. 
 
 He sent them word I had not gone 
 (We know it to be true) ; 
 
 If she should push the matter on, 
 What would become of you ? 
 
 [20]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 I gave her one, they gave him two, 
 
 You gave us three or more ; 
 They all returned from him to you, 
 
 Though they were mine before. 
 
 If I or she should chance to be 
 
 Involved in this affair, 
 He trusts to you to set them free, 
 
 Exactly as we were. 
 
 My notion was that you had been 
 
 (Before she had this fit) 
 An obstacle that came between 
 
 Him, and ourselves, and it. 
 
 Don't let him know she liked them best, 
 
 For this must ever be 
 A secret, kept from all the rest, 
 
 Between yourself and me. 
 
 Lewis Carroll. 
 
 MY RECOLLECTEST THOUGHTS* 
 
 M 
 
 Y recollectest thoughts are those 
 
 Which I remember yet ; 
 And bearing on, as you 'd suppose, 
 The things I don't forget. 
 
 * By permission of the author; from " Davy and the Goblin," 
 copyright, 1884, 1885, by The Century Co.; 1885, by Ticknor 
 &Co.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 But my resemblest thoughts are less 
 
 Alike than they should be ; 
 A state of things, as you 'II confess, 
 
 You very seldom see. 
 
 And yet the mostest thought I love 
 
 Is what no one believes 
 That I 'm the sole survivor of 
 
 The famous Forty Thieves ! 
 
 Charles E. Carry!. 
 
 FATHER WILLIAM 
 
 YOU are old, Father William," the young 
 man said, 
 u And your nose has a look of surprise ; 
 Your eyes have turned round to the back of your 
 
 head, 
 
 And you live upon cucumber pies." 
 " I know it, I know it," the old man replied, 
 
 u And it comes from employing a quack, 
 Who said if I laughed when the crocodile died 
 I should never have pains in my back." 
 
 "You are old, Father William," the young man 
 said, 
 
 " And your legs always get in your way ; 
 You use too much mortar in mixing your bread, 
 
 And you try to drink timothy hay."
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " Very true, very true," said the wretched old man, 
 " Every word that you tell me is true ; 
 
 And it 's caused by my having my kerosene can 
 Painted red where it ought to be blue." 
 
 "You are old, Father William," the young man 
 said, 
 
 "And your teeth are beginning to freeze, 
 Your favorite daughter has wheels in her head, 
 
 And the chickens are eating your knees." 
 " You are right," said the old man, " I cannot deny, 
 
 That my troubles are many and great, 
 But I '11 butter my ears on the Fourth of July, 
 
 And then I '11 be able to skate." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 IN THE GLOAMING 
 
 THE twilight twiles in the vernal vale, 
 In adumbration of azure awe, 
 And I listlessly list in my swallow-tail 
 To the limpet licking his limber jaw. 
 And it 's O for the sound of the daffodil, 
 
 For the dry distillings of prawn and prout, 
 When hope hops high and a heather hill 
 
 Is a dear delight and a darksome doubt. 
 The snagwap sits in the bosky brae 
 
 And sings to the gumplet in accents sweet ; 
 The gibwink has n't a word to say, 
 
 But pensively smiles at the fair keeweet.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And it 's O for the jungles of Boorabul. 
 
 For the jingling jungles to jangle in, 
 With a moony maze of mellado mull, 
 
 And a protoplasm for next of kin. 
 O, sweet is the note of the shagreen shard 
 
 And mellow the mew of the mastodon, 
 When the soboliferous Somminard 
 
 Is scenting the shadows at set of sun. 
 And it 's O for the timorous tamarind 
 
 In the murky meadows of Mariboo, 
 For the suave sirocco of Sazerkind, 
 
 And the pimpernell pellets of Pangipoo. 
 
 Jama C. Bayles, 
 
 BALLAD OF BEDLAM 
 
 OH, lady, wake ! the azure moon 
 Is rippling in the verdant skies, 
 The owl is warbling his soft *:une, 
 Awaiting but thy snowy eyes. 
 The joys of future years are past, 
 
 To-morrow's hopes have fled away ; 
 Still let us love, and e'en at last 
 We shall be happy yesterday. 
 
 The early beam of rosy night 
 Drives off the ebon morn afar, 
 
 While through the murmur of the light 
 The huntsman winds his mad guitar. 
 [H]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Then, lady, wake ! my brigantine 
 
 Pants, neighs, and prances to be free ; 
 
 Till the creation I am thine, 
 
 To some rich desert fly with me. 
 
 Punch. 
 
 'TIS SWEET TO ROAM 
 
 t>r I "A IS sweet to roam when morning's light 
 
 Resounds across the deep ; 
 And the crystal song of the woodbine 
 
 bright 
 
 Hushes the rocks to sleep, 
 And the blood-red moon in the blaze of noon 
 
 Is bathed in a crumbling dew, 
 And the wolf rings out with a glittering shout, 
 To-whit, to-whit, to-whoo ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 HYMN TO THE SUNRISE 
 
 THE dreamy crags with raucous voices croon 
 Across the zephyr's heliotrope career ; 
 I sit contentedly upon the moon 
 And watch the sunlight trickle round the sphere. 
 
 The shiny trill of jagged, feathered rocks 
 I hear with glee as swift I fly away ; 
 
 And over waves of subtle, woolly flocks 
 Crashes the breaking day ! 
 
 Anonymous.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE MOON IS UP 
 
 THE moon is up, the moon is up ! 
 The larks begin to fly, 
 And, like a drowsy buttercup, 
 Dark Phoebus skims the sky, 
 The elephant, with cheerful voice, 
 
 Sings blithely on the spray ; 
 The bats and beetles all rejoice, 
 Then let me, too, be gay. 
 
 I would I were a porcupine, 
 
 And wore a peacock's tail ; 
 To-morrow, if the moon but shine, 
 
 Perchance I '11 be a whale. 
 Then let me, like the cauliflower, 
 
 Be merry while I may, 
 And, ere there comes a sunny hour 
 
 To cloud my heart, be gay ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 'TIS MIDNIGHT 
 
 'A A IS midnight, and the setting sun 
 Is slowly rising in the west; 
 The rapid rivers slowly run, 
 The frog is on his downy nest. 
 The pensive goat and sportive cow, 
 Hilarious, leap from bough to bough. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 [26]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 UPRISING SEE THE FITFUL 
 LARK 
 
 UPRISING see the fitful lark 
 Unfold his pinion to the stream ; 
 The pensive watch-dog's mellow bark 
 O'ershades yon cottage like a dream : 
 The playful duck and warbling bee 
 Hop gayly on, from tree to tree! 
 
 How calmly could my spirit rest 
 Beneath yon primrose bell so blue, 
 
 And watch those airy oxen drest 
 In every tint of pearling hue ! 
 
 As on they hurl the gladsome plough, 
 
 While fairy zephyrs deck each brow ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 LIKE TO THE THUNDERING 
 TONE 
 
 LIKE to the thundering tone of unspoke 
 speeches, 
 
 Or like a lobster clad in logic breeches, 
 Or like the gray fur of a crimson cat, 
 Or like the mooncalf in a slipshod hat ; 
 E'en such is he who never was begotten 
 Until his children were both dead and rotten.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Like to the fiery tombstone of a cabbage, 
 
 Or like a crab-louse with its bag and baggage, 
 
 Or like the four square circle of a ring, 
 
 Or like to hey ding, ding-a, ding-a, ding; 
 
 E'en such is he who spake, and yet, no doubt, 
 
 Spake to small purpose, when his tongue was out. 
 
 Like to a fair, fresh, fading, wither'd rose, 
 Or like to rhyming verse that runs in prose, 
 Or like the stumbles of a tinder-box, 
 Or like a man that 's sound yet sickness mocks ; 
 E'en such is he who died and yet did laugh 
 To see these lines writ for his epitaph. 
 
 Bishop Corbet 
 
 in ifth century. 
 
 MY DREAM 
 
 I DREAM ED a dream next Tuesday week, 
 Beneath the apple-trees ; 
 I thought my eyes were big pork-pies, 
 And my nose was Stilton cheese. 
 The clock struck twenty minutes to six, 
 
 When a frog sat on my knee ; 
 t asked him to lend me eighteenpence, 
 But he borrowed a shilling of me. 
 
 Anonymous, 
 
 [28]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 MY HOME 
 
 MY home is on the rolling deep, 
 I spend my time a-feeding sheep ; 
 And when the waves on high are running, 
 I take my gun and go a-gunning. 
 I shoot wild ducks down deep snake-holes, 
 And drink gin-sling from two-quart bowls. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 IN IMMEMORIAM 
 
 WE seek to know, and knowing seek ; 
 We seek, we know, and every sense 
 Is trembling with the great intense, 
 And vibrating to what we speak. 
 
 We ask too much, we seek too oft ; 
 
 We know enough and should no more ; 
 
 And yet we skim through Fancy's lore, 
 And look to earth and not aloft. 
 
 O Sea ! whose ancient ripples lie 
 
 On red-ribbed sands where seaweeds shone; 
 
 O moon ! whose golden sickle 's gone, 
 O voices all ! like you I die ! 
 
 Cutbbert Bede.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE HIGHER PANTHEISM IN A 
 NUTSHELL 
 
 o 
 
 NE, who is not, we see ; but one, whom we 
 
 see not, is ; 
 
 Surely, this is not that ; but that is as- 
 suredly this. 
 
 What, and wherefore, and whence: for under is 
 
 over and under; 
 If thunder could be without lightning, lightning 
 
 could be without thunder. 
 
 Doubt is faith in the main ; but faith, on the 
 
 whole, is doubt ; 
 We cannot believe by proof; but could we believe 
 
 without ? 
 
 Why, and whither, and how ? for barley and rye 
 
 are not clover; 
 Neither are straight lines curves ; yet over is under 
 
 and over. 
 
 One and two are not one ; but one and nothing is 
 
 two ; 
 Truth can hardly be false, if falsehood cannot be 
 
 true.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Parallels all things are ; yet many of these are 
 
 askew ; 
 You are certainly I ; but certainly I am not you. 
 
 One, whom we see not, is; and one, who is not, 
 
 we see ; 
 Fiddle, we know, is diddle; and diddle, we take it, 
 
 is dee. 
 
 A. C. Swinburne. 
 
 DARWINITY 
 
 POWER to thine elbow, thou newest of 
 sciences, 
 All the old landmarks are ripe for decay ; 
 Wars are but shadows, and so are alliances, 
 Darwin the great is the man of the day. 
 
 All other 'ologies want an apology ; 
 
 Bread 's a mistake Science offers a stone ; 
 Nothing is true but Anthropobiology 
 
 Darwin the great understands it alone. 
 
 Mighty the great evolutionist teacher is, 
 Licking Morphology clean into shape \ 
 
 Lord ! what an ape the Professor or Preacher is, 
 Ever to doubt his descent from an ape.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Man 's an Anthropoid he cannot help that, you 
 
 know 
 
 First evoluted from Pongos of old ; 
 He 's but a branch of the catarrhine cat, you 
 
 know 
 Monkey I mean that 's an ape with a cold. 
 
 Fast dying out are man's later Appearances, 
 
 Cataclysmitic Geologies gone ; 
 Now of Creation completed the clearance is, 
 
 Darwin alone you must anchor upon. 
 
 Primitive Life Organisms were chemical, 
 Busting spontaneous under the sea; 
 
 Purely subaqueous, panaquademical, 
 Was the original Crystal of Me. 
 
 I 'm the Apostle of mighty Darwinity, 
 
 Stands for Divinity sounds much the same 
 
 Apo-theistico-Pan-Asininity 
 
 Only can doubt whence the lot of us came. 
 
 Down on your knees, Superstition and Flunkey- 
 dom ! 
 
 Won't you accept such plain doctrines instead ? 
 What is so simple as primitive Monkeydom 
 
 Born in the sea with a cold in its head ? 
 
 Herman Merivale.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 SONG OF THE SCREW 
 
 AMOVING form or rigid mass, 
 Under whate'er conditions 
 Along successive screws must pass 
 Between each two positions. 
 It turns around and slides along 
 This is the burden of my song. 
 
 The pitch of screw, if multiplied 
 
 By angle of rotation, 
 Will give the distance it must glide 
 
 In motion of translation. 
 Infinite pitch means pure translation, 
 And zero pitch means pure rotation. 
 
 Two motions on two given screws, 
 With amplitudes at pleasure, 
 
 Into a third screw-motion fuse ; 
 
 Whose amplitude we measure 
 
 By parallelogram construction 
 
 (A very obvious deduction.) 
 
 Its axis cuts the nodal line 
 
 Which to both screws is normal, 
 And generates a form divine, 
 
 Whose name, in language formal,, 
 Is "surface-ruled of third degree." 
 Cylindroid is the name for me. 
 [3] [33]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Rotation round a given line 
 
 Is like a force along. 
 If to say couple you incline, 
 
 You 're clearly in the wrong ; 
 'T is obvious, upon reflection, 
 A line is not a mere direction. 
 
 So couples with translations too 
 
 In all respects agree ; 
 And thus there centres in the screw 
 
 A wondrous harmony 
 Of Kinematics and of Statics, 
 The sweetest thing in mathematics. 
 
 The forces on one given screw, 
 With motion on a second, 
 
 In general some work will do, 
 
 Whose magnitude is reckoned 
 
 By angle, force, and what we call 
 
 The coefficient virtual. 
 
 Rotation now to force convert, 
 And force into rotation ; 
 
 Unchanged the work, we can assert, 
 In spite of transformation. 
 
 And if two screws no work can claim. 
 
 Reciprocal will be their name. 
 
 Five numbers will a screw define, 
 A screwing motion, six , 
 
 For four will give the axial line, 
 One more the pitch will fix ; 
 [34]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And*hence we always can contrive 
 One screw reciprocal to five. 
 
 Screws two, three, four or five, combined 
 
 (No question here of six), 
 Yield other screws which are confined 
 
 Within one screw complex. 
 Thus we obtain the clearest notion 
 Of freedom and constraint of motion. 
 
 In complex III., three several screws 
 
 At every point you find, 
 Or if you one direction choose, 
 
 One screw is to your mind ; 
 And complexes of order III. 
 Their own reciprocals may be. 
 
 In IV., wherever you arrive, 
 
 You find of screws a cone, 
 On every line in complex V. 
 
 There is precisely one ; 
 At each point of this complex rich, 
 A plane of screws have given pitch. 
 
 But time would fail me to discourse 
 
 Of Order and Degree ; 
 Of Impulse, Energy and Force, 
 
 And Reciprocity. 
 
 All these and more, for motions small, 
 Have been discussed by Dr. Ball. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 [35]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 b 
 MOORLANDS OF THE NOT 
 
 ACROSS the moorlands of the Not 
 We chase the gruesome When ; 
 And hunt the Itness of the What 
 Through forests of the Then. 
 Into the Inner Consciousness 
 
 We track the crafty Where ; 
 We spear the Ego tough, and beard 
 The Selfhood in his lair. 
 
 With lassos of the brain we catch 
 
 The Isness of the Was ; 
 And in the copses of the Whence 
 
 We hear the think bees buzz. 
 We climb the slippery Whichbark tree 
 
 To watch the Thusness roll 
 And pause betimes in gnostic rimes 
 
 To woo the Over Soul. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 METAPHYSICS* 
 
 WHY and Wherefore set out one day 
 To hunt for a wild Negation. 
 They agreed to meet at a cool retreat 
 On the Point of Interrogation. 
 
 * By permission of the author ; from " The Bashful Earthquake,*' 
 copyright, 1898. 
 
 [36]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 But the night was dark and they missed their mark, 
 And, driven well-nigh to distraction, 
 
 They lost their ways in a murky maze 
 Of utter abstruse abstraction. 
 
 Then they took a boat and were soon afloat 
 
 On a sea of Speculation, 
 But the sea grew rough, and their boat, though tough, 
 
 Was split into an Equation. 
 
 As they floundered about in the waves of doubt 
 
 Rose a fearful Hypothesis, 
 Who gibbered with glee as they sank in the sea, 
 
 And the last they saw was this : 
 
 On a rock-bound reef of Unbelief 
 
 There sat the wild Negation ; 
 Then they sank once more and were washed ashore 
 
 At the Point of Interrogation. 
 
 Oliver Herford. 
 
 ABSTROSOPHY * 
 
 IF echoes from the fitful past 
 Could rise to mental view, 
 Would all their fancied radiance last 
 Or would some odors from the blast, 
 Untouched by Time, accrue ? 
 
 * By permission of the author; from "The Burgess Nonsense 
 Book," copyright, 1901. 
 
 [37]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Is present pain a future bliss, 
 
 Or is it something worse ? 
 For instance, take a case like this : 
 Is fancied kick a real kiss, 
 
 Or rather the reverse ? 
 
 Is plenitude of passion palled 
 
 By poverty of scorn ? 
 
 Does Fiction mend where Fact has mauled ? 
 Has Death its wisest victims called 
 
 When idiots are born ? 
 
 Gelett Burgess. 
 
 ABSTEMIA* 
 
 In Mystic Argot often Confounded with Farrago 
 
 IF aught that stumbles in my speech 
 Or stutters in my pen, 
 Or, claiming tribute, each to each, 
 Rise, not to fall again, 
 Let something lowlier far, for me, 
 
 Through evanescent shades 
 Than which my spirit might not be 
 
 Nourished in fitful ecstasy 
 Not less to know but more to see 
 Where that great Bliss pervades. 
 
 Gelett Burgess. 
 
 * By permission of the author ; from "The Burgess Nonsense 
 Book," copyright, 1901. 
 
 [38]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 PSYCHOLOPHON * 
 
 Supposed to be Translated from the Old Parsee 
 
 rrVWINE then the rays 
 
 Round her soft Theban tissues ! 
 All will be as She says, 
 When that dead past reissues. 
 Matters not what nor where, 
 
 Hark, to the moon's dim cluster ! 
 How was her heavy hair 
 
 Lithe as a feather duster ! 
 Matters not when nor whence ; 
 
 Flittertigibbet ! 
 
 Sounds make the song, not sense, 
 Thus I inhibit ! 
 
 Gelett Burgess. 
 
 TIMON OF ARCHIMEDES t 
 
 AS one who cleaves the circumambient air 
 Seeking in azure what it lacks in space, 
 And sees a young and finely chiselled face 
 Filled with foretastes of wisdom yet more rare ; 
 Touching and yet untouched unmeasured grace ! 
 A breathing credo and a living prayer 
 Yet of the earth, still earthy ; debonair 
 The while in heaven it seeketh for a place. 
 
 * By permission of the author; from "The Burgess Nonsense 
 Book," copyright, 1901. 
 
 f By permission of R. H. Russell; from "Just Rhymes," copy- 
 right, 1899. 
 
 [39]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 So thy dear eyes and thy kind lips but say 
 Ere from his cerements Timon seems to flit : 
 
 " What of the reaper grim with sickle keen ? " 
 And then the sunlight ushers in new day 
 
 And for our tasks our bodies seem more fit 
 " Might of the night, unfleeing, sight unseen." 
 
 Charles Battell Loomis. 
 
 ALONE 
 
 ALONE ! Alone ! 
 I sit in the solitudes of the moonshades, 
 Soul-hungering in the moonshade solitudes 
 
 sit I 
 
 My heart-lifts beaten down in the wild wind-path. 
 Oppressed, and scourged and beaten down are my 
 
 heart-lifts. 
 I fix my gaze on the eye-star, and the eye-star flings 
 
 its dart upon me. 
 
 I wonder why my soul is lost in wonder why I am, 
 And why the eye-star mocks me, 
 Why the wild wind beats down my heart-lifts ; 
 Why I am stricken here in the moonshade solitudes. 
 Oh ! why am I what I am, 
 And why am I anything ? 
 
 Am I not as wild as the wind and more crazy ? 
 Why do I sit in the moonshade, while the eye- 
 star mocks me while I ask what I am ? 
 Why? Why? 
 
 Anonymous.
 
 I 
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 LINES BY A MEDIUM 
 
 I 
 
 MIGHT not, if I could; 
 
 I should not, if I might ; 
 Yet if I should I would, 
 And, shoulding, I should quite ! 
 
 I must not, yet I may ; 
 
 I can, and still I must ; 
 But ah ! I cannot nay, 
 
 To must I may not, just ! 
 
 I shall, although I will, 
 
 But be it understood, 
 If I may, can, shall still 
 
 I might, could, would, or should ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 TRANSCENDENTALISM 
 
 T is told, in Buddhi-theosophic schools, 
 
 There are rules, 
 
 By observing which, when mundane labor irks 
 One can simulate quiescence 
 By a timely evanescence 
 From his Active Mortal Essence, 
 (Or his Works.)
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The particular procedure leaves research 
 
 In the lurch, 
 
 But, apparently, this matter-moulded form 
 Is a kind of outer plaster, 
 Which a well-instructed Master 
 Can remove without disaster 
 When he 's warm. 
 
 And to such as mourn an Indian Solar Clime 
 
 At its prime 
 
 'T were a thesis most immeasurably fit, 
 So expansively elastic, 
 And so plausibly fantastic, 
 That one gets enthusiastic 
 For a bit. 
 
 From the Times of India. 
 
 INDIFFERENCE 
 
 IN loopy links the canker crawls, 
 Tads twiddle in their 'polian glee, 
 Yet sinks my heart as water falls. 
 The loon that laughs, the babe that bawls, 
 The wedding wear, the funeral palls, 
 Are neither here nor there to me. 
 
 Of life the mingled wine and brine 
 I sit and sip pipslipsily. 
 
 Anonymous.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 HEART-FOAM 
 
 H ! to be wafted away 
 
 From this black Aceldama ot sorrow, 
 Where the dust or an earthy to-day 
 Makes the earth ot a dusty to-monx>w. 
 
 W. S. Gilbert. 
 
 
 
 COSSIMBAZAR 
 
 COME fleetly, come fleetly, my hookabadar, 
 For the sound of the tam-tam is heard from 
 afar. 
 
 " Banoolah ! Banoolah ! " The Brahmins are nigh, 
 And the depths of the jungle re-echo their cry. 
 Pestonjee Bomanjee ! 
 Smite the guitar; 
 Join in the chorus, my hookabadar. 
 
 Heed not the blast of the deadly monsoon, 
 
 Nor the blue Brahmaputra that gleams in the moon. 
 
 Stick to thy music, and oh, let the sound 
 
 Be heard with distinctness a mile or two round. 
 
 Jamsetjee, "Jeejeebhoy ! 
 
 Sweep the guitar. 
 
 Join in the chorus, my hookabadar. 
 [43]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Art thou a Buddhist, or dost thou indeed 
 
 Put faith in the monstrous Mohammedan creed ? 
 
 Art thou a Ghebir a blinded Parsee ? 
 
 Not that it matters an atom to me. 
 
 Cursetjee Bomanjee ! 
 
 Twang the guitar 
 Join in the chorus, my hookabadar. 
 
 Henry S. Leigh. 
 
 THE PERSONIFIED 
 SENTIMENTAL* 
 
 A FFECTION'S charm no longer gilds 
 /-\ The idol of the shrine ; 
 
 But cold Oblivion seeks to fill 
 Regret's ambrosial wine. 
 Though Friendship's offering buried lies 
 
 'Neath cold Aversion's snow, 
 Regard and Faith will ever bloom 
 Perpetually below. 
 
 I see thee whirl in marble halls, 
 
 In Pleasure's giddy train ^ 
 Remorse is never on that brow, 
 
 Nor Sorrow's mark of pain. 
 Deceit has marked thee for her own ; 
 
 Inconstancy the same ; 
 And Ruin wildly sheds its gleam 
 
 Athwart thy path of shame. 
 
 Bret Harte. 
 
 * By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., authorized publishers 
 of Bret Harte' s works. 
 
 f 443
 
 
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 A CLASSIC ODE* 
 
 H, limpid stream of Tyrus, now I hear 
 
 The pulsing wings of Armageddon's host, 
 Clear as a colcothar and yet more clear 
 (Twin orbs, like those of which the Parsees 
 boast ;) 
 
 Down in thy pebbled deeps in early spring 
 The dimpled naiads sport, as in the time 
 
 When Ocidelus with untiring wing 
 
 Drave teams of prancing tigers, 'mid the chime 
 
 Of all the bells of Phicol. Scarcely one 
 
 Peristome veils its beauties now, but then 
 
 Like nascent diamonds, sparkling in the sun, 
 Or sainfoin, circinate, or moss in marshy fen. 
 
 Loud as the blasts of Tubal, loud and strong, 
 Sweet as the songs of Sappho, aye more sweet ; 
 
 Long as the spear of Arnon, twice as long, 
 
 What time he hurled it at King Pharaoh's feet. 
 
 Charles Battell Loomis. 
 
 WHERE AVALANCHES WAIL 
 
 WHERE avalanches wail, and green Distress 
 Sweeps o'er the pallid beak of loveliness : 
 Where melancholy Sulphur holds her sway : 
 Ana cliffs of conscience tremble and obey ; 
 
 * By permission of R. H. Russell; from "Just Rhymes," copy- 
 right, 1899. 
 
 [45]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And where Tartarean rattlesnakes expire ; 
 Twisting like tendrils of a hero's pyre ? 
 No! dancing in the meteor's hall of power, 
 See, Genius ponders o'er Affection's tower! 
 A form of thund'ring import soars on high, 
 Hark ! 't is the gore of infant melody : 
 No more shall verdant Innocence amuse 
 The lips that death-fraught Indignation glues ; 
 Tempests shall teach the trackless tide of thought, 
 That undiminish'd senselessness is naught; 
 Freedom shall glare; and oh ! ye links divine, 
 The Poet's heart shall quiver in the brine. 
 
 Anonymous 
 
 BLUE MOONSHINE 
 
 MINGLED aye with fragrant yearnings, 
 Throbbing in the mellow glow, 
 Glint the silvery spirit-burnings, 
 Pearly blandishments of woe. 
 
 Aye ! forever and forever, 
 
 Whilst the love-lorn censers sweep, 
 Whilst the jasper winds dissever 
 
 Amber-like the crystal deep, 
 
 Shall the soul's delirious slumber, 
 Sea-green vengeance of a kiss, 
 Teach despairing crags to number 
 Blue infinities of bliss. 
 
 Francis G. Stokes. 
 [46]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 NONSENSE 
 
 GOOD reader, if you e'er have seen, 
 When Phoebus hastens to his pillow,, 
 The mermaids with their tresses green 
 Dancing upon the western billow ; 
 If you have seen at twilight dim, 
 When the lone spirit's vesper hymn 
 Floats wild along the winding shore, 
 The fairy train their ringlets weave 
 Glancing along the spangled green ; 
 If you have seen all this, and more, 
 God bless me ! what a deal you 've seen ! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 SUPERIOR NONSENSE VERSES 
 
 HE comes with herald clouds of dust ; 
 Ecstatic frenzies rend his breast ; 
 A moment, and he graced the earth 
 Now, seek him at the eagle's nest. 
 
 Hark ! see'st thou not the torrent's flash 
 Far shooting o'er the mountain height ? 
 
 Hear'st not the billow's solemn roar, 
 
 That echoes through the vaults of night ? 
 
 Anon the murky cloud is riven, 
 
 The lightnings leap in sportive play, 
 
 And through the clanging doors of heaven, 
 In calm effulgence bursts the day. 
 [47]
 
 Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Hope, peering from her fleecy car, 
 Smiles welcome to the coming spring, 
 
 And birds with blithesome songs of praise 
 Make every grove and valley ring. 
 
 What though on pinions of the blast 
 The sea-gulls sweep with leaden flight ? 
 
 What though the watery caverns deep 
 Gleam ghostly on the wandering sight ? 
 
 Is there no music in the trees 
 
 To charm thee with its frolic mirth ? 
 
 Must Care's wan phantom still beguile 
 And chain thee to the stubborn earth ? 
 
 Lo ! Fancy from her magic realm 
 Pours Boreal gleams adown the pole. 
 
 The tidal currents lift and swell 
 Dead currents of the ocean's soul. 
 
 Yet never may their mystic streams 
 Breathe whispers of the mournful past, 
 
 Or Pallas wake her sounding lyre 
 Mid Ether's columned temples vast. 
 
 Grave HisJory walks again the earth 
 
 As erst it did in days of eld, 
 When seated on the golden throne 
 
 Her hand a jewelled sceptre held. 
 
 The Delphian oracle is dumb, 
 
 Dread Cumae wafts no words of fate, 
 
 To fright the eager souls that press 
 Through sullen Lethe's iron gate. 
 [48]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 But deeper shadows gather o'er 
 
 The vales that sever night and morn ; 
 
 And darkness folds with brooding wing 
 The rustling fields of waving corn. 
 
 Then issuing from his bosky lair 
 
 The crafty tiger crouches low, 
 Or thunders from the frozen north 
 
 The white bear lapped in Arctic snow. 
 
 Thus shift the scenes till high aloft 
 
 The young moon sets her crescent horn, 
 
 And in gray evening's emerald sea 
 The beauteous Star of Love is born. 
 
 Anonymous, 
 
 WHEN MOONLIKE ORE THE 
 HAZURE SEAS 
 
 WHEN moonlike ore the hazure seas 
 In soft effulgence swells, 
 When silver jews and balmy breaze 
 Bend down the Lily's bells ; 
 When calm and deap, the rosy sleap 
 
 Has lapt your soal in dreems, 
 R Hangeline ! R lady mine ! 
 Dost thou remember Jeames ? 
 
 I mark thee in the Marble all, 
 
 Where England's loveliest shine 
 
 I say the fairest of them hall 
 Is Lady Hangeline. 
 [ 4 ] f 49 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 My soul, in desolate eclipse, 
 
 With recollection teems 
 And then I hask, with weeping lips, 
 
 Dost thou remember Jeames ? 
 
 Away ! I may not tell thee hall 
 
 This- soughring heart endures 
 There is a lonely sperrit-call 
 
 That Sorrow never cures ; 
 There is a little, little Star, 
 
 That still above me beams ; 
 It is the Star of Hope but ar ! 
 
 Dost thou remember Jeames ? 
 
 W. M. Thackeray. 
 
 LINES BY A PERSON OF QUALITY 
 
 FLUTTERING spread thy purple pinions, 
 Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart, 
 I a slave in thy dominions, 
 Nature must give way to art. 
 
 Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, 
 Nightly nodding o'er your flocks, 
 
 See my weary days consuming, 
 All beneath yon flowery rocks. 
 
 Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping, 
 
 Mourned Adonis, darling youth: 
 Him the boar, in silence creeping, 
 
 Gored with unrelenting tooth. 
 [50]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers ; 
 
 Fair Discretion, tune the lyre ; 
 Soothe my ever-waking slumbers j 
 
 Bright Apollo, lend thy choir. 
 
 Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors, 
 
 Armed in adamantine chains, 
 Lead me to the crystal mirrors, 
 
 Watering soft Elysian plains. 
 
 Mournful Cypress, verdant willow, 
 
 Gilding my Aurelia's brows, 
 Morpheus, hovering o'er my pillow, 
 
 Hear me pay my dying vows. 
 
 Melancholy, smooth Maeander, 
 
 Swiftly purling in a round, 
 On thy margin lovers wander 
 
 With thy flowery chaplets crowned. 
 
 Thus when Philomela, drooping, 
 
 Softly seeks her silent mate, 
 So the bird of Juno stooping ; 
 
 Melody resigns to fate. 
 
 Alexander Pope. 
 
 FRANGIPANNI 
 
 T T NTWINE those ringlets ! Ev'ry dainty clasp 
 That shines like twisted sunlight in my eye 
 Is but the coiling of the jewelled asp 
 That smiles to see men die.
 
 Oh, cobra-curled ! Fiercc-fanged fair one ! Draw 
 Night's curtain o'er the landscape of thy hair ! 
 
 I yield ! I kneel ! I own, 1 bless thy law 
 That dooms me to despair. 
 
 I mark the crimson ruby of thy lips, 
 
 I feel the witching weirdness of thy breath ! 
 
 I droop ! I sink into my soul's eclipse, 
 I fall in love with death ! 
 
 And yet, vouchsafe a moment ! I would gaze 
 Once more into those sweetly-murderous eyes, 
 
 Soft glimmering athwart the pearly haze 
 That smites to dusk the skies. 
 
 Hast thou no pity ? Must I darkly tread 
 
 The unknown paths that lead me wide from 
 thee ? 
 
 Hast thou no garland for this aching head 
 That soon so low must be ? 
 
 No sound ? No sigh ? No smile ? Is all forgot? 
 
 Then spin my shroud out of that golden skein 
 Thou callst thy tresses ! / shall stay thee not 
 
 My struggles were but vain ! 
 
 But shall I see thee far beyond the sun, 
 
 When the new dawn lights Empyrean scenes ? 
 
 What matters now ? I know the poem 's done, 
 And wonder what the dickens it all means ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 [52]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 LINES BY A FOND LOVER 
 
 LOVELY maid, with rapture swelling, 
 Should these pages meet thine eye, 
 Clouds of absence soft dispelling ; 
 Vacant memory heaves a sigh. 
 
 As the rose, with fragrance weeping, 
 Trembles to the tuneful wave, 
 
 So my heart shall twine unsleeping, 
 Till it canopies the grave. 
 
 Though another's smile 's requited, 
 Envious fate my doom should be; 
 
 Joy forever disunited, 
 
 Think, ah ! think, at times on me ! 
 
 Oft, amid the spicy gloaming, 
 
 Where the brakes their songs instil, 
 
 Fond affection silent roaming, 
 Loves to linger by the rill 
 
 There, when echo's voice consoling, 
 Hears the nightingale complain, 
 
 Gentle sighs my lips controlling, 
 Bind my soul in beauty's chain. 
 
 Oft in slumber's deep recesses, 
 
 I thy mirror'd image see ; 
 Fancy mocks the vain caresses 
 
 I would lavish like a bee ! 
 [53]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 But how vain is glittering sadness! 
 
 Hark, I hear distraction's knell ! 
 Torture gilds my heart with madness ! 
 
 Now forever fare thee well ! 
 
 Anonymou; 
 
 FORCING A WAY 
 
 HOW many strive to force a way 
 Where none can go save those who pay, 
 To verdant plains of soft delight 
 The homage of the silent night, 
 When countless stars from pole to pole 
 Around the earth unceasing roll 
 In roseate shadow's silvery hue, 
 Shine forth and gild the morning dew. 
 
 And must we really part for good, 
 But meet again here where we 've stood ? 
 No more delightful trysting-place, 
 We've watched sweet Nature's smiling face. 
 No more the landscape's lovely brow, 
 Exchange our mutual breathing vow. 
 Then should the twilight draw around 
 No loving interchange of sound. 
 
 Less for renown than innate love, 
 These to my wish must recreant prove ; 
 Nor whilst an impulse here remain, 
 Can ever hope the soul to gain ; 
 [54]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 For memory scanning all the past, 
 Relaxes her firm bonds at last, 
 And gives to candor all the grace 
 The heart can in its temple trace. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THY HEART 
 
 THY heart is like some icy lake, 
 On whose cold brink I stand ; 
 Oh, buckle on my spirit's skate, 
 And lead, thou living saint, the way 
 
 To where the ice is thin 
 That it may break beneath my feet 
 And let a lover in ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 A LOVE-SONG BY A LUNATIC 
 
 r I ^HERE 's not a spider in the sky, 
 
 There 's not a glowworm in the sea, 
 There's not a crab that soars on high, 
 But bids me dream, dear maid, of thee ! 
 
 When watery Phoebus ploughs the main, 
 
 When fiery Luna gilds the lea, 
 As flies run up the window-pane, 
 
 So fly my thoughts, dear love, to thee ! 
 
 Anonymous 
 [ 55 ]
 
 I 
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE PARTERRE 
 
 DON'T know any greatest treat 
 As sit him in a gay parterre, 
 And sniff one up the perfume sweet 
 Of every roses buttoning there. 
 
 It only want my charming miss 
 
 Who make to blush the self red rose ; 
 
 Oh ! I have envy of to kiss 
 
 The end's tip of her splendid nose. 
 
 Oh ! I have envy of to be 
 
 What grass 'neath her pantoffle push, 
 And too much happy seemeth me 
 
 The margaret which her vestige crush. 
 
 But I will meet her nose at nose, 
 And take occasion for her hairs, 
 
 And indicate her all my woes, 
 
 That she in fine agree my prayers. 
 
 THE ENVOY 
 
 I don't know any greatest treat 
 
 As sit him in a gay parterre, 
 With Madame who is too more sweet 
 
 Than every roses buttoning there. 
 
 E. H. Palme' 
 [56]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 TO MOLLIDUSTA 
 
 WHEN gooseberries grow on the stem of ? 
 daisy, 
 And plum-puddings roll on the tide to 
 
 the shore, 
 
 And julep is made from the curls of a jazey, 
 Oh, then, Mollidusta, I '11 love thee no more. 
 
 When steamboats no more on the Thames shall 
 
 be going, 
 And a cast-iron bridge reach Vauxhall from the 
 
 Nore, 
 And the Grand Junction waterworks cease to b" 
 
 flowing, 
 Oh, then, Mollidusta, I '11 love thee no more. 
 
 Plancb'e. 
 
 JOHN JONES 
 
 At the Piano 
 
 LOVE me and leave me ; what love bids re- 
 trieve me ? can June's fist grasp May ? 
 Leave me and love me ; hopes eyed once 
 above me like spring's sprouts, decay ; 
 Fall as the snow falls, when summer leaves grow 
 false cards packed for storm's play !
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 ii 
 
 Nay, say Decay's self be but last May's elf, wing 
 
 shifted, eye sheathed 
 Changeling in April's crib rocked, who lets 'scape 
 
 rills locked fast since frost breathed 
 Skin cast (think ! ) adder-like, now bloom bursts 
 
 bladder-like, bloom frost bequeathed ? 
 
 in 
 
 Ah, how can fear sit and hear as love hears it 
 grief's heart's cracked grate's screech ? 
 
 Chance lets the gate sway that opens on hate's way 
 and shews on shame's beach 
 
 Crouched like an imp sly change watch sv~et love's 
 shrimps lie, a toothful in each. 
 
 IV 
 
 Time feels his tooth slip on husks wet from Truth's 
 lip, which drops them and grins 
 
 Shells where no throb stirs of life left in lobsters 
 since joy thrilled their fins 
 
 Hues of the pawn's tail or comb that makes dawn 
 stale, so red for our sins ! 
 
 Leaves love last year smelt now feel dead love's 
 tears melt flies caught in time's mesh ! 
 
 Salt are the dews in which new time breeds new 
 sin, brews blood and stews flesh ; 
 
 Next year may see dead more germs than this 
 weeded and reared them afresh. 
 [58]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 VI 
 
 Old times left perish, new time to cherish ; lite 
 
 just shifts its tune ; 
 As, when the day dies, half afraid, eyes the growth 
 
 of the moon ; 
 Love me and save me, take me or waive me; 
 
 death takes one so soon ! 
 
 A. C. Swinburne. 
 
 THE OWL AND THE PUSSY CAT 
 
 THE Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea 
 In a beautiful pea-green boat : 
 They took some honey, and plenty of money 
 Wrapped up in a five-pound note. 
 The Owl looked up to the stars above, 
 
 And sang to a small guitar, 
 "Oh, lovely Pussy, oh, Pussy, my love, 
 What a beautiful Pussy you are, 
 You are, 
 You are ! 
 What a beautiful Pussy you are ! " 
 
 Pussy said to the Owl, " You elegant fowl, 
 
 How charmingly sweet you sing ! 
 Oh, let us be married ; too long we have tarried : 
 
 But what shall we do for a ring ? " 
 [59]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 They sailed away for a year and a day, 
 
 To the land where the bong-tree grows ; 
 And there in the wood a Piggy-wig stood, 
 With a ring at the end of his nose, 
 His nose, 
 His nose, 
 With a ring at the end of his nose. 
 
 " Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling 
 
 Your ring ? " Said the Piggy, " I will." 
 So they took it away and were married next day 
 
 By the Turkey who lives on the hill. 
 They dined on mince and slices of quince, 
 
 Which they ate with a runcible spoon ; 
 And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, 
 
 They danced by the light of the moon, 
 The moon, 
 The moon, 
 
 They danced by the light of the moon. 
 
 Edward Lear, 
 
 A BALLADE OF THE NURSERIE 
 
 SHE hid herself in the soiree kettle 
 Out of her Ma's way, wise, wee maid ! 
 Wan was her lip as the lily's petal, 
 Sad was the smile that over it played. 
 [6oj
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Why doth she warble not ? Is she afraid 
 Of the hound that howls, or the moaning mole ? 
 
 Can it be on an errand she hath delayed ? 
 Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul ! 
 
 The nightingale sings to the nodding nettle 
 
 In the gloom o' the gloaming athwart the glade : 
 The zephyr sighs soft on Popocatapetl, 
 
 And Auster is taking it cool in the shade : 
 
 Sing, hey, for a gutta serenade ! 
 Not mine to stir up a storied pole, 
 
 No noses snip with a bluggy blade 
 Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul ! 
 
 Shall I bribe with a store of minted metal ? 
 
 With Everton toffee thee persuade ? 
 That thou in a kettle thyself shouldst settle, 
 
 When grandly and gaudily all arrayed ! 
 
 Thy flounces 'ill foul and fangles fade. 
 Come out, and Algernon Charles 'ill roll 
 
 Thee safe and snug in Plutonian plaid 
 Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul ! , 
 
 ENVOI 
 
 When nap is none and raiment frayed, 
 And winter crowns the puddered poll, 
 
 A kettle sings ane soote ballade 
 Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul. 
 
 John Ttvig. 
 
 [61]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 AH Night ! blind germ of days to be, 
 Ah me ! ah me ! 
 (Sweet Venus, mother!) 
 What wail of smitten strings hear we ? 
 (Ah me ! ah me ! 
 
 Hey diddle dee /) 
 
 Ravished by clouds our Lady Moon, 
 
 Ah me ! ah me ! 
 
 (Sweet Venus, mother !) 
 Sinks swooning in a lady-swoon 
 
 (Ah me ! ah me ! 
 
 Dum diddle dee /) 
 
 What profits it to rise i' the dark ? 
 
 Ah me ! ah me ! 
 
 (Sweet Venus, mother !) 
 If love but over-soar its mark 
 
 (Ah me ! ah me ! 
 
 Hey diddle dee /) 
 
 What boots to fall again forlorn ? 
 Ah me ! ah me ! 
 (Sweet Venus, mother !) 
 Scorned by the grinning hound of scorn, 
 (Ah me ! ah me ! 
 
 Dum diddle dee /) 
 [62]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Art thou not greater who art less ? 
 Ah me ! ah me ! 
 (Sweet Venus, mother !) 
 Low love fulfilled of low success ? 
 (Ah me ! ah me ! 
 
 Hey diddle dee /) 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THE LUGUBRIOUS WHING- 
 WHANG * 
 
 OUT on the margin of moonshine land, 
 Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, 
 Out where the whing-whang loves to stand, 
 Writing his name with his tail on the sand, 
 And wiping it out with his oogerish hand ; 
 Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs. 
 
 Is it the gibber of gungs and keeks ? 
 
 Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, 
 Or what is the sound the whing-whang seeks, 
 Crouching low by the winding creeks, 
 And holding his breath for weeks and weeks ? 
 
 Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs. 
 
 Aroint him the wraithest of wraithly things ! 
 
 Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs, 
 'T is a fair whing-whangess with phosphor rings, 
 And bridal jewels of fangs and stings, 
 
 * By permission of the author; from "Rhymes of Childhood,' 
 copyright, 1890, 1898. 
 
 [63]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And she sits and as sadly and softly sings 
 
 As the mildewed whir of her own dead wings; 
 
 Tickle me, dear; tickle me here; 
 
 Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs. 
 
 James Wbitcomb Riley. 
 
 OH! WEARY MOTHER 
 
 r I "\HE lilies lie in my lady's bower, 
 
 (Oh ! weary mother, drive the cows to 
 
 roost ;) 
 
 They faintly droop for a little hour ; 
 My lady's head droops like a flower. 
 
 She took the porcelain in her hand, 
 
 (Oh ! weary mother, drive the cows to roost ;) 
 She poured ; I drank at her command ; 
 Drank deep, and now you understand! 
 
 (Oh ! weary mother, drive the cows to roost.) 
 
 Barry Pain, 
 
 SWISS AIR* 
 
 I'M a gay tra, la, la, 
 With my fal, lal, la, la, 
 And my bright 
 And my light 
 
 Tra, la, le. [Repeat.] 
 
 * By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., authorized publishers 
 of Bret Harte's works. 
 
 [64]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Then laugh, ha, ha, ha, 
 And ring, ting, ling, ling, 
 And sing, fal, la, la, 
 
 La, la, Ic. {Repeat^ 
 
 Bret Harte. 
 
 THE BULBUL* 
 
 THE bulbul hummeth like a book 
 Upon the pooh-pooh tree, 
 And now and then he takes a look 
 At you and me, 
 At me and you. 
 Kuchi! 
 Kuchoo ! 
 
 Owen Seaman. 
 
 BALLAD 
 
 With an Ancient Refrain 
 
 OSTOODENT A has gone and spent, 
 With a hey-lililu and a how-low-lan 
 All his money to a Cent, 
 And the birk and the broom blooms bonny. 
 
 His Creditors he could not pay, 
 
 With a hey-lililu and a how-low-lan, 
 
 And Prison proved a shock to A, 
 
 And the birk and the broom blooms bonny. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 * By permission of John Lane ; from "The Battle of the Bays."
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 OH, my Geraldine, 
 No flow'r was ever seen so toodle um. 
 You are my lum ti toodle lay, 
 
 Pretty, pretty queen, 
 Is rum ti Geraldine and something teen, 
 More sweet than tiddle lum in May 
 Like the star so bright 
 That somethings all the night, 
 
 My Geraldine ! 
 
 You're fair as the rum ti lum ti sheen, 
 Hark ! there is what ho ! 
 From something um, you know, 
 
 Dear, what I mean. 
 Oh ! rum ! turn ! ! turn ! ! ! my Geraldine. 
 
 F. C. Burn and. 
 
 BUZ, QUOTH THE BLUE FLY 
 
 BUZ, quoth the blue fly, 
 Hum, quoth the bee, 
 Buz and hum they cry, 
 
 And so do we : 
 
 In his ear, in his nose, thus, do you see ? 
 He ate the dormouse, else it was he. 
 
 Ben Jonscn 
 
 in <( The Masque of Oberon. 
 
 [66]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 A SONG ON KING WILLIAM III 
 
 AS I walked by myself, 
 And talked to myself, 
 Myself said unto me, 
 Look to thyself, 
 Take care of thyself, 
 
 For nobody cares for thee. 
 
 I answered myself, 
 And said to myself, 
 
 In the self-same repartee, 
 Look to thyself, 
 Or not look to thyself, 
 
 The selfsame thing will be. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THERE WAS A MONKEY 
 
 was a monkey climbed up a tree, 
 When he fell down, then down fell he. 
 
 There was a crow sat on a stone, 
 When he was gone, then there was none. 
 
 There was an old wife did eat an apple., 
 When she had eat two, she had eat a couple. 
 
 [67]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 There was a horse going to the mill, 
 When he went on, he stood not still. 
 
 There was a butcher cut his thumb, 
 When it did bleed, then blood did come. 
 
 There was a lackey ran a race, 
 When he ran fast, he ran apace. 
 
 There was a cobbler clouting shoon, 
 When they were mended, they were done. 
 
 There was a chandler making candle, 
 When he them strip, he did them handle. 
 
 There was a navy went into Spain, 
 When it returned, it came again. 
 
 Anonymous, 1626. 
 
 THE GUINEA PIG 
 
 THERE was a little Guinea-pig, 
 Who, being little, was not big ; 
 He always walked upon his feet, 
 And never fasted when he eat. 
 
 When from a place he ran away, 
 He never at that place did stay ; 
 And while he ran, as I am told, 
 He ne'er stood still for young or old. 
 [68]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 He often squeaked, and sometimes vi'lent, 
 And when he squeaked he ne'er was silent : 
 Though ne'er instructed by a cat, 
 He knew a mouse was not a rat. 
 
 One day, as I am certified, 
 He took a whim, and fairly died ; 
 And as I 'm told by men of sense, 
 He never has been living since ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THREE CHILDREN 
 
 THREE children sliding on the ice 
 Upon a summer's day, 
 As it fell out they all fell in, 
 The rest they ran away. 
 
 Now, had these children been at home, 
 
 Or sliding on dry ground, 
 Ten thousand pounds to one penny 
 
 They had not all been drowned. 
 
 You parents all that children have, 
 
 And you too that have none, 
 If you would have them safe abroad 
 Pray keep them safe at home. 
 
 London, 1662 
 [69]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 IF 
 
 IF all the land were apple-pie, 
 And all the sea were ink ; 
 And all the trees were bread and cheese, 
 What should we do for drink ? 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 A RIDDLE 
 
 r 1 ^HE man in the wilderness asked of me 
 How many strawberries grew in the sea. 
 I answered him as 1 thought good, 
 
 As many as red herrings grow in the wood. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THREE JOVIAL HUNTSMEN 
 
 THERE were three jovial huntsmen, 
 As I have heard them say, 
 And they would go a-hunting 
 All on a summer's day. 
 
 All the day they hunted, 
 
 And nothing could they find 
 But a ship a-sailing, 
 
 A-sailing with the wind.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 One said it was a ship, 
 
 The other said Nay ; 
 The third said it was a house 
 
 With the chimney blown away. 
 
 And all the night they hunted, 
 And nothing could they find ; 
 
 But the moon a-gliding, 
 A-gliding with the wind. 
 
 One said it was the moon, 
 
 The other said Nay ; 
 The third said it was a cheese, 
 
 And half o't cut away. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THREE ACRES OF LAND 
 
 MY father left me three acres of land, 
 Sing ivy, sing ivy ; 
 My father left me three acres of land, 
 Sing holly, go whistle, and ivy ! 
 
 I ploughed it with a ram's horn, 
 
 Sing ivy, sing ivy ; 
 And sowed it all over with one peppercorn. 
 
 Sing holly, go whistle, and ivy !
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 I harrowed it with a bramble bush, 
 
 Sing ivy, sing ivy ; 
 And reaped it with my little penknife, 
 
 Sing holly, go whistle, and ivy ! 
 
 I got the mice to carry it to the barn, 
 
 Sing ivy, sing ivy ; 
 And thrashed it with a goose's quill, 
 
 Sing holly, go whistle, and ivy ! 
 
 I got the cat to carry it to the mill, 
 
 Sing ivy, sing ivy ; 
 
 The miller he swore he would have her paw, 
 And the cat she swore she would scratch his face, 
 
 Sing holly, go whistle, and ivy ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 MASTER AND MAN 
 
 ASTER I have, and I am his man, 
 
 Gallop a dreary dun ; 
 Master I have, and 1 am his man, 
 And I '11 get a wife as fast as I can ; 
 With a heighly gaily gamberally, 
 
 Higgledy piggledy, niggledy, niggledy, 
 Gallop a dreary dun. 
 
 Anonymous,
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 HYDER IDDLE 
 
 HYDER iddlc diddle dell, 
 A yard of pudding is not an ell ; 
 Not forgetting tweedle-dye, 
 A tailor's goose will never fly. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 KING ARTHUR 
 
 WHEN good King Arthur ruled the land, 
 He was a goodly king : 
 He stole three pecks of barley meal, 
 To make a bag-pudding. 
 
 A bag-pudding the king did make, 
 And stuffed it well with plums ; 
 
 And in it put great lumps of fat, 
 As big as my two thumbs. 
 
 The king and queen did eat thereof, 
 
 And noblemen beside ; 
 And what they could not eat that night, 
 
 The queen next morning fried. 
 
 Anonymous, 
 [73]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 IN THE DUMPS 
 
 WE 're all in the dumps, 
 For diamonds are trumps ; 
 The kittens are gone to St. Paul's ! 
 The babies are bit, 
 The moon 's in a fit, 
 And the houses are built without walls. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 TWEEDLE-DUM AND 
 TWEEDLE-DEE 
 
 rTAWEEDLE-DUM and Tweedle-dee 
 
 Resolved to have a battle, 
 For Tweedle-dum said Tweedle-dee 
 Had spoiled his nice new rattle. 
 Just then flew by a monstrous crow, 
 
 As big as a tar-barrel, 
 Which frightened both the heroes so 
 They quite forgot their quarrel. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 MARTIN TO HIS MAN 
 
 ARTIN said to his man, 
 
 Fie ! man, fie ! 
 Oh, Martin said to his man, 
 
 Who's the fool now ? 
 Martin said to his man, 
 [74]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Fill thou the cup, and I the can ; 
 Thou hast well drunken, man : 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 
 I see a sheep shearing corn, 
 
 Fie ! man, fie ! 
 I see a sheep shearing corn, 
 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 I see a sheep shearing corn, 
 And a cuckoo blow his horn ; 
 Thou hast well drunken, man 
 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 
 I see a man in the moon, 
 
 Fie ! man, fie ! 
 I see a man in the moon, 
 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 I see a man in the moon, 
 Clouting of St. Peter's shoon, 
 Thou hast well drunken, man : 
 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 
 I see a hare chase a hound, 
 
 Fie ! man, fie ! 
 I see a hare chase a hound, 
 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 I see a hare chase a hound, 
 Twenty mile above the ground ; 
 Thou hast well drunken, man : 
 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 [75]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 I sec a goose ring a hog, 
 
 Fie ! man, fie ! 
 I see a goose ring a hog, 
 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 I see a goose ring a hog, 
 And a snail that bit a dog; 
 Thou hast well drunken, man : 
 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 
 I see a mouse catch the cat, 
 
 Fie ! man, fie ! 
 I see a mouse catch the cat, 
 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 I see a mouse catch the cat, 
 And the cheese to eat the rat ; 
 Thou hast well drunken, man : 
 
 Who 's the fool now ? 
 
 From Deuteromelia 
 
 printed in the reign of James I. 
 
 THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BO 
 
 ON the Coast of Coromandel 
 Where the early pumpkins blow, 
 In the middle of the woods 
 Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 Two old chairs, and half a candle, 
 One old jug without a handle, 
 [76]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 These were all his worldly goods : 
 In the middle of the woods, 
 These were all the worldly goods 
 Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
 Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 
 ii 
 
 Once, among the Bong-trees walking 
 Where the early pumpkins blow, 
 
 To a little heap of stones 
 Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 There he heard a Lady talking, 
 To some milk-white Hens of Dorking, 
 " 'T is the Lady Jingly Jones ! 
 On that little heap of stones 
 Sits the Lady Jingly Jones ! " 
 Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
 Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 
 in 
 
 " Lady Jingly ! Lady Jingly ! 
 
 Sitting where the pumpkins blow, 
 
 Will you come and be my wife ? 
 Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
 " I am tired of living singly, 
 On this coast so wild and shingly, 
 I 'm a-weary of my life ; 
 If you'll come and be my wife, 
 Quite serene would be my life! " 
 Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
 Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 [77]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 IV 
 
 " On this Coast of Coromandel 
 Shrimps and watercresses grow, 
 
 Prawns are plentiful and cheap," 
 Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 " You shall have my chairs and candle, 
 And my jug without a handle! 
 Gaze upon the rolling deep 
 (Fish is plentiful and cheap ): 
 As the sea, my love is deep ! " 
 Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
 Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 
 Lady Jingly answered sadly, 
 
 And her tears began to flow, 
 
 " Your proposal comes too late, 
 Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! 
 I would be your wife most gladly ! " 
 (Here she twirled her fingers madly,) 
 " But in England I 've a mate ! 
 Yes ! you 've asked me far too late, 
 P'or in England I Ve a mate, 
 Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! 
 Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! 
 
 VI 
 
 " Mr. Jones (his name is Handel, 
 Handel Jones, Esquire & Co.) 
 
 Dorking fowls delights to send, 
 Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! 
 [78]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Keep, oh, keep your chairs and candle, 
 And your jug without a handle, 
 I can merely be your friend ! 
 Should my Jones more Dorkings send, 
 I will give you three, my friend ! 
 Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! 
 Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! 
 
 VII 
 
 " Though you Ve such a tiny body, 
 And your head so large doth grow, 
 Though your hat may blow away, 
 Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! 
 Though you 're such a Hoddy Doddy, 
 Yet I wish that I could modi- 
 fy the words I needs must say ! 
 Will you please to go away ? 
 That is all I have to say, 
 Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! 
 Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! " 
 
 VIII 
 
 Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle, 
 Where the early pumpkins blow, 
 
 To the calm and silent sea 
 Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle, 
 Lay a large and lively Turtle. 
 
 " You 're the Cove," he said, " for me : 
 On your back beyond the sea, 
 Turtle, you shall carry me ! " 
 [79]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
 Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 
 IX 
 
 Through the silent roaring ocean 
 Did the Turtle swiftly go ; 
 
 Holding fast upon his shell 
 Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 With a sad primaeval motion 
 Toward the sunset isles of Boshen 
 Still the Turtle bore him well, 
 Holding fast upon his shell. 
 " Lady Jingly Jones, farewell ! " 
 Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
 Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 
 From the Coast of Coromandel 
 Did that Lady never go, 
 
 On that heap of stones she mourns 
 For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 On that Coast of Coromandel, 
 In his jug without a handle 
 
 Still she weeps, and daily moans ; 
 On the little heap of stones 
 To her Dorking Hens she moans, 
 For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
 For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
 
 Edward Lear. 
 [80]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES 
 
 THE Pobble who has no toes 
 Had once as many as we ; 
 When they said, " Some day you may lose 
 
 them all," 
 
 He replied, u Fish fiddle de-dee ! " 
 And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink 
 Lavender water tinged with pink ; 
 For she said, " The World in general knows 
 There 's nothing so good for a Pebble's toes ! " 
 
 The Pobble who has no toes 
 
 Swam across the Bristol Channel ; 
 But before he set out he wrapped his nose 
 
 In a piece of scarlet flannel. 
 For his Aunt Jobiska said, " No harm 
 Can come to his toes if his nose is warm ; 
 And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes 
 Are safe provided he minds his nose." 
 
 The Pobble swam fast and well, 
 
 And when boats or ships came near him, 
 He tinkledy-binkledy-winkled a bell 
 
 So that all the world could hear him. 
 And all the Sailors and Admirals cried, 
 When they saw him nearing the farther side, 
 " He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's 
 Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers ! " 
 [6] [ 8i ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology^ 
 
 But before he touched the shore 
 
 The shore of the Bristol Channel, 
 A sea-green Porpoise carried away 
 
 His wrapper of scarlet flannel. 
 And when he came to observe his feet, 
 Formerly garnished with toes so neat, 
 His face at once became forlorn 
 On perceiving that all his toes were gone ! 
 
 And nobody ever knew, 
 
 From that dark day to the present, 
 Whoso had taken the Pebble's toes, 
 
 In a manner so far from pleasant. 
 Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray, 
 Or crafty mermaids stole them away, 
 Nobody knew ; and nobody knows 
 How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes ! 
 
 The Pobble who has no toes 
 
 Was placed in a friendly Bark, 
 And they rowed him back and carried him up 
 
 To his Aunt Jobiska's Park. 
 And she made him a feast at his earnest wish, 
 Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish ; 
 And she said, " It 's a fact the whole world knows, 
 That Pobbles are happier without their toes." 
 
 Edward Lear,
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE JUMBLIES 
 
 f I ^HEY went to sea in a sieve, they did ; 
 
 In a sieve they went to sea : 
 In spite of all their friends could say, 
 On a winter's morn, on a stormy day, 
 
 In a sieve they went to sea. 
 And when the sieve turned round and round, 
 And every one cried, " You '11 all be drowned ! " 
 They called aloud, " Our sieve ain't big ; 
 But we don't care a button, we don't care a fig : 
 In a sieve we '11 go to sea ! " 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live; 
 Their heads are green and their hands are 
 
 blue ; 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 ii 
 
 They sailed away in a sieve, they did, 
 
 In a sieve they sailed so fast, 
 With only a beautiful pea-green veil 
 Tied with a ribbon by way of a sail, 
 
 To a small tobacco-pipe mast. 
 And ever)' one said who saw them go, 
 " Oh ! won't they soon be upset, you know ? 
 For the sky is dark and the voyage is long, 
 And, happen what may, it 's extremely wrong 
 
 In a sieve to sail so fast." 
 [83]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live ; 
 Their heads are green and their hands are 
 blue ; 
 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 in 
 
 The water it soon came in, it did ; 
 
 The water it soon came in : 
 So, to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet 
 In a pinky paper all folded neat ; 
 
 And they fastened it down with a pin. 
 And they passed the night in a crockery-jar ; 
 And each of them said, " How wise we are! 
 Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long, 
 Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong, 
 While round in our sieve we spin." 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live; 
 Their heads are green and their hands are 
 
 blue; 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 IV 
 
 And all night long they sailed away ; 
 
 And when the sun went down, 
 They whistled and warbled a moony song 
 To the echoing sound of a coppery gong, 
 
 In the shade of the mountains brown. 
 " O Timballoo ! How happy we are 
 When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar ! 
 [84]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And all night long, in the moonlight pale, 
 We sail away with a pea-green sail 
 
 In the shade of the mountains brown." 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live ; 
 Their heads are green, and their hands are 
 
 blue ; 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 They sailed to the Western Sea, they did, 
 
 To a land all covered with trees ; 
 And they bought an owl and a useful cart, 
 And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart, 
 
 And a hive of silvery bees ; 
 
 And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws, 
 And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws, 
 And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree, 
 And no end of Stilton cheese. 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live ; 
 Their heads are green, and their hands are 
 
 blue ; 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 VI 
 
 And in twenty years they all came back, 
 
 In twenty years or more ; 
 
 And every one said, " How tall they 've grown ! 
 For they 've been to the Lakes, and the Terrible 
 
 Zone, 
 
 And the hills of the Chankly Bore." 
 [85]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And they drank their health, and gave them a feasf 
 Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast ; 
 And every one said, " If we only live, 
 We, too, will go to sea in a sieve, 
 To the hills of the Chankly Bore." 
 Far and few, far and few, 
 
 Are the lands where the Jumblies live ; 
 Their heads are green, and their hands are 
 
 blue ; 
 And they went to sea in a sieve. 
 
 Edward Lear. 
 
 INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF 
 MY UNCLE ARLY 
 
 OH ! my aged Uncle Arly, 
 Sitting on a heap of barley 
 Through the silent hours of night, 
 Close beside a leafy thicket ; 
 On his nose there was a cricket, 
 In his hat a Railway-Ticket, 
 
 (But his shoes were far too tight.) 
 
 ii 
 
 Long ago, in youth, he squander'd 
 All his goods away, and wander'd 
 To the Timskoop-hills afar. 
 
 [86]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 There on golden sunsets glazing 
 Every evening found him gazing, 
 Singing, " Orb ! you 're quite amazing ! 
 How I wonder what you are ! " 
 
 in 
 
 Like the ancient Medes and Persians, 
 Always by his own exertions 
 
 He subsisted on those hills ; 
 Whiles, by teaching children spelling, 
 Or at times by merely yelling, 
 Or at intervals by selling 
 
 " Propter's Nicodemus Pills." 
 
 IV 
 
 Later, in his morning rambles, 
 He perceived the moving brambles 
 
 Something square and white disclose : 
 'T was a First-class Railway-Ticket -, 
 But on stooping down to pick it 
 Off the ground, a pea-green cricket 
 
 Settled on my uncle's nose. 
 
 Never, nevermore, oh ! never 
 Did that cricket leave him ever, 
 
 Dawn or evening, day or night ; 
 Clinging as a constant treasure, 
 Chirping with a cheerious measure, 
 Wholly to my uncle's pleasure, 
 
 (Though his shoes were far too tight.) 
 [87]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 VI 
 
 So for three and forty winters, 
 
 Till his shoes were worn to splinters 
 
 All those hills he wander'd o'er, 
 Sometimes silent, sometimes yelling ; 
 Till he came to Borley-Melling, 
 Near his old ancestral dwelling, 
 
 (But his shoes were far too tight.) 
 
 VII 
 
 On a little heap of barley 
 Died my aged Uncle Arly, 
 
 And they buried him one night 
 Close beside the leafy thicket ; 
 There, his hat and Railway-Ticket ; 
 There, his ever faithful cricket ; 
 
 (But his shoes were far too tight.) 
 
 Ed-ward Lear-. 
 
 LINES TO A YOUNG LADY 
 
 H 
 
 OW pleasant to know Mr. Lear ! " 
 
 Who has written such volumes of stuff! 
 Some think him ill-tempered and queer, 
 But a few think him pleasant enough. 
 
 His mind is concrete and fastidious, 
 His nose is remarkably big; 
 
 His visage is more or less hideous, 
 His beard it resembles a wig. 
 [88]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers, 
 Leastways if you reckon two thumbs; 
 
 Long ago he was one of the singers, 
 But now he is one of the dumbs. 
 
 He sits in a beautiful parlour, 
 
 With hundreds of books on the wall ; 
 
 He drinks a great deal of Marsala, 
 But never gets tipsy at all. 
 
 He has many friends, laymen and clerical, 
 Old Foss is the name of his cat : 
 
 His body is perfectly spherical, 
 He weareth a runcible hat. 
 
 When he walks in a waterproof white, 
 The children run after him so ! 
 
 Calling out, " He 's come out in his night- 
 Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh ! " 
 
 He weeps by the side of the ocean, 
 He weeps on the top of the hill; 
 
 He purchases pancakes and lotion, 
 And chocolate shrimps from the mill. 
 
 He reads but he cannot speak Spanish, 
 
 He cannot abide ginger-beer : 
 Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish, 
 
 How pleasant to know Mr. Lear. 
 
 Edward Lear. 
 
 [89]
 
 WAYS AND MEANS 
 
 I'LL tell thee everything I can ; 
 There 's little to relate. 
 I saw an aged aged man, 
 A-sitting on a gate. 
 " Who are you, aged man ? " I said, 
 
 " And how is it you live ? " 
 His answer trickled through my head 
 Like water through a sieve. 
 
 He said, " I look for butterflies 
 
 That sleep among the wheat : 
 I make them into mutton-pies, 
 
 And sell them in the street. 
 I sell them unto men," he said, 
 
 u Who sail on stormy seas ; 
 And that 's the way I get my bread 
 
 A trifle, if you please." 
 
 But I was thinking of a plan 
 
 To dye one's whiskers green, 
 And always use so large a fan 
 
 That they could not be seen. 
 So, having no reply to give 
 
 To what the old man said, 
 I cried, " Come, tell me how you live ! 
 
 And thumped him on the head. 
 [90]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 His accents mild took up the tale; 
 
 He said, " I go my ways 
 And when I find a mountain-rill 
 
 I set it in a blaze ; 
 And thence they make a stuff they call 
 
 Rowland's Macassar Oil 
 Yet twopence-halfpenny is all 
 
 They give me for my toil." 
 
 But I was thinking of a way 
 
 To feed oneself on batter, 
 And so go on from day to day 
 
 Getting a little fatter. 
 I shook him well from side to side, 
 
 Until his face was blue ; 
 u Come, tell me how you live," I cried, 
 
 " And what it is you do ! " 
 
 He said, " I hunt for haddock's eyes 
 
 Among the heather bright, 
 And work them into waistcoat-buttons 
 
 In the silent night. 
 And these I do not sell for gold 
 
 Or coin of silvery shine, 
 But for a copper halfpenny 
 
 And that will purchase nine. 
 
 " I sometimes dig for buttered rolls, 
 Or set limed twigs for crabs ; 
 
 I sometimes search the grassy knolls 
 For wheels of Hansom cabs.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And that 's the way " (he gave a wink) 
 u By which I get my wealth 
 
 And very gladly will I drink 
 Your Honor's noble health." 
 
 I heard him then, for I had just 
 
 Completed my design 
 To keep the Menai Bridge from rust 
 
 By boiling it in wine. 
 I thanked him much for telling me 
 
 The way he got his wealth, 
 But chiefly for his wish that he 
 
 Might drink my noble health. 
 
 And now if e'er by chance I put 
 
 My fingers into glue, 
 Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot 
 
 Into a left-hand shoe, 
 Or if I drop upon my toe 
 
 A very heavy weight, 
 I weep, for it reminds me so 
 Of that old man I used to know 
 Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow, 
 Whose hair was whiter than the snow, 
 Whose face was very like a crow, 
 With eyes, like cinders, all aglow, 
 Who seemed distracted with his woe, 
 Who rocked his body to and fro, 
 And muttered mumblingly, and low, 
 As if his mouth were full of dough, 
 [9*]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Who snorted like a buffalo 
 That summer evening, long ago, 
 A-sitting on a gate. 
 
 Lewis Carroll. 
 
 THE WALRUS AND THE 
 CARPENTER 
 
 THE sun was shining on the sea, 
 Shining with all his might : 
 He did his very best to make 
 The billows smooth and bright 
 And this was odd, because it was 
 The middle of the night. 
 
 The moon was shining sulkily, 
 Because she thought the sun 
 
 Had got no business to be there 
 After the day was done 
 
 " It's very rude of him," she said, 
 " To come and spoil the fun ! " 
 
 The sea was wet as wet could be, 
 
 The sands were dry as dry. 
 You could not see a cloud, because 
 
 No cloud was in the sky : 
 No birds were flying overhead 
 
 There were no birds to fly. 
 [93]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The Walrus and the Carpenter 
 
 Were walking close at hand ; 
 They wept like anything to see 
 
 Such quantities of sand : 
 41 If this were only cleared away," 
 
 They said, " it would be grand ! " 
 
 44 If seven maids with seven mops 
 
 Swept it for half a year, 
 Do you suppose," the Walrus said, 
 
 44 That they could get it clear ? " 
 44 1 doubt it," said the Carpenter, 
 
 And shed a bitter tear. 
 
 44 O Oysters come and walk with us ! " 
 
 The Walrus did beseech. 
 44 A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, 
 
 Along the briny beach : 
 We cannot do with more than four, 
 
 To give a hand to each." 
 
 The eldest Oyster looked at him, 
 
 But not a word he said : 
 The eldest Oyster winked his eye, 
 
 And shook his heavy head 
 Meaning to say he did not choose 
 
 To leave the oyster-bed. 
 
 But four young Oysters hurried up, 
 
 All eager for the treat : 
 
 Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, 
 [94]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Their shoes were clean and neat 
 And this was odd, because, you know, 
 They had n't any feet. 
 
 Four other Oysters followed them, 
 
 And yet another four ; 
 And thick and fast they came at last, 
 
 And more, and more, and more 
 All hopping through the frothy waves, 
 
 And scrambling to the shore. 
 
 The Walrus and the Carpenter 
 
 Walked on a mile or so, 
 And then they rested on a rock 
 
 Conveniently low : 
 And all the little Oysters stood 
 
 And waited in a row. 
 
 "The time has come," the Walrus said, 
 
 " To talk of many things : 
 Of shoes and ships and sealing-wax 
 
 Of cabbages and kings 
 And why the sea is boiling hot 
 
 And whether pigs have wings." 
 
 " But wait a bit," the Oysters cried, 
 
 " Before we have our chat ; 
 For some of us are out of breath, 
 
 And all of us are fat ! " 
 " No hurry ! " said the Carpenter. 
 
 They thanked him much for that. 
 [95]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " A loaf of bread," the Walrus said, 
 " Is what we chiefly need : 
 
 Pepper and vinegar besides 
 Are very good indeed 
 
 Now if you 're ready, Oysters dear, 
 We can begin to feed." 
 
 " But not on us ! " the Oysters cried, 
 
 Turning a little blue. 
 " After such kindness that would be 
 
 A dismal thing to do ! " 
 " The night is fine," the Walrus said, 
 
 " Do you admire the view ? " 
 
 "It was so kind of you to come ! 
 
 And you are very nice ! " 
 The Carpenter said nothing but 
 
 " Cut us another slice : 
 I wish you were not quite so deaf 
 
 I 've had to ask you twice ! " 
 
 " It seems a shame," the Walrus said, 
 " To play them such a trick, 
 
 After we 've brought them out so far, 
 And made them trot so quick ! " 
 
 The Carpenter said nothing but 
 " The butter 's spread too thick ! " 
 
 " I weep for you," the Walrus said ; 
 
 " I deeply sympathize." 
 With sobs and tears he sorted out 
 [96]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Those of the largest size, 
 Holding his pocket-handkerchief 
 Before his streaming eyes. 
 
 " O Oysters," said the Carpenter, 
 " You 've had a pleasant run ! 
 
 Shall we be trotting home again ? " 
 But answer came there none 
 
 And this was scarcely odd, because 
 They 'd eaten every one. 
 
 Lewis Carroll. 
 
 THE HUNTING OF THE SNARK 
 
 WE have sailed many months, we have sailed 
 many weeks, 
 (Four weeks to the month you may 
 
 mark), 
 
 But never as yet ('t is your Captain who speaks) 
 Have we caught the least glimpse of a Snark ! 
 
 " We have sailed many weeks, we have saile r * 
 many days, 
 
 (Seven days to the week I allow), 
 But a Snark, on the which we might lovingly gaze,, 
 
 We have never beheld until now ! 
 
 ' Come, listen, my men, while I tell you again 
 
 The five unmistakable marks 
 By which you may know, wheresoever you go, 
 
 The warranted genuine Snarks. 
 [7] [97]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " Let us take them in order. The first is the taste, 
 Which is meagre and hollow, but crisp : 
 
 Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist, 
 With a flavour of Will-o-the-wisp. 
 
 " Its habit of getting up late you '11 agree 
 
 That it carries too far, when I say 
 That it frequently breakfasts at five-o'clock tea, 
 
 And dines on the following day. 
 
 " The third is its slowness in taking a jest. 
 
 Should you happen to venture on one, 
 It will sigh like a thing that is greatly distressed 
 
 And it always looks grave at a pun. 
 
 "The fourth is its fondness for bathing-machines, 
 
 Which it constantly carries about, 
 And believes that they add to the beauty of scenes 
 
 A sentiment open to doubt. 
 
 "The fifth is ambition. It next will be right 
 
 To describe each particular batch ; 
 Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite, 
 
 From those that have whiskers, and scratch. 
 
 " For, although common Snarks do no manner of 
 
 harm, 
 
 Yet I feel it my duty to say 
 Some are Boojums " The Bellman broke off 
 
 in alarm, 
 
 For the Baker had fainted away. 
 [98]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 They roused him with muffins they roused him 
 with ice 
 
 They roused him with mustard and cress 
 They roused him with jam and judicious advice 
 
 They set him conundrums to guess. 
 
 When at length he sat up and was able to speak, 
 
 His sad story he offered to tell ; 
 And the Bellman cried, " Silence ! Not even a 
 shriek ! " 
 
 And excitedly tingled his bell. 
 
 "My father and mother were honest, though 
 
 poor " 
 
 " Skip all that ! " cried the Bellman in haste, 
 " If it once becomes dark, there 's no chance of a 
 
 Snark, 
 We have hardly a minute to waste ! " 
 
 u I skip forty years," said the Baker, in tears, 
 " And proceed without further remark 
 
 To the day when you took me aboard of your ship 
 To help you in hunting the Snark. 
 
 " You may seek it with thimbles and seek it with 
 
 care; 
 
 You may hunt it with forks and hope; 
 You may threaten its life with a railway-share; 
 You may charm it with smiles and soap 
 [99]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " I said it in Hebrew I said it in Dutch 
 
 I said it in German and Greek ; 
 But I wholly forgot (and it vexes me much) 
 
 That English is what you speak ! " 
 
 "The thing can be done," said the Butcher, "I 
 think 
 
 The thing must be done, I am sure. 
 The thing shall be done! Bring me paper and ink, 
 
 The best there is time to procure." 
 
 So engrossed was the Butcher, he heeded them 
 As he wrote with a pen in each hand, 
 
 And explained all the while in a popular style 
 Which the Beaver could well understand. 
 
 u Taking Three as the subject to reason about 
 A convenient number to state 
 
 We add Seven and Ten and then multiply out 
 By One Thousand diminished by Eight. 
 
 " The result we proceed to divide, as you see, 
 By Nine Hundred and Ninety and Two ; 
 
 Then subtract Seventeen, and the answer must be 
 Exactly and perfectly true. 
 
 " As to temper, the Jubjub 's a desperate bird, 
 
 Since it lives in perpetual passion : 
 Its taste in costume is entirely absurd 
 
 It is ages ahead of the fashion 
 [ 100 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " Its flavor when cooked is more exquisite far 
 
 Than mutton or oysters or eggs : 
 (Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar, 
 
 And some, in mahogany kegs :) 
 
 " You boil it in sawdust ; you salt it in glue : 
 You condense it with locusts and tape ; 
 
 Still keeping one principal object in view 
 To preserve its symmetrical shape." 
 
 The Butcher would gladly have talked till next day, 
 But he felt that the Lesson must end, 
 
 And he wept with delight in attempting to say 
 He considered the Beaver his friend. 
 
 Lewis Carroll. 
 
 SYLVIE AND BRUNO 
 
 HE thought he saw a Banker's clerk 
 Descending from the 'bus ; 
 He looked again, and found it was 
 A Hippopotamus. 
 
 "If this should stay to dine," he said, 
 " There won't be much for us ! " 
 
 He thought he saw an Albatross 
 That fluttered round the lamp : 
 
 He looked again, and found it was 
 A Penny-Postage-Stamp. 
 
 " You 'd best be getting home," he said ; 
 " The nights are very damp ! " 
 [101]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four 
 
 That stood beside his bed : 
 He looked again, and found it was 
 
 A Bear without a Head. 
 " Poor thing," he said, " poor silly thing ! 
 
 It 's waiting to be fed ! " 
 
 He thought he saw a Kangaroo 
 
 That worked a coffee-mill : 
 He looked again, and found it was 
 
 A Vegetable-Pill. 
 " Were I to swallow this," he said, 
 
 " I should be very ill ! " 
 
 He thought he saw a Rattlesnake 
 That questioned him in Greek : 
 
 He looked again, and found it was 
 The iMiddle of Next Week. 
 
 " The one thing I regret," he said, 
 " Is that it cannot speak ! " 
 
 Lewis Carroll. 
 
 GENTLE ALICE BROWN 
 
 IT was a robber's daughter, and her name was 
 Alice Brown. 
 Her father was the terror of a small Italian 
 
 town ; 
 Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old 
 
 thing ; 
 But it is n't of her parents that I 'm going for to sing. 
 
 [102]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 As Alice was a-sitting.at her window-sill one day, 
 
 A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass 
 that way ; 
 
 She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good 
 and true, 
 
 That she thought, "I could be happy with a gentle- 
 man like you ! " 
 
 And every morning passed her house that cream 
 
 of gentlemen, 
 She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto 
 
 ten, 
 
 A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road 
 (The Custom-house was fifteen minutes' walk from 
 
 her abode.) 
 
 But Alice was a pious girl, who knew it was n't 
 
 wise 
 To look at strange young sorters with expressive 
 
 purple eyes ; 
 So she sought the village priest to whom her 
 
 family confessed, 
 The priest by whom their little sins were carefully 
 
 assessed. 
 
 " Oh, holy father," Alice said, " 't would grieve 
 
 you, would it not ? 
 
 To discover that I was a most disreputable lot ! 
 Of all unhappy sinners I 'm the most unhappy 
 
 one!" 
 The padre said, " Whatever have you been and 
 
 gone and done ? " 
 
 [ I0 3 3
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " I have helped mamma to steal a little kiddy 
 
 from its dad, 
 
 I've assisted dear papa in cutting up a little lad. 
 I 've planned a little burglary and forged a little 
 
 check, 
 And slain a little baby for the coral on its neck ! " 
 
 The worthy pastor heaved a sigh, and dropped a 
 
 silent tear 
 And said, "You must n't judge yourself too heavily, 
 
 my dear 
 It 's wrong to murder babies, little corals for to 
 
 fleece ; 
 But sins like these one expiates at half-a-crown 
 
 apiece. 
 
 "Girls will be girls you're very young, and 
 flighty in your mind; 
 
 Old heads upon young shoulders we must not ex- 
 pect to find : 
 
 We must n't be too hard upon these little girlish 
 tricks 
 
 Let 's see five crimes at half-a-crown exactly 
 twelve-and-six." 
 
 "Oh, father," little Alice cried, "your kindness 
 
 makes me weep, 
 You do these little things for me so singularly 
 
 cheap 
 
 Your thoughtful liberality I never can forget ; 
 But O there is another crime I have n't mentioned 
 
 yet! 
 
 [ I0 4]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " A pleasant-looking gentleman, with pretty purple 
 
 eyes, 
 I 've noticed at my window, as I 've sat a-catching 
 
 flies; 
 
 He passes by it every day as certain as can be 
 I blush to say I 've winked at him and he has 
 
 winked at me ! " 
 
 " For shame," said Father Paul, " my erring 
 
 daughter! On my word 
 This is the most distressing news that I have ever 
 
 heard. 
 Why, naughty girl, your excellent papa has pledged 
 
 your hand 
 To a promising young robber, the lieutenant of 
 
 his band! 
 
 " This dreadful piece of news will pain your worthy 
 
 parents so ! 
 
 They are the most remunerative customers I know; 
 For many many years they Ve kept starvation from 
 
 my doors, 
 I never knew so criminal a family as yours ! 
 
 " The common country folk in this insipid neigh- 
 borhood 
 
 Have nothing to confess, they 're so ridiculously 
 good ; 
 
 And if you marry any one respectable at all, 
 
 Why, you'll reform, and what will then become 
 of Father Paul ? "
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The worthy priest, he up and drew his cowl upon 
 
 his crown, 
 And started off in haste to tell the news to Robber 
 
 Brown ; 
 To tell him how his daughter, who now was for 
 
 marriage fit, 
 Had winked upon a sorter, who reciprocated it. 
 
 Good Robber Brown, he muffled up his anger 
 
 pretty well, 
 He said, " I have a notion, and that notion I will 
 
 tell; 
 I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into 
 
 fits, 
 And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits. 
 
 " I Ve studied human nature, and I know a thing 
 
 or two, 
 Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as 
 
 many do 
 
 A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall 
 When she looks upon his body chopped particularly 
 
 small." 
 
 He traced that gallant sorter to a still suburban 
 square ; 
 
 He watched his opportunity and seized him un- 
 aware; 
 
 He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the 
 head, 
 
 And Mrs. Brown dissected him before she went to 
 bed. 
 
 [106]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And pretty little Alice grew more settled in her 
 
 mind, 
 She nevermore was guilty of a weakness of the 
 
 kind, 
 Until at length good Robber Brown bestowed her 
 
 pretty hand 
 On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of 
 
 his band. 
 
 W. S. Gilbert. 
 
 THE STORY OF PRINCE AGIB 
 
 STRIKE the concertina's melancholy string ! 
 Blow the spirit-stirring harp like any thing ! 
 Let the piano's martial blast 
 Rouse the Echoes of the Past, 
 For of Agib, Prince of Tartary, I sing ! 
 
 Of Agib, who amid Tartaric scenes, 
 Wrote a lot of ballet-music in his teens : 
 
 His gentle spirit rolls 
 
 In the melody of souls 
 Which is pretty, but I don't know what it means 
 
 Of Agib, who could readily, at sight, 
 Strum a march upon the loud Theodolite : 
 
 He would diligently play 
 
 On the Zoetrope all day, 
 And blow the gay Pantechnicon all night.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 One winter I am shaky in my dates 
 Came two starving minstrels to his gates, 
 
 Oh, Allah be obeyed, 
 
 How infernally they played ! 
 I remember that they called themselves the" Oiiaits." 
 
 Oh ! that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, 
 I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, 
 
 Photographically lined 
 
 On the tablet of my mind, 
 When a yesterday has faded from its page ! 
 
 Alas ! Prince Agib went and asked them in ! 
 Gave them beer, and eggs, and sweets, and scents, 
 and tin. 
 
 And when (as snobs would say) 
 
 They " put it all away," 
 He requested them to tune up and begin. 
 
 Though its icy horror chill you to the core, 
 I will tell you what I never told before, 
 
 The consequences true 
 
 Of that awful interview, 
 For I listened at the key-bole in the door ! 
 
 They played him a sonata let me see! 
 a Medulla oblongata " key of G. 
 
 Then they began to sing 
 
 That extremely lovely thing, 
 " Scherzando ! ma non troppo, ppp." 
 f 108 1
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 He gave them money, more than they could 
 
 count, 
 Scent, from a most ingenious little fount, 
 
 More beer, in little kegs, 
 
 Many dozen hard-boiled eggs, 
 And goodies to a fabulous amount. 
 
 Now follows the dim horror of my tale, 
 And I feel I 'm growing gradually pale, 
 
 For, even at this day, 
 
 Though its sting has passed away, 
 When I venture to remember it, I quail ! 
 
 The elder of the brothers gave a squeal, 
 All-overish it made me for to feel ! 
 
 " Oh Prince," he says, says he, 
 
 u If a Prince indeed you be^ 
 I 've a mystery I 'm going to reveal ! 
 
 " Oh, listen, if you 'd shun a horrid death, 
 
 To what the gent who 's speaking to you, saith : 
 
 No 4 Oiiaits ' in truth are we, 
 
 As you fancy that we be, 
 For (ter-remble) I am Aleck this is Beth ! " 
 
 Said Agib, " Oh ! accursed of your kind, 
 
 I have heard that you are men of evil mind ! " 
 
 Beth gave a dreadful shriek 
 
 But before he 'd time to speak 
 I was mercilessly collared from behind. 
 [ I0 9]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 In number ten or twelve or even more, 
 They fastened me, full length upon the floor. 
 
 On my face extended flat 
 
 I was walloped with a cat 
 For listening at the key-hole of the door. 
 
 Oh ! the horror of that agonizing thrill ! 
 (I can feel the place in frosty weather still). 
 
 For a week from ten to four 
 
 I was fastened to the floor, 
 While a mercenary wopped me with a will ! 
 
 They branded me, and broke me on a wheel, 
 And they left me in an hospital to heal ; 
 
 And, upon my solemn word, 
 
 I have never never heard 
 What those Tartars had determined to reveal. 
 
 But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage, 
 I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age, 
 
 Photographically lined 
 
 On the tablet of my mind, 
 When a yesterday has faded from its page ! 
 
 W. S. Gilbert. 
 
 FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA, OR 
 THE GENTLE PIEMAN 
 
 L 
 
 OVE you ? " said I, then I sighed, and then 
 
 I gazed upon her sweetly 
 For I think I do this sort of thing particu- 
 larly neatly 
 
 fno]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " Tell me whither I may hie me, tell me, dear 
 
 one, that I may know 
 Is it up the highest Andes ? down a horrible 
 
 volcano ? " 
 
 But she said, " It is n't polar bears, : or hot vol- 
 canic grottoes, 
 
 Only find out who it is that writes those lovely 
 cracker mottoes." 
 
 Seven weary years I wandered Patagonia, China, 
 
 Norway, 
 Till at last I sank exhausted, at a pastrycook his 
 
 doorway. 
 
 And he chirped and sang and skipped about, and 
 
 laughed with laughter hearty, 
 He was wonderfully active for so very stout a 
 
 party. 
 
 And I said, " Oh, gentle pieman, why so very, very 
 
 merry ? 
 Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven 
 
 sherry ? " 
 
 " Then I polish all the silver which a supper-table 
 
 lacquers ; 
 Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find 
 
 inside the crackers." 
 [in]
 
 " Found at last ! " I madly shouted. " Gentle 
 
 pieman, you astound me !" 
 Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically 
 
 round me. 
 
 And I shouted and I danced until he 'd quite a 
 
 crowd around him, 
 And I rushed away, exclaiming, " I have found 
 
 him ! I have found him ! " 
 
 W. S. Gilbert. 
 
 T 
 
 GENERAL JOHN 
 
 HE bravest names for fire and flames, 
 
 And all that mortal durst, 
 Were General John and Private James, 
 Of the Sixty-seventy-first. 
 
 General John was a soldier tried, 
 
 A chief of warlike dons ; 
 A haughty stride and a withering pride 
 
 Were Major-General John. 
 
 A sneer would play on his martial phiz, 
 
 Superior birth to show ; 
 " Pish ! " was a favorite word of his, 
 
 And he often said " Ho ! ho ! " 
 
 Full-Private James described mighf be, 
 As a man of mournful mind ; 
 
 No characteristic trait had he 
 Of any distinctive kind. 
 
 [ *]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 From the ranks, one day, cried Private James, 
 
 " Oh ! Major-General John, 
 I 've doubts of our respective names, 
 
 My mournful mind upon. 
 
 " A glimmering thought occurs to me, 
 
 (Its source I can't unearth), 
 But I 've a kind of notion we 
 
 Were cruelly changed at birth. 
 
 " I 've a strange idea, each other's names 
 
 That we have each got on. 
 Such things have been," said Private James. 
 
 " They have ! " sneered General John. 
 
 44 My General John, I swear upon 
 
 My oath I think it is so " 
 44 Pish ! " proudly sneered his General John, 
 
 And he also said " Ho ! ho ! " 
 
 " My General John ! my General John ! 
 
 My General John ! " quoth he, 
 "This aristocratical sneer upon 
 
 Your face I blush to see. 
 
 " No truly great or generous cove 
 
 Deserving of them names 
 Would sneer at a fixed idea that 's drove 
 
 In the mind of a Private James ! " 
 
 I s J [ H3]
 
 Said General John, " Upon your claims 
 
 No need your breath to waste ; 
 If this is a joke, Full-Private James, 
 
 It 's a joke of doubtful taste. 
 
 " But being a man of doubtless worth, 
 
 If you feel certain quite 
 That we were probably changed at birth, 
 
 I '11 venture to say you 're right." 
 
 So General John as Private James 
 
 Fell in, parade upon ; 
 And Private James, by change of names, 
 
 Was Major-General John. 
 
 W. S. Gilbert 
 
 LITTLE BILLEE 
 
 THERE were three sailors of Bristol City 
 Who took a boat and went to sea, 
 But first with beef and captain's biscuits^ 
 And pickled pork they loaded she. 
 
 There was gorging Jack, and guzzling Jimmy, 
 And the youngest he was little Billee. 
 
 Now when they 'd got as far as the Equator, 
 They 'd nothing left but one split pea.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, 
 
 " I am extremely hungaree." 
 To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, 
 
 " We 've nothing left, us must eat we." 
 
 Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, 
 " With one another we should n't agree ! 
 
 There 's little Bill, he 's young and tender, 
 We 're old and tough, so let 's eat he." 
 
 " O Billy ! we 're going to kill and eat you, 
 So undo the button of your chemie." 
 
 When Bill received this information, 
 He used his pocket-handkerchie. 
 
 " First let me say my catechism, 
 
 Which my poor mother taught to me." 
 
 " Make haste ! make haste ! " says guzzling Jimmy, 
 While Jack pulled out his snicker-snee. 
 
 Then Bill went up to the main-top-gallant-mast, 
 And down he fell on his bended knee, 
 
 He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment 
 When up he jumps " There 's land I see ! " 
 
 " Jerusalem and Madagascar, 
 
 And North and South Amerikee, 
 There 's the British flag a-riding at anchor, 
 
 With Admiral Napier, K.C.B." 
 ["5]
 
 So when they got aboard of the Admiral's, 
 He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee, 
 
 But as for little Bill, he made him 
 The captain of a Seventy-three. 
 
 W. M. Thackeray. 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE "JULIE 
 PLANTE"* 
 
 ON wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre, 
 De win' she blow, blow, blow, 
 An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante " 
 Got scar't an' run below 
 For de win' she blow lak hurricane ; 
 
 Bimeby she blow some more, 
 An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre 
 Wan arpent from de shore. 
 
 De captinne walk on de fronte deck, 
 
 An' walk de hin' deck too 
 He call de crew from up de hole, 
 
 He call de cook also. 
 De cook she 's name was Rosie, 
 
 She come from Montreal, 
 Was chambre maid on lumber barge, 
 
 On de Grande Lachine Canal. 
 
 * By permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons ; from " Tht Habitant,'* 
 copyright, 1897. 
 
 [116]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 De win' she blow from nor'-eas'-wes', 
 
 De sout' win' she blow too, 
 Wen Rosie cry, " Mon cher captinne, 
 
 Mon cher, w'at I shall do ? " 
 Den de captinne t'row de big ankerre, 
 
 But still de scow she dreef, 
 De crew he can't pass on de shore, 
 
 Becos he los' hees skeef. 
 
 De night was dark lak wan black cat, 
 
 De wave run high an' fas', 
 Wen de captinne tak' de Rosie girl 
 
 An' tie her to de mas'. 
 Den he also tak' de life preserve, 
 
 An' jomp off on de lak', 
 An' say, " Good-by, ma Rosie dear, 
 
 I go down for your sak'." 
 
 Nex' morning very early 
 
 'Bout ha'f-pas' two t'ree four 
 De captinne scow an' de poor Rosie 
 
 Was corpses on de shore. 
 For de win' she blow lak' hurricane, 
 
 Bimeby she blow some more, 
 An' de scow, bus' up on Lac St. Pierre, 
 
 Wan arpent from de shore. 
 
 MORAL 
 
 Now all good wood scow sailor man 
 
 Tak' warning by dat storm 
 An' go an' marry some nice French girl 
 
 An' live on wan beeg farm. 
 [ "7]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 De win' can blow lak' hurricane 
 An' s'pose she blow some more, 
 
 You can't get drown on Lac St. Pierre 
 So long you stay on shore. 
 
 William H. Drummond 
 
 THE SHIPWRECK 
 
 UPON the poop the captain stands, 
 As starboard as may be ; 
 And pipes on deck the topsail hands 
 To reef the topsail-gallant strands 
 Across the briny sea. 
 
 " Ho ! splice the anchor under-weigh ! " 
 
 The captain loudly cried ; 
 u Ho ! lubbers brave, belay ! belay ! 
 For we must luff for Falmouth Bay 
 
 Before to-morrow's tide." 
 
 The good ship was a racing yawl, 
 
 A spare-rigged schooner sloop, 
 
 Athwart the bows the taffrails all 
 
 In grummets gay appeared to fall, 
 
 To deck the mainsail poop. 
 
 But ere they made the Foreland Light, 
 
 And Deal was left behind, 
 The wind it blew great gales that night, 
 And blew the doughty captain tight, 
 
 Full three sheets in the wind. 
 [118]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And right across the tiller head 
 
 The horse it ran apace, 
 Whereon a traveller hitched and sped 
 Along the jib and vanished 
 
 To heave the trysail brace. 
 
 What ship could live in such a sea ? 
 
 What vessel bear the shock ? 
 " Ho ! starboard port your helm-a-lee ! 
 Ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree, 
 
 With many a running block ! " 
 
 And right upon the Scilly Isles 
 
 The ship had run aground ; 
 When lo ! the stalwart Captain Giles 
 Mounts up upon the gaff and smiles, 
 
 And slews the compass round. 
 
 " Saved ! saved ! " with joy the sailors cry, 
 
 And scandalize the skiff; 
 As taut and hoisted high and dry 
 They see the ship unstoppered lie 
 
 Upon the sea-girt cliff. 
 
 And since that day in Falmouth Bay, 
 
 As herring-fishers trawl, 
 The younkers hear the boatswains say 
 How Captain Giles that awful day 
 
 Preserved the sinking yawl. 
 
 E. H. Palmer.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 A SAILOR'S YARN* 
 
 As narrated by the second mate to one of the marines. 
 
 r T^HIS is the tale that was told to me, 
 
 By a battered and shattered son of the sea : 
 To me and my messmate, Silas Green, 
 
 When I was a guileless young marine. 
 
 " 'T was the gopd ship 4 Gyacutus,' 
 All in the China seas ; 
 With the wind a lee, and the capstan free, 
 To catch the summer breeze. 
 
 " 'T was Captain Porgie on the deck 
 
 To the mate in the mizzen hatch, 
 
 While the boatswain bold, in the for'ard hold, 
 
 Was winding his larboard watch. 
 
 " l Oh, how does our good ship head to-night ? 
 How heads our gallant craft ? ' 
 ' Oh, she heads to the E. S. W. by N. 
 And the binnacle lies abaft.' 
 
 " ' Oh, what does the quadrant indicate ? 
 And how does the sextant stand ? ' 
 1 Oh, the sextant 's down to the freezing point 
 And the quadrant 's lost a hand.' 
 
 * By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. ; from " Ballads of 
 Blue Water," copyright, 1895. 
 
 [120]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " ' Oh, if the quadrant 's lost a hand, 
 And the sextant falls so low, 
 It 's our body and bones to Davy Jones 
 This night are bound to go. 
 
 " 4 Oh, fly aloft to the garboard-strake, 
 And reef the spanker boom, 
 Bend a stubbing sail on the martingale 
 To give her weather room. 
 
 ut Oh, boatswain, down in the for'ard hold 
 What water do you find ? ' 
 4 Four foot and a half by the royal gaff" 
 And rather more behind.' 
 
 " ' Oh, sailors, collar your marline spikes 
 And each belaying pin ; 
 Come, stir your stumps to spike the pumps, 
 Or more will be coming in.' 
 
 u l They stirred their stumps, they spiked the pumps 
 They spliced the mizzen brace ; 
 Aloft and alow they worked, but, oh ! 
 The water gained apace. 
 
 " They bored a hole below her line 
 To let the water out, 
 But more and more with awful roar 
 The water in did spout. 
 
 r 121]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " Then up spoke the cook of our gallant ship 
 
 And he was a lubber brave 
 
 4 1 've several wives in various ports, 
 
 And my life I 'd like to save.' 
 
 " Then up spoke the captain of marines, 
 Who dearly loved his prog: 
 1 It 's awful to die, and it 's worse to be dry, 
 And I move we pipes to grog.' 
 
 " Oh, then 't was the gallant second-mate 
 As stopped them sailors' jaw, 
 'T was the second-mate whose hand had weight 
 In laying down the law. 
 
 " He took the anchor on his back, 
 
 And leapt into the main ; 
 
 Through foam and spray he clove his way, 
 
 And sunk, and rose again. 
 
 " Through foam and spray a league away 
 The anchor stout he bore, 
 Till, safe at last, I made it fast, 
 And warped the ship ashore." 
 
 This is the tale that was told to me, 
 By that modest and truthful son of the sea. 
 And I envy the life of a second mate, 
 Though captains curse him and sailors hate ; 
 For he ain't like some of the swabs I 've seen, 
 As would go and lie to a poor marine. 
 
 J. J. Roche. 
 
 [122]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE WALLOPING WINDOW- 
 BLIND * 
 
 A CAPITAL ship for an ocean trip 
 Was the " Walloping Window-blind " 
 No gale that blew dismayed her crew 
 Or troubled the captain's mind. 
 The man at the wheel was taught to feel 
 
 Contempt for the wildest blow, 
 And it often appeared, when the weather had 
 
 cleared, 
 That he'd been in his bunk below. 
 
 The boatswain's mate was very sedate, 
 
 Yet fond of amusement, too ; 
 And he played hop-scotch with the starboard watch, 
 
 While the captain tickled the crew. 
 And the gunner we had was apparently mad, 
 
 For he sat on the after rail, 
 And fired salutes with the captain's boots, 
 
 In the teeth of the booming gale. 
 
 The captain sat in a commodore's hat 
 
 And dined in a royal way 
 On toasted pigs and pickles and figs 
 
 And gummery bread each day. 
 But the cook was Dutch* and behaved as such : 
 
 For the food that he gave the crew 
 Was a number of tons of hot-cross buns 
 
 Chopped up with sugar and glue. 
 
 * By permission of the author; from "Davy and the Goblin," 
 copyright, 1884, 1885, by the Century Co. ; 1885, by Ticknor & Co
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And we all felt ill as mariners will, 
 
 On a diet that 's cheap and rude ; 
 And we shivered and shook as we dipped the cook 
 
 In a tub of his gluesome food. 
 Then nautical pride we laid aside, 
 
 And we cast the vessel ashore 
 On the Gulliby Isles, where the Poohpooh smiles, 
 
 And the Anagazanders roar. 
 
 Composed of sand was that favored land, 
 
 And trimmed with cinnamon straws ; 
 And pink and blue was the pleasing hue 
 
 Of the Tickletoeteaser's claws. 
 And we sat on the edge of a sandy ledge 
 
 And shot at the whistling bee ; 
 And the Binnacle-bats wore water-proof hats 
 
 As they danced in the sounding sea. 
 
 On rubagub bark, from dawn to dark, 
 
 We fed, till we all had grown 
 Uncommonly shrunk, when a Chinese junk 
 
 Came by from the torriby zone. 
 She was stubby and square, but we did n't much care, 
 
 And we cheerily put to sea ; 
 And we left the crew of the junk to chew 
 
 The bark of the rubagub tree. 
 
 Charles E. Carryl.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE ROLLICKING MASTODON* 
 
 A ROLLICKING Mastodon lived in Spain, 
 In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree. 
 His face was plain, but his jocular vein 
 Was a burst of the wildest glee. 
 His voice was strong and his laugh so long 
 
 That people came many a mile, 
 And offered to pay a guinea a day 
 For the fractional part of a smile. 
 
 The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide 
 Indeed, 't was a matter of family pride ; 
 
 And oh ! so proud of his jocular vein 
 
 Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain. 
 
 The Rollicking Mastodon said one day, 
 
 " I feel that I need some air, 
 For a little ozone 's a tonic for bones, 
 
 As well as a gloss for the hair." 
 So he skipped along and warbled a song 
 
 In his own triumphulant way. 
 His smile was bright and his skip was light 
 
 As he chirruped his roundelay. 
 
 The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along, 
 And sang what Mastodons call a song ; 
 
 But every note of it seemed to pain 
 
 The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain. 
 
 * By permission of Lothrop Publishing Company 5 from "Wide 
 Awake," copyright. 
 
 Osj
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 A Little Peetookle came over the hill, 
 
 Dressed up in a bollitant coat ; 
 And he said, " You need some harroway seed, 
 
 And a little advice for your throat." 
 The Mastodon smiled and said, " My child, 
 
 There 's a chance for your taste to grow. 
 If you polish your mind, you '11 certainly find 
 
 How little, how little you know." 
 
 The Little Peetookle, his teeth he ground 
 At the Mastodon's singular sense of sound ; 
 
 For he felt it a sort of a musical stain 
 
 On the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain. 
 
 Alas ! and alas ! has it come to this pass ? " 
 
 Said the Little Peetookle. "Dear me! 
 It certainly seems your horrible screams 
 
 Intended for music must be ! " 
 The Mastodon stopped, his ditty he dropped, 
 
 And murmured, " Good morning, my dear ! 
 I never will sing to a sensitive thing 
 
 That shatters a song with a sneer ! " 
 
 The Rollicking Mastodon bade him " adieu." 
 Of course 't was a sensible thing to do; 
 
 For Little Peetookle is spared the strain 
 Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain. 
 
 Arthur Macy.
 
 THE SILVER QUESTION* 
 
 Sun appeared so smug and bright, 
 One day, that I made bold 
 To ask him what he did each night 
 With all his surplus gold. 
 
 He flushed uncomfortably red, 
 
 And would not meet my eye. 
 " I travel round the world," he said, 
 
 " And travelling rates are high." 
 
 With frigid glance I pierced him through. 
 
 He squirmed and changed his tune. 
 Said he : "I will be frank with you : 
 
 I lend it to the Moon. 
 
 " Poor thing ! You know she 's growing old 
 
 And has n't any folk. 
 She suffers terribly from cold, 
 
 And half the time she 's broke." 
 
 
 
 That evening on the beach I lay 
 
 Behind a lonely dune, 
 And as she rose above the bay 
 
 I buttonholed the Moon. 
 
 " Tell me about that gold," said I. 
 
 I saw her features fall. 
 " You see, it 's useless to deny ; 
 
 The Sun has told me all." 
 
 * By permission of the author; from the "Century Magazine,'' 
 copyright, 1901.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " Sir ! " she exclaimed, " how can you try 
 
 An honest Moon this way ? 
 As for the gold, I put it by 
 
 Against a rainy day." 
 
 I smiled and shook my head. " All right, 
 
 If you must know," said she, 
 " I change it into silver bright 
 
 Wherewith to tip the Sea. 
 
 " He is so faithful and so good, 
 
 A most deserving case ; 
 If he should leave, I fear it would 
 
 Be hard to fill his place." 
 
 When asked if they accepted tips, 
 
 The waves became so rough ; 
 I thought of those at sea in ships, 
 
 And felt I 'd said enough. 
 
 For if one virtue I have learned, 
 
 'T is tact ; so I forbore 
 To press the matter, though I burned 
 
 To ask one question more. 
 
 I hate a scene, and do not wish 
 
 To be mixed up in gales, 
 But, oh, I longed to ask the Fish 
 
 Whence came their silver scales ! 
 
 Oliver Herfora. 
 [128]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE SINGULAR SANGFROID OF 
 BABY BUNTING* 
 
 BARTHOLOMEW Benjamin Bunting 
 Had only three passions in life, 
 And one of the trio was hunting, 
 The others his babe and his wife. 
 And always, so rigid his habits, 
 
 He frolicked at home until two, 
 
 And then started hunting for rabbits, 
 
 And hunted till fall of the dew. 
 
 Belinda Bellonia Bunting, 
 
 Thus widowed for half of the day, 
 Her duty maternal confronting, 
 
 With baby would patiently play. 
 When thus was her energy wasted, 
 
 A patented food she 'd dispense. 
 (She had bought it the day that they pasted 
 
 The posters all over her fence.) 
 
 But Bonaparte Buckingham Bunting, 
 
 The infant thus blindly adored, 
 Replied to her worship by grunting, 
 
 Which showed he was brutally bored. 
 'T was little he cared for the troubles 
 
 Of life. Like a crab on the sands, 
 From his sweet little mouth he blew bubbles, 
 
 And threatened the air with his hands. 
 
 * By permission of Harper & Brothers ; from " Mother Goose for 
 Grown-ups," copyright, 1900. 
 
 [9] C I2 9]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Bartholomew Benjamin Bunting 
 
 One night, as his wife let him in, 
 Produced as the fruit of his hunting 
 
 A cottontail's velvety skin, 
 Which, seeing young Bonaparte wriggle, 
 
 He gave him without a demur, 
 And the babe with an aqueous giggle 
 
 He swallowed the whole of the fur ! 
 
 Belinda Bellonia Bunting 
 
 Behaved like a consummate loon : 
 Her offspring in frenzy confronting 
 
 She screamed herself mottled maroon : 
 She felt of his vertebrae spinal, 
 
 Expecting he'd surely succumb, 
 And gave him one vigorous, final, 
 
 Hard prod in the pit of his turn. 
 
 But Bonaparte Buckingham Bunting, 
 
 At first but a trifle perplexed, 
 By a change in his manner of grunting 
 
 Soon showed he was horribly vexed. 
 He displayed not a sign of repentance 
 
 But spoke, in a dignified tone, 
 The only consecutive sentence 
 
 He uttered. 'T was : " Lemme alone." 
 
 The Moral : The parent that uses 
 
 Precaution his folly regrets : 
 An infant gets all that he chooses, 
 
 An infant chews all that he gets.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And colics r He constantly has 'em 
 
 So long as his food is the best, 
 But he '11 swallow with never a spasm 
 
 What ostriches could n't digest. 
 
 Guy Wetmore Carrel. 
 
 FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY 
 
 BEN BATTLE was a soldier bold, 
 And used to war's alarms : 
 But a cannon-ball took off his legs, 
 So he laid down his arms ! 
 
 Now, as they bore him off the field, 
 
 Said he, " Let others shoot, 
 For here I leave my second leg, 
 
 And the Forty-second Foot ! " 
 
 The army surgeons made him limbs : 
 Said he, " They 're only pegs ; 
 
 But there 's as wooden members quite, 
 As represent my legs ! " 
 
 Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, 
 
 Her name was Nelly Gray; 
 So he went to pay her his devours 
 
 When he'd devoured his pay !
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 But when he called on Nelly Gray, 
 She made him quite a scoff; 
 
 And when she saw his wooden legs, 
 Began to take them off! 
 
 O Nelly Gray ! O Nelly Gray ! 
 
 Is this your love so warm ? 
 The love that loves a scarlet coat, 
 
 Should be more uniform ! " 
 
 Said she, " I loved a soldier once, 
 
 For he was blithe and brave ; 
 But 1 will never have a man 
 
 With both legs in the grave ! 
 
 " Before you had those timber toes, 
 
 Your love I did allow, 
 But then you know, you stand upon 
 
 Another footing now ! " 
 
 O Nelly Gray ! O Nelly Gray ! 
 
 For all your jeering speeches, 
 At duty's call I left my legs 
 
 In Badajos's breaches ! " 
 
 " Why, then," said she, "you've lost the fe-et 
 
 Of legs in war's alarms, 
 And now you cannot wear your shoes 
 
 Upon your feats of arms ! "
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " Oh, false and fickle Nelly Gray ; 
 
 I know why you refuse : 
 Though I Ve no feet some other man 
 
 Is standing in my shoes ! 
 
 u I wish I ne'er had seen your face ; 
 
 But now a long farewell ! 
 For you will be my death alas ! 
 
 You will not be my Nell ! " 
 
 Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, 
 
 His heart so heavy got 
 And life was such a burden grown, 
 
 It made him take a knot ! 
 
 So round his melancholy neck 
 A rope he did entwine, 
 
 And, for his second time in life 
 Enlisted in the Line ! 
 
 One end he tied around a beam, 
 And then removed his pegs, 
 
 And as his legs were off, of course, 
 He soon was off his legs ! 
 
 And there he hung till he was dead 
 
 As any nail in town, 
 For though distress had cut him up, 
 
 It could not cut him down ! 
 [ '33]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 A dozen men sat on his corpse, 
 
 To find out why he died 
 And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, 
 
 With a stake in his inside ! 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
 THE ELDERLY GENTLEMAN 
 
 B 
 
 Y the side of a murmuring stream an elderly 
 
 gentleman sat. 
 
 On the top of his head was a wig, and a-top 
 of his wig was his hat. 
 
 The wind it blew high and blew strong, as the 
 
 elderly gentleman sat ; 
 And bore from his head in a trice, and plunged in 
 
 the river his hat. 
 
 The gentleman then took his cane which lay by 
 
 his side as he sat ; 
 And he dropped in the river his wig, in attempting 
 
 to get out his hat. 
 
 His breast it grew cold with despair, and full in his 
 
 eye madness sat ; 
 So he flung in the river his cane to swim with his 
 
 wig, and his hat. 
 
 Cool reflection at last came across while this 
 
 elderly gentleman sat ; 
 So he thought he would follow the stream and look 
 
 for his cane, wig, and hat.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 His head being thicker than common, o'er-balanced 
 
 the rest of his fat ; 
 And in plumped this son of a woman to follow his 
 
 wig, cane, and hat. 
 
 George Canning. 
 
 MALUM OPUS 
 
 PROPE ripam fluvii solus 
 A senex silently sat ; 
 Super capitum ecce his wig, 
 Et wig super, ecce his hat. 
 
 Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus, 
 
 Dum elderly gentleman sat ; 
 Et a capite took up quite torve 
 
 Et in rivum projecit his hat. 
 
 Tune soft maledixit the old man, 
 
 Tune stooped from the bank where he sat 
 
 I!t cum scipio poked in the water, 
 Conatus servare his hat. 
 
 Zephyrus alte, acerbus, 
 The moment it saw him at that 5 
 Et whisked his novum scratch wig 
 In flumen, along with his hat.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Ab imo pectore damnavit 
 
 In coeruleus eye dolor sat ; 
 Tune despairingly threw in his cane 
 
 Nare cum his wig and his hat. 
 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 Contra bonos mores, don't swear 
 
 It'est wicked you know (verbum sat), 
 
 Si this tale habet no other moral 
 Mehercle ! You 're gratus to that ! 
 
 James Appleton Morgan. 
 
 AESTIVATION * 
 
 IN candent ire the solar splendor flames ; 
 The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames ; 
 His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes, 
 And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes. 
 
 How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes, 
 Dorm on the herb with none to supervise, 
 Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine, 
 And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine. 
 
 To me also, no verdurous visions come 
 Save you exiguous pool's confervascum, 
 No concave vast repeats the tender hue 
 That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue. 
 
 * By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., authorized publishers
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Me wretched ! Let me curr to quercine shades ! 
 Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous maids ! 
 Oh, might I vole to some umbrageous chump, 
 Depart, be off, excede, evade, erump ! 
 
 O. W. Holmes. 
 
 A HOLIDAY TASK 
 
 Air Jullien"s Polka 
 
 QUI nunc dancere vult modo 
 Wants to dance in the fashion, oh ! 
 Discere debet ought to know, 
 Kickere floor cum heel et toe 
 One, two three, 
 Hop with me, 
 Whirligig, twirligig, rapide. 
 
 Polkam jungere, Virgo, vis, 
 Will you join the Polka, Miss ? 
 Liberius most willingly. 
 Sic agimus then let us try : 
 
 Nunc vide 
 
 Skip with me, 
 Whirlabout, roundabout, celere. 
 
 Turn laeva cito, turn dextra 
 
 First to the left, and then t' other way ; 
 
 Aspice retro in vultu, 
 
 You look at her, and she looks at you.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Das palmam, 
 Change hands ma'am 
 Celere run away, just in sham. 
 
 Gilbert Abbott a Becket. 
 
 PUER EX JERSEY 
 
 PUER ex Jersey 
 lens ad school ; 
 Vidit in meadow, 
 Infestum mule. 
 
 Ille approaches 
 O magnus sorrow ! 
 Puer it skyward. 
 Funus ad morrow. 
 
 MORAL 
 
 Qui vidit a thing 
 Non ei well-known, 
 Est bene for him 
 Relinqui id alone. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THE LITTLE PEACH 
 
 UNE petite peche dans un orchard fleurit, 
 Attendez a mon narration triste ! 
 Une petite peche verdante fleurit. 
 Grace a chaleur de soleil, et moisture de miste. 
 11 fleurit, il fleurit, 
 Attendez a mon narration triste !
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Signes dures pour les deux, 
 Petit Jean et sa soeur Sue, 
 Et la peche d'une verdante hue, 
 Qui fleurit, qui fleurit, 
 Attendez a mon narration triste ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 MONSIEUR McGINTE 
 
 MONSIEUR McGinte allait en has jusqu'au 
 fond du mer, 
 Us ne 1'ont pas encore trouve 
 Je crois qu'il est certainement mouille. 
 Monsieur McGinte, je le repete, allait jusqu'au 
 
 fond du mer, 
 Habille dans sa meilleure costume. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 YE LA YE OF YE WOODPECKORE 
 
 Picus Erytbrocephalus : 
 
 WHITHER goest thou, pale student 
 Within the wood so fur? 
 Art on the chokesome cherry beitt * 
 Dost seek the chestnut burr ?
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Pale Student. 
 
 O it is not for the mellow chestnut 
 That I so far am come, 
 
 Nor yet for puckery cherries, but 
 For Cypripedium. 
 
 A blossom hangs the choke-cherry 
 And eke the chestnut burr, 
 
 And thou a silly fowl must be, 
 Thou red-head wood-pecker. 
 
 Picus Erythrocephalus : 
 
 Turn back, turn back, thou pale student, 
 
 Nor in the forest go ; 
 There lurks beneath his bosky tent 
 
 The deadly mosquito, 
 
 And there the wooden-chuck doth tread, 
 And from the oak-tree's top 
 
 The red, red squirrels on thy head 
 The frequent acorn drop. 
 
 Pale Student. 
 
 The wooden-chuck is next of kin 
 
 Unto the wood-pecker : 
 I fear not thine ill-boding din, 
 
 And why should I fear her ?
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 What though a score of acorns drop 
 And squirrels' fur be red ! 
 
 'T is not so ruddy as thy top 
 So scarlet as thy head. 
 
 O rarely blooms the Cypripe- 
 
 dium upon its stalk ; 
 And like a torch it shines to me 
 
 Adown the dark wood-walk. 
 
 O joy to pluck it from the ground, 
 
 To view the purple sac, 
 To touch the sessile stigma's round 
 
 And shall I then turn back ? 
 
 Picus Erythrocephalus : 
 
 O black and shining is the log 
 That feeds the sumptuous weed, 
 
 Nor stone is found nor bedded log 
 Where foot may well proceed. 
 
 Midmost it glimmers in the mire 
 Like Jack o' Lanthorn's spark, 
 
 Lighting, with phosphorescent fire, 
 The green umbrageous dark. 
 
 There while thy thirsty glances drink 
 The fair and baneful plant, 
 
 Thy shoon within the ooze shall sink 
 And eke thine either pant. 
 
 [HI]
 
 A Nonsense Aniho logy 
 
 Pale Student. 
 
 Give o'er, give o'er, thou wood-peckore ; 
 
 The bark upon the tree, 
 Thou, at thy will, mayst peck and bore 
 
 But peck and bore not me. 
 
 Full two long hours I 've searched about 
 
 And 'twould in sooth be rum, 
 If I should now go back without 
 
 The Cypripedium. 
 
 Plcus Erythrocephalus : 
 
 Farewell ! Farewell ! But this I tell 
 
 To thee, thou pale student, 
 Ere dews have fell, thou 'It rue it well 
 
 That woodward thou didst went : 
 
 Then whilst thou blows the drooping nose 
 
 And wip'st the pensive eye 
 There where the SK&symplocarpusfcetldus grows, 
 
 Then think O think of I ! 
 
 Loud flouted there that student wight 
 
 Solche warnynge for to hear ; 
 " I scorn, old hen, thy threats of might, 
 
 And eke thine ill grammere. 
 
 " Go peck the lice (or green or red) 
 That swarm the bass-wood tree, 
 
 But wag no more thine addled head 
 Nor clack thy tongue at me."
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The wood-peck turned to whet her beak, 
 
 The student heard her drum, 
 As through the wood he went to seek 
 
 The Cypripedium. 
 
 Alas ! and for that pale student : 
 
 The evening bell did ring, 
 And down the walk the Freshmen went 
 
 Unto the prayer-meeting; 
 
 Upon the fence loud rose the song, 
 The weak, weak tea was o'er 
 
 Ha ! who is he that sneaks along 
 Into South Middle's door ? 
 
 The mud was on his shoon, and O ! 
 
 The briar was in his thumb, 
 His staff was in his hand but no 
 
 No Cypripedium. 
 
 Henry A. Beers. 
 
 COLLUSION BETWEEN A ALE- 
 GAITER AND A WATER-SNAIK 
 
 THERE is a niland on a river lying, 
 Which runs into Gautimaly, a warm country, 
 Lying near the Tropicks, covered with sand ; 
 Hear and their a symptum of a Wilow, 
 Hanging of its umberagious limbs & branches 
 Over the clear streme meandering far below. 
 This was the home of the now silent Alegaiter, 
 ['43]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 When not in his other element confine'd : 
 Here he wood set upon his eggs asleep 
 With i ey observant of flis and other passing 
 Objects : a while it kept a going on so : 
 Fereles of danger was the happy Alegaiter ! 
 But a las ! in a nevil our he was fourced to 
 Wake ! that dreme of Blis was two sweet for him. 
 i morning the sun arose with unusool splender 
 Whitch allso did our Alegaiter, coming from the 
 
 water, 
 
 His scails a flinging of the rais of the son back, 
 To the fountain-head which tha originly sprung 
 
 from, 
 
 But having not had nothing to eat for some time, he 
 Was slepy and gap'd, in a short time, widely. 
 Unfoalding soon a welth of perl-white teth, 
 The rais of the son soon shet his sinister ey 
 Because of their mutool splendor and warmth. 
 The evil Our (which I sed) was now come; 
 Evidently a good chans for a water-snaik 
 Of the large specie, which soon appeared 
 Into the horison, near the bank where reposed 
 Calmly in slepe the Alegaiter before spoken of. 
 About 60 feet was his Length (not the 'gaiter) 
 And he was aperiently a well-proportioned snaik. 
 When he was all ashore he glared upon 
 The iland with approval, but was soon 
 "Astonished with the view and lost to wonder" 
 
 (from Wats) 
 
 (For jest then he began to see the Alegaiter) 
 Being a nateral enemy of his'n, he worked hisself 
 Into a fury, also a ni position.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Before the Alegaiter well could ope 
 His eye (in other words perceive his danger) 
 The Snaik had enveloped his body just 19 
 Times with " foalds voluminous and vast " (from 
 
 Milton) 
 
 And had tore off several scails in the confusion, 
 Besides squeazing him awfully into his stomoc. 
 Just then, by a fortinate turn in his affairs, 
 He ceazed into his mouth the careless tale 
 Of the unreflecting water-snaik ! Grown desperate 
 He, finding that his tale was fast squesed 
 Terrible while they roaled all over the iland. 
 
 It was a well-conducktd Affair ; no noise 
 Disturbed the harmony of the seen, ecsept 
 Onct when a Willow was snaped into by the roaling. 
 Eeach of the combatence hadn't a minit for holering. 
 So the conflick was naterally tremenjous ! 
 But soon by grate force the tail was bit complete- 
 Ly of; but the eggzeration was too much 
 For his delicate Constitootion ; he felt a compres- 
 sion 
 
 Onto his chest and generally over his body ; 
 When he ecspressed his breathing, it was with 
 Grate difficulty that he felt inspired again onct more. 
 Of course this state must suffer a revolootion. 
 So the alegaiter give but one yel, and egspired. 
 The water-snaik realed hisself off, & survay'd 
 For say 10 minits, the condition of 
 His fo : then wondering what made his tail hurt, 
 He slowly went off for to cool. 
 
 J. W, Morris,
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 OELESTIAL apoley which Didest inspire. 
 ^S the souls of burns and pop with sackred fir. 
 Kast thy Mantil over me When i shal sing, 
 the praiz Of A sweat flower who grows in spring 
 Which has of late kome under the Fokis. 
 of My eyes. It is called a krokis. 
 Sweat lovly prety littil sweat Thing, 
 you bloometh before The lairicks on High sing, 
 thy lefs are neithir Red Nor yelly. 
 but Just betwixt the two you hardy felly. 
 
 i fear youl yet be Nippit with the frost. 
 
 As Maney a one has known to there kost. 
 
 you should have not kome out in such a hurrey. 
 
 As this is only the Month of Febrywurrey. 
 
 and you may expick yet Much bad wethir. 
 
 when all your blads will krunkil up like Burnt 
 
 leather. 
 
 alas. alas, theres Men which tries to rime, 
 who have like you kome out befor there time. 
 The Moril of My peese depend upon it. 
 is good so here i End my odd or sonit. 
 
 Anonymoui 
 
 [146]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 SOME VERSES TO SNAIX 
 
 PRODIGGUS reptile ! long and skaly kuss ! 
 You are the dadrattedest biggest thing I ever 
 Seed that cud ty itself into a double bo- 
 Not, and cum all strate again in a 
 Minnit or so, without winkin or seemin 
 To experience any particular pane 
 In the diafram. 
 
 Stoopenjus inseck ! marvelous annimile ! 
 You are no doubt seven thousand yeres 
 Old, and hav a considerable of a 
 Family sneekin round thru the tall 
 Gras in Africa, a eetin up little greezy 
 Niggers, and wishin they was biggir. 
 
 I wonder how big yu was when yu 
 Was a inphant about 2 fete long. I 
 Expec yu was a purty good size, and 
 Lived on phrogs, and lizzerds, and polly- 
 Wogs and sutch things. 
 
 You are havin' a nice time now, ennyhow 
 Don't have nothing to do but lay oph. 
 And etc kats and rabbits, and stic 
 Out yure tung and twist yur tale. 
 I wunder if yu ever swollered a man 
 Without takin oph his butes. If there was 
 Brass buttins on his kote, I sposc 
 [47]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Yu had ter swaller a lot of buttin- 
 
 Wholes, and a shu-hamer to nock 
 
 The soals oph of the boots and drive in 
 
 The tax, so that they would n't kut yure 
 
 Inside. I wunder if vittles taste 
 
 Good all the way down. I expec so 
 
 At leest, fur 6 or 7 fete. 
 
 You are so mighty long, I shud thynk 
 If your tale was kold, yure hed 
 Woodent no it till the next day, 
 But it 's hard tu tell : snaix is snaix. 
 
 Anonymoui> 
 
 A GREAT MAN 
 
 YE muses, pour the pitying tear 
 For Pollio snatch'd away : 
 For had he liv'd another year ! 
 
 He had not dy'd to-day. 
 
 O, were he born to bless mankind, 
 
 In virtuous times of yore, 
 Heroes themselves had fallen behind ! 
 
 Whene'er he went before. 
 
 How sad the groves and plains appear, 
 
 And sympathetic sheep : 
 Even pitying hills would drop a tear ! 
 
 If hills could learn to weep. 
 
 [148]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 His bounty in exalted strain 
 
 Each bard might well display : 
 Since none implor'd relief in vain ! 
 
 That went reliev'd away. 
 
 And hark ! I hear the tuneful throng ; 
 
 His obsequies forbid. 
 He still shall live, shall live as long 
 
 As ever dead man did. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 AN ELEGY 
 
 On the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Mary Blaize 
 
 GOOD people all, with one accord, 
 Lament for Madam Blaize, 
 Who never wanted a good word - 
 From those who spoke her praise. 
 
 The needy seldom pass'd her door, 
 And always found her kind ; 
 
 She freely lent to all the poor 
 Who left a pledge behind. 
 
 She strove the neighborhood to please 
 With manners wondrous winning ; 
 
 And never follow'd wicked ways - 
 Unless when she was sinning. 
 
 [ '49 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 At church, in silks and satins new, 
 
 With hoop of monstrous size, 
 She never slumber'd in her pew 
 
 But when she shut her eyes. 
 
 Her love was sought, I do aver, 
 
 By twenty beaux and more ; 
 The King himself has follow'd her 
 
 When she has walk'd before. 
 
 But now, her wealth and finery fled, 
 
 Her hangers-on cut short all j 
 The doctors found, when she was dead 
 
 Her last disorder mortal. 
 
 Let us lament, in sorrow sore, 
 
 For Kent Street well may say, 
 That had she lived a twelvemonth more 
 
 She had not died to-day. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmif- 
 
 PARSON GRAY 
 
 A QUIET home had Parson Gray, 
 Secluded in a vale ; 
 His daughters all were feminine, 
 And all his sons were male. 
 
 How faithfully did Parson Gray 
 The bread of life dispense 
 
 Well " posted " in theology, 
 And post and rail his fence.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 'Gainst all the vices of the age 
 
 He manfully did battle ; 
 His chickens were a biped breed, 
 
 And quadruped his cattle. 
 
 No clock more punctually went, 
 
 He ne'er delayed a minute 
 Nor ever empty was his purse, 
 
 When he had money in it. 
 
 His piety was ne'er denied ; 
 
 His truths hit saint and sinner; 
 At morn he always breakfasted ; 
 
 He always dined at dinner. 
 
 He ne'er by any luck was grieved, 
 
 By any care perplexed 
 No filcher he, though when he preached, 
 
 He always " took " a text. 
 
 As faithful characters he drew 
 
 As mortal ever saw ; 
 But ah ! poor parson ! when he died, 
 
 His breath he could not draw ! 
 
 Oliver Goldsm it I 
 
 AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH Ol 
 A MAD DOG 
 
 GOOD people all, of every sort, 
 Give ear unto my song ; 
 And if you find it wondrous short, 
 It cannot hold you long. 
 [IS' ]
 
 Nonsense Anthology 
 
 In Islington there was a man, 
 Of whom the world might say 
 
 That still a godly race he ran, 
 Whene'er he went to pray. 
 
 A kind and gentle heart he had, 
 To comfort friends and foes ; 
 
 The naked every day he clad, 
 When he put on his clothes. 
 
 And in that town a dog was found, 
 
 As many dogs there be, 
 Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 
 
 And curs of low degree. 
 
 The dog and man at first were friends ; 
 
 But when a pique began, 
 The dog, to gain some private ends, 
 
 Went mad, and bit the man. 
 
 Around from all the neighboring streets, 
 The wondering neighbors ran, 
 
 And swore the dog had lost his wits 
 To bite so good a man. 
 
 The wound it seemed both sore and sad 
 
 To every Christian eye ; 
 And while they swore the dog was mad 
 
 They swore the man would die.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 But soon a wonder came to light, 
 That showed the rogues they lied ; 
 
 The man recovered of the bite, 
 The dog it was that died. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 THE WONDERFUL OLD MAN 
 
 r 1 ^HERE was an old man 
 
 Who lived on a common 
 And, if fame speaks true, 
 He was born of a woman. 
 Perhaps you will laugh, 
 
 But for truth I 've been told 
 He once was an infant 
 Tho' age made him old. 
 
 Whene'er he was hungry 
 
 He longed for some meat ; 
 And if he could get it 
 
 'T was said he would eat. 
 When thirsty he'd drink 
 
 If you gave him a pot, 
 And what he drank mostly 
 
 Ran down his throat. 
 
 He seldom or never 
 
 Could see without light, 
 And yet I 've been told he 
 
 Could hear in the night.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 He has oft been awake 
 In the daytime, 't is said, 
 
 And has fallen asleep 
 As he lay in his bed. 
 
 'T is reported his tongue 
 
 Always moved when he talk'd, 
 And he stirred both his arms 
 
 And his legs when he walk'd; 
 And his gait was so odd 
 
 Had you seen him you 'd burst, 
 For one leg or t' other 
 
 Would always be first. 
 
 His face was the drollest 
 
 That ever was seen, 
 For if 't was not washed 
 
 It seldom was clean ; 
 His teeth he expos'd when 
 
 He happened to grin, 
 And his mouth stood across 
 
 'Twixt his nose and his chin. 
 
 When this whimsical chap 
 
 Had a river to pass, 
 If he could n't get over 
 
 He stayed where he was. 
 'T is said he ne'er ventured 
 
 To quit the dry ground, 
 Yet so great was his luck 
 
 He never was drowned.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 At last he fell sick, 
 
 As old chronicles tell, 
 And then, as folks say, 
 
 He was not very well. 
 But what was as strange 
 
 In so weak a condition, 
 As he could not give fees 
 
 He could get no physician. 
 
 What wonder he died ! 
 
 Yet 't is said that his death 
 Was occasioned at last 
 
 By the loss of his breath. 
 But peace to his bones 
 
 Which in ashes now moulder. 
 Had he lived a day longer 
 
 He 'd have been a day older. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 A CHRONICLE 
 
 NCE but no matter when 
 
 There lived no matter where 
 A man, whose name but then 
 I need not that declare. 
 
 
 
 He well, he had been born, 
 And so he was alive ; 
 
 His age I details scorn 
 Was somethingty and five. 
 [155]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 He lived how many years 
 
 I truly can't decide ; 
 But this one fact appears 
 
 He lived until he died. 
 
 " He died," I have averred, 
 But cannot prove 't was so, 
 
 But that he was interred, 
 At any rate, I know. 
 
 I fancy he 'd a son, 
 I hear he had a wife : 
 
 Perhaps he 'd more than one, 
 I know not, on my life ! 
 
 But whether he was rich, 
 Or whether he was poor, 
 
 Or neither both or which, 
 I cannot say, I 'm sure. 
 
 I can't recall his name, 
 Or what he used to do : 
 
 But then well, such is fame ! 
 'T will so serve me and you. 
 
 And that is why I thus, 
 About this unknown man 
 
 Would fain create a fuss, 
 To rescue, if I can.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 From dark oblivion's blow, 
 
 Some record of his lot : 
 But, ah ! I do not know 
 
 Who where when why or what. 
 
 MORAL 
 
 In this brief pedigree 
 
 A moral we should find 
 But what it ought to be 
 
 Has quite escaped my mind ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 ON THE OXFORD CARRIER 
 
 H 
 
 ERE lieth one, who did most truly prove 
 That he could never die while he could 
 
 move; 
 
 So hung his destiny never to rot 
 While he might still jog on and keep his trot ; 
 Made of sphere metal, never to decay 
 Until his revolution was at stay. 
 Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime 
 'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time, 
 And like an engine moved with wheel and weight, 
 His principles being ceased, he ended straight. 
 Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death, 
 And too much breathing put him out of breath ; 
 Nor were it contradiction to affirm, 
 Too long vacation hasten'd on his term. 
 [157]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Merely to drive the time away he sicken'd, 
 Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd ; 
 u Nay," quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretch'd, 
 u If I may n't carry, sure I '11 ne'er be fetch'd, 
 But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers, 
 For one carrier put down to make six bearers." 
 Ease was his chief disease; and to judge right, 
 He died for heaviness that his cart went light : 
 His leisure told him that his time was come, 
 And lack of load made his life burdensome. 
 That even to his la^e breath (there be that say't), 
 As he were press'd to death, he cried, " More 
 
 weight ; " 
 
 But, had his doings lasted as they were, 
 He had been an immortal carrier. 
 Obedient to the moon he spent his date 
 In course reciprocal, and had his fate 
 Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas, 
 Yet (strange to think) his wane was his increase: 
 His letters are deliver'd all, and gone, 
 Only remains the superscription. 
 
 John Milton, 
 
 NEPHELIDIA 
 
 FROA4 the depth of the dreamy decline of the 
 dawn through a notable nimbus of 
 nebulous noonshine, 
 
 Pallid and pink as the palm of the flag-flower that 
 flickers with fear of the flies as they float, 
 
 C's]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Are they looks of our lovers that lustrously lean 
 
 from a marvel of mystic miraculous moon- 
 shine, 
 These that we feel in the blood of our blushes 
 
 that thicken and threaten with sobs from 
 
 the throat ? 
 Thicken and thrill as a theatre thronged at appeal 
 
 of an actor's appalled agitation, 
 Fainter with fear of the fires of the future than 
 
 pale with the promise of pride in the past ; 
 Flushed with the famishing fulness of fever that 
 
 reddens with radiance of rathe recreation, 
 Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam 
 
 through the gloom of the gloaming when 
 
 ghosts go aghast ? 
 
 Nay, for the nick of the tick of the time is a trem- 
 ulous touch on the temples of terror, 
 Strained as the sinews yet strenuous with strife of 
 
 the dead who is dumb as the dust-heaps of 
 
 death : 
 Surely no soul is it, sweet as the spasm of erotic 
 
 emotional exquisite error, 
 Bathed in the balms of beatified bliss, beatific itself 
 
 by beatitude's breath. 
 Surely no spirit or sense of a soul that was soft to 
 
 the spirit and soul of our senses 
 Sweetens the stress of suspiring suspicion that sobs 
 
 in the semblance and sound of a sigh ; 
 Only this oracle opens Olympian, in mystical 
 
 moods and triangular tenses 
 Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark 
 
 till the dawn of the day when we die. 
 ['59]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Mild is the mirk and monotonous music of mem- 
 ory melodiously mute as it may be, 
 
 While the hope in the heart of a hero is bruised 
 by the breach of men's rapiers resigned to 
 the rod ; 
 
 Made meek as a mother whose bosom-beats bound 
 with the bliss-bringing bulk of a balm- 
 breathing baby, 
 
 As they grope through the grave -yards of creeds, 
 under skies growing green at a groan for 
 the grimness of God. 
 
 Blank is the book of his bounty beholden of old 
 and its binding is blacker than bluer : 
 
 Out of blue into black is the scheme of the skies, 
 and their dews are the wine of the blood- 
 shed of things; 
 
 Till the darkling desire of delight shall be free 
 as a fawn that is freed from the fangs that 
 pursue her, 
 
 Till the heart-beats of hell shall be hushed by 
 a hymn from the hunt that has harried the 
 kernel of kings. 
 
 A. C. Swinburne, 
 
 in " The Hcptalogia." 
 
 MARTIN LUTHER AT POTSDAM 
 
 WHAT lightning shall light it ? What thun- 
 der shall tell it ? 
 In the height of the height, in the depth 
 of the deep ? 
 [160]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Shall the sea-storm declare it, or paint it, or smell 
 
 it? 
 Shall the price of a slave be its treasure to 
 
 keep ? 
 When the night has grown near with the gems on 
 
 her bosom, 
 When the white of mine eyes is the whiteness 
 
 of snow, 
 When the cabman in liquor drives a blue roan, 
 
 a kicker, 
 Into the land of the dear long ago. 
 
 Ah ! Ah, again ! You will come to me, fall 
 
 on me 
 
 You are so heavy, and I am so flat. 
 And I ? I shall not be at home when you call on 
 
 me, 
 But stray down the wind like a gentleman's 
 
 hat: 
 
 I shall list to the stars when the music is purple, 
 Be drawn through a pipe, and exhaled into 
 
 rings; 
 Turn to sparks, and then straightway get stuck in 
 
 the gateway 
 
 That stands between speech and unspeakable 
 things. 
 
 As I mentioned before, by what light is it lighted ? 
 
 Oh ! Is it fourpence, or piebald, or gray ? 
 Is it a mayor that a mother has knighted, 
 
 Or is it a horse of the sun and the day ? 
 [] [161]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Is it a pony ? If so, who will change it ? 
 
 O golfer, be quiet, and mark where it scuds, 
 And think of its paces of owners and races 
 
 Relinquish the links for the study of studs. 
 
 Not understood ? Take me hence ! Take me 
 
 yonder ! 
 
 Take me away to the land of my rest 
 There where the Ganges and other gees wander, 
 
 And uncles and antelopes act for the best, 
 And all things are mixed and run into each other 
 
 In a violet twilight of virtues and sins, 
 With the church-spires below you and no one to 
 
 show you 
 
 Where the curate leaves off" and the pew-rent 
 begins ! 
 
 In the black night through the rank grass the 
 snakes peer 
 
 The cobs and the cobras are partial to grass -i- 
 And a boy wanders out with a knowledge of 
 Shakespeare 
 
 That 's not often found in a boy of his class, 
 And a girl wanders out without any knowledge, 
 
 And a bird wanders out, and a cow wanders out, 
 Likewise one wether, and they wander together 
 
 There 's a good deal of wandering lying about. 
 
 But it 's all for the best ; I 've been told by my 
 
 friends, Sir, 
 
 That in verses I 'd written the meaning was 
 slight j 
 
 [162]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 I 've tried with no meaning to make 'em amends, 
 Sir 
 
 And find that this kind 's still more easy to write. 
 The title has nothing to do with the verses, 
 
 But think of the millions the laborers who 
 In busy employment find deepest enjoyment, 
 
 And yet, like my title, have nothing to do ! 
 
 Barry Pain. 
 
 COMPANIONS 
 
 I KNOW not of what we ponder'd 
 Or made pretence to talk, 
 As, her hand within mine, we wander'd 
 Tow'rd the pool by the limetree walk, 
 While the dew fell in showers from the 
 
 flowers 
 And the blush-rose bent on her stalk. 
 
 I cannot recall her figure : 
 
 Was it regal as Juno's own ? 
 Or only a trifle bigger 
 
 Than the elves who surround the throne 
 Of the Faery Queen, and are seen, I ween, 
 
 By mortals in dreams alone ? 
 
 What her eyes were like, I know not : 
 
 Perhaps they were blurred with tears ; 
 And perhaps in your skies there glow not
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 (On the contrary) clearer spheres. 
 No ! as to her eyes I am just as wise 
 As you or the cat, my dears. 
 
 Her teeth, I presume, were u pearly " : 
 But which was she, brunette or blonde ? 
 
 Her hair, was it quaintly curly, 
 
 Or as straight as a beadle's wand ? 
 
 That I failed to remark ; it wis rather dark 
 And shadowy round the pond. 
 
 Then the hand that reposed so snugly 
 
 In mine was it plump or spare? 
 Was the countenance fair or ugly ? 
 
 Nay, children, you have me there ! 
 My eyes were p'raps blurr'd ; and besides, I 'd heard 
 
 That it 's horribly rude to stare. 
 
 And I was I brusque and surly ? 
 
 Or oppressively bland and fond ? 
 Was I partial to rising early ? 
 
 Or why did we twain abscond, 
 All breakfastless too, from the public view 
 
 To prowl by a misty pond ? 
 
 What passed, what was felt or spoken 
 
 Whether anything passed at all 
 And whether the heart was broken 
 
 That beat under that sheltering shawl 
 (If shawl she had on, which I doubt) has gone. 
 
 Yes, gone from me past recall. 
 [164]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Was I haply the lady's suitor? 
 
 Or her uncle ? I can't make out 
 Ask your governess, dears, or tutor. 
 
 For myself, I 'm in hopeless doubt 
 As to why we were there, and who on earth we 
 were, 
 
 And what this is all about. 
 
 C. S. Caherley. 
 
 THE COCK AND THE BULL 
 
 YOU see this pebble-stone ? It 's a thing I 
 bought 
 Of a bit of a chit of a boy i' the mid o' the 
 
 day 
 
 I like to dock the smaller parts-o-speech, 
 As we curtail the already cur-tailed cur 
 (You catch the paronomasia, play 'po' words ?) 
 Did, rather, i' the pre-Landseerian days. 
 Well, to my muttons. I purchased the concern. 
 And clapt it i' my poke, having given for same 
 By way o' chop, swop, barter or exchange 
 "Chop " was my snickering dandiprat's own term 
 One shilling and fourpence, current coin o' the 
 
 realm. 
 
 O-n-e one and f-o-u-r four 
 
 Pence, one and fourpence you are with me, 
 sir ?
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 What hour it skills not : ten or eleven o' the clock, 
 One day (and what a roaring day it was 
 Go shop or sight-see bar a spit o' rain ! ) 
 In February, eighteen sixty nine, 
 Alexandrina Victoria, Fidei, 
 
 Hm hm how runs the jargon ? being on thfe 
 throne. 
 
 Such, sir, are all the facts, succinctly put, 
 
 The basis or substratum what you will 
 
 Of the impending eighty thousand lines. 
 
 " Not much in 'em either," quoth perhaps simple 
 
 Hodge. 
 But there 's a superstructure. Wait a bit. 
 
 Mark first the rationale of the thing : 
 
 Hear logic rivel and levigate the deed. 
 
 That shilling and for matter o' that, the pence 
 
 I had o' course upo' me wi' me say 
 
 (Mecum 's the Latin, make a note o' that) 
 
 When I popp'd pen i' stand, scratched ear, wiped 
 
 snout, 
 
 (Let everybody wipe his own himself) 
 Sniff'd tch ! at snuffbox; tumbled up, he-heed, 
 Haw-haw'd (not he-haw'd, that 's another guess 
 
 thing) : 
 
 Then fumbled at, and stumbled out of, door, 
 I shoved the timber ope wi' my omoplat ; 
 And in vestibulo, i' the lobby to-wit, 
 (lacobi Facciolati's rendering, sir,) 
 Donned galligaskins, antigropeloes, 
 [166]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And so forth ; and, complete with hat and gloves, 
 One on and one a-dangle i' my hand, 
 And ombrifuge (Lord love you ! ) cas o' rain, 
 I flopped forth, 'sbuddikins ! on my own ten toes, 
 (I do assure you there be ten of them) 
 And went clump-clumping up hill and down dale 
 To find myself o' the sudden i' front o' the boy. 
 Put case I had n't 'em on me, could I ha' bought 
 This sort-o'-kind-o'-what-you-might-call-toy, 
 This pebble-thing, o' the boy-thing ? Q^ E. D. 
 That 's proven without aid for mumping Pope, 
 Sleek porporate or bloated cardinal. 
 (Is n't it, old Fatchops ? You 're in Euclid now.) 
 So, having the shilling having i' fact a lot 
 And pence and halfpence, ever so many o' them, 
 I purchased, as I think I said before, 
 The pebble (lapis, lapidis, di, dem, de 
 What nouns 'crease short i' the genitive, Fat- 
 chops, eh ? ) 
 
 O the boy, a bare-legg'd beggarly son of a gun, 
 For one-and-fourpence. Here we are again. 
 Now Law steps in, biwigged, voluminous-jaw'd ; 
 Investigates and re-investigates. 
 Was the transaction illegal ? Law shakes head. 
 Perpend, sir, all the bearings of the case. 
 
 At first the coin was mine, the chattel his. 
 
 But now (by virtue of the said exchange 
 
 And barter) vice versa all the coin, 
 
 Rer juris operationem, vests 
 
 I' the boy and his assigns till ding o' doom ;
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 In s&cula sacuh-o-o-orum ; 
 (I think I hear the Abate mouth out that.) 
 Xo have and hold the same to him and them . . . 
 Confer some idiot on Conveyancing. 
 Whereas the pebble and every part thereof, 
 And all that appertaineth thereunto, 
 Quodcunque pertinet ad em rem, 
 /(I fancy, sir, my Latin 's rather pat) 
 Or shall, will, may, might, can, could, would, or 
 
 should, 
 
 Subaudi cetera clap we to the close 
 For what 's the good of law in such a case o' the 
 
 kind 
 
 Is mine to all intents and purposes. 
 This settled, I resume the thread o' the tale. 
 
 Now for a touch o' the vendor's quality. 
 He says a gen'lman bought a pebble of him, 
 (This pebble i' sooth, sir, which I hold i' my 
 
 hand) 
 
 And paid for 't, like a gen'lman, on the nail. 
 " Did I o'ercharge him a ha'penny ? Devil a bit. 
 Fiddlepin's end ! Get out, you blazing ass ! 
 Gabble o' the goose. Don't bugaboo-baby me f 
 Go double or quits ? Yah ! tittup ! what 's the 
 
 odds ? " 
 There 's the transaction viewed in the vendor's 
 
 light- 
 Next ask that dumpled hag, stood snuffling by, 
 With her three frowsy blowsy brats o' babes, 
 '[ 1 68 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The scum o' the Kennel, cream o' the filth-heap 
 
 Faugh ! 
 
 Aie, aie, aie, aie ! OTOTOTOTOTOI, 
 ('Stead which we blurt out, Hoighty toighty now) 
 And the baker and candlestick maker, and Jack 
 
 and Gill, 
 
 Blear'd Goody this and queasy Gaffer that, 
 Ask the Schoolmaster, Take Schoolmaster first. 
 He saw a gentleman purchase of a lad 
 A stone, and pay for it rite on the square, 
 And carry it off per saltum, jauntily 
 Propria quce maribus, gentleman's property now 
 (Agreeable to the law explained above). 
 In proprium usurn, for his private ends, 
 The boy he chucked a brown i' the air, and bit 
 I' the face the shilling ; heaved a thumping stone 
 At a lean hen that ran cluck-clucking by, 
 (And hit her, dead as nail i' post o' door,) 
 Then ablit What 's the Ciceronian phrase ? 
 Excessit, evasit) erupit off slogs boy ; 
 Off like bird, avi similis (y ou observed 
 The dative ? Pretty i' the Mantuan ! ) Angllce 
 Off in three flea skips. Hactenus, so far, 
 So good, tain bene. Bene, satis, male, 
 Where was I with my trope 'bout one in a quag ? 
 I did once hitch the Syntax into verse 
 Verbum personate^ a verb personal, 
 Concordat ay," agrees," old Fatchops cum 
 Nominativo, with its nominative, 
 Genere, i' point of gender, numet o, 
 O' number, et persona, and person. L/jf, 
 Instance : Sol ruit, down flops sun, et and, 
 [169]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Mantes umbrantur, out flounce mountains. Pah ! 
 Excuse me, sir, I think I 'm going mad. 
 
 You see the trick on't, though, and can yourself 
 
 Continue the discourse ad libitum. 
 
 It takes up about eighty thousand lines, 
 
 A thing imagination boggles at ; 
 
 And might, odds-bobs, sir ! in judicious hands 
 
 Extend from here to Mesopotamy. 
 
 C. S. Calverley. 
 
 LOVERS AND A REFLECTION 
 
 IN moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter 
 (And heaven it knoweth what that may 
 mean ; 
 Meaning, however, is no great matter) 
 
 Where woods are a-tremble with words a-tween ; 
 
 Thro' God's own heather we wonned together, 
 I and my Willie (O love my love) : 
 
 I need hardly remark it was glorious weather, 
 And flitter-bats wavered alow, above : 
 
 Boats were curtseying, rising, bowing, 
 (Boats in that climate are so polite,) 
 
 And sands were a ribbon of green endowing, 
 And O the sun-dazzle on bark and bight !
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Thro' the rare red heather we danced together 
 (O love my Willie,) and smelt for flowers : 
 
 I must mention again it was glorious weather, 
 Rhymes are so scarce in this world of ours : 
 
 By rises that flushed with their purple favors, 
 Thro' becks that brattled o'er grasses sheen, 
 
 We walked or waded, we two young shavers, 
 Thanking our stars we were both so green. 
 
 We journeyed in parallels, I and Willie, 
 In fortunate parallels ! Butterflies, 
 
 Hid in weltering shadows of daffodilly 
 
 Or marjoram, kept making peacock eyes : 
 
 Song-birds darted about, some inky 
 
 As coal, some snowy (I ween) as curds ; 
 
 Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky 
 
 They reek of no eerie To-come, those birds ! 
 
 But they skim over bents which the mill-stream 
 washes, 
 
 Or hang in the lift 'neath a white cloud's hem ; 
 They need no parasols, no goloshes ; 
 
 And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth them. 
 
 Then we thrid God's cowslips (as erst his heather), 
 That endowed the wan grass with their golden 
 blooms ; 
 
 And snapt (it was perfectly charming weather) 
 Our fingers at Fate and her goddess-glooms :
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And Willie 'gan sing (Oh, his notes were 
 
 fluty; 
 Wafts fluttered them out to the white-winged 
 
 sea) 
 Something made up of rhymes that have done 
 
 much duty, 
 Rhymes (better to put it) of " ancientry " : 
 
 Bowers of flowers encountered showers 
 
 In William's carol (O love my Willie !) 
 
 Then he bade sorrow borrow from blithe to- 
 morrow 
 I quite forget what say a daffodilly. 
 
 A nest in a hollow, " with buds to follow," 
 I think occurred next in his nimble strain; 
 
 And clay that was " kneaden " of course in Eden 
 A rhyme most novel I do maintain : 
 
 Mists, bones, the singer himself, love-stories, 
 And all least furlable things got furled ; 
 
 Not with any design to conceal their glories, 
 But simply and solely to rhyme with world. 
 
 O if billows and pillows and hours and flowers, 
 And all the brave rhymes of an elder day, 
 
 Could be furled together, this genial weather, 
 And carted or carried on wafts away, 
 
 Nor ever again trotted out ah me ! 
 
 How much fewer volumes of verse there 'd be. 
 
 C. S. Ca far fey.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 AN IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH 
 
 THERE is a river clear and fair, 
 'T is neither broad nor narrow 
 It winds a little here and there 
 It winds about like any hare ; 
 And then it takes as straight a course 
 As on the turnpike road a horse, 
 Or through the air an arrow. 
 
 The trees that grow upon the shore, 
 Have grown a hundred years or more; 
 
 So long there is no knowing. 
 Old Daniel Dobson does not know 
 When first these trees began to grow ; 
 But still they grew, and grew, and grew, 
 As if they 'd nothing else to do, 
 But ever to be growing. 
 
 The impulses of air and sky 
 
 Have rear'd their stately heads so high, 
 
 And clothed their boughs with green ; 
 Their leaves the dews of evening quaff, 
 
 And when the wind blows loud and keen, 
 I 've seen the jolly timbers laugh, 
 
 And shake their sides with merry glee 
 
 Wagging their heads in mockery. 
 [173]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Fix'd are their feet in solid earth, 
 
 Where winds can never blow ; 
 But visitings of deeper birth 
 
 Have reach'd their roots below. 
 For they have gain'd the river's brink, 
 And of the living waters drink. 
 
 There 's little Will, a five years child 
 
 He is my youngest boy : 
 To look on eyes so fair and wild, 
 
 It is a very joy : 
 
 He hath conversed with sun and shower, 
 And dwelt with every idle flower, 
 
 As fresh and gay as them. 
 He loiters with the briar rose, 
 The blue-belles are his play-fellows, 
 
 That dance upon their slender stem. 
 
 And I have said, my little Will, 
 Why should not he continue still 
 
 A thing of Nature's rearing ? 
 A thing beyond the world's control 
 A living vegetable soul, 
 
 No human sorrow fearing. 
 
 It were a blessed sight to see 
 That child become a Willow-tree, 
 
 His brother trees among. 
 He 'd be four times as tall as me, 
 
 And live three times as long. 
 
 Catharine M. Fanshawe.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE FAMOUS BALLAD OF THE 
 JUBILEE CUP 
 
 YOU may lift me up in your arms, lad, and 
 turn my face to the sun, 
 For a last look back at the dear old track 
 
 where the Jubilee cup was won ; 
 And draw your chair to my side, lad no, thank 
 
 ye, I feel no pain 
 
 For I 'm going out with the tide, lad; but 1 '11 tell 
 you the tale again. 
 
 I 'm seventy-nine or nearly, and my head it has 
 
 long turned gray, 
 But it all comes back as clearly as though it was 
 
 yesterday 
 The dust, and the bookies shouting around the 
 
 clerk of the scales, 
 And the clerk of the course, and the nobs in force, 
 
 and 'Is 'Ighness the Pr**ce of W*les. 
 
 'T was a nine-hole thresh to wind'ard (but none of 
 
 us cared for that), 
 With a straight run home to the service tee, and a 
 
 finish along the flat, 
 " Stiff? " ah, well you may say it ! Spot barred, and 
 
 at five stone ten ! 
 But at two and a bisque I 'd ha' run the risk ; for 
 
 I was a greenhorn then.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 So we stripped to the B. Race signal, the old red 
 
 swallowtail 
 There was young Ben Bolt and the Portland Colt, 
 
 and Aston Villa, and Yale ; 
 
 And W. G., and Steinitz, Leander and The Saint, 
 And the G*rm*n Emp*r*r's Meteor, a-looking as 
 
 fresh as paint ; 
 
 John Roberts (scratch), and Safety Match, The 
 
 Lascar, and Lorna Doone, 
 Oom Paul (a bye), and Romany Rye, and me upon 
 
 Wooden Spoon ; 
 And some of us cut for partners, and some of us 
 
 strung for baulk, 
 And some of us tossed for stations But there, 
 
 what use to talk ? 
 
 Three-quarter-back on the Kingsclere crack was 
 
 station enough for me, 
 With a fresh jackyarder blowing and the Vicarage 
 
 goal a-lee ! 
 And I leaned and patted her centre-bit and eased 
 
 the quid in her cheek, 
 With a " Soh my lass ! " and a " Woa you brute ! " 
 
 for she could do all but speak. 
 
 She was geared a thought too high perhaps ; she 
 
 was trained a trifle fine; 
 But she had the grand reach forward ! I never saw 
 
 such a line !
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Smooth-bored, clean run, from her fiddle head with 
 
 its dainty ear half-cock, 
 Hard-bit, pur sang, from her overhang to the heel 
 
 of her off hind sock. 
 
 Sir Robert he walked beside me as I worked her 
 
 down to the mark ; 
 " There 's money on this, my lad," said he, " and 
 
 most of 'em 's running dark ; 
 But ease the sheet if you 're bunkered, and pack 
 
 the scrummages tight, 
 And use your slide at the distance, and we '11 drink 
 
 to your health to-night ! " 
 
 But I bent and tightened my stretcher. Said I to 
 
 myself, said I 
 " John Jones, this here is the Jubilee Cup, and 
 
 you have to do or die." 
 And the words were n't hardly spoken when the 
 
 umpire shouted " Play ! " 
 And we all kicked off from the Gasworks End with 
 
 a " Yoicks ! " and a " Gone Away ! " 
 
 And at first I thought of nothing, as the clay flew 
 
 by in lumps, 
 But stuck to the old Ruy Lopez, and wondered 
 
 who'd call for trumps, 
 And luffed her close to the cushion, and watched 
 
 each one as it broke, 
 And in triple file up the Rowley Mile we went like 
 
 a trail of smoke. 
 ['*] [177]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The Lascar made the running but he did n't 
 
 amount to much, 
 For old Oom Paul was quick on the ball, and 
 
 headed it back to touch ; 
 And the whole first flight led off with the right as 
 
 The Saint took up the pace, 
 And drove it clean to the putting green and 
 
 trumped it there with an ace. 
 
 John Roberts had given a miss in baulk, but Villa 
 
 cleared with a punt ; 
 And keeping her service hard and low the Meteor 
 
 forged to the front; 
 With Romany Rye to windward at dormy and two 
 
 to play, 
 And Yale close up but a Jubilee Cup is n't run 
 
 for every day. 
 
 We laid our course for the Warner I tell you 
 the pace was hot ! 
 
 And again off Tattenham Corner a blanket covered 
 the lot. 
 
 Check side ! Check side ! now steer her wide ! and 
 barely an inch of room, 
 
 With The Lascar's tail over our lee rail and brush- 
 ing Leander's boom. 
 
 We were running as strong as ever eight knots 
 
 but it could n't last ; 
 P'or the spray and the bails were flying, the whole 
 
 field tailing fast ;
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And the Portland Colt had shot his bolt, and Yale 
 
 was bumped at the Doves, 
 And The Lascar resigned to Steinitz, stalemated in 
 
 fifteen moves. 
 
 It was bellows to mend with Roberts starred 
 
 three for a penalty kick : 
 But he chalked his cue and gave 'em the butt, and 
 
 Oom Paul marked the trick 
 " Offside No Ball and at fourteen all ! Mark 
 
 Cock ! and two for his nob ! " 
 When W. G. ran clean through his lee and beat 
 
 him twice with a lob. 
 
 He yorked him twice on a crumbling pitch and 
 
 wiped his eye with a brace, 
 But his guy-rope split with the strain of it and he 
 
 dropped back out of the race ; 
 And I drew a bead on the Meteor's lead, and 
 
 challenging none too soon, 
 Bent over and patted her garboard strake, and 
 
 called upon Wooden Spoon. 
 
 She was all of a shiver forward, the spoondrift thick 
 
 on her flanks, 
 But I 'd brought her an easy gambit, and nursed 
 
 her over the banks ; 
 
 She answered her helm the darling ! and woke 
 up now with a rush, 
 
 the Meteor's jock, he sat like a rock he 
 knew we rode for his brush ! 
 ['79]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 There was no one else left in it. The Saint was 
 
 using his whip, 
 And Safety Match, with a lofting catch, was 
 
 pocketed deep at slip ; 
 And young Ben Bolt with his niblick took miss at 
 
 Leander's lunge, 
 But topped the net with the ricochet, and Steinitz 
 
 threw up the sponge. 
 
 But none of the lot could stop the rot nay, don't 
 
 ask me to stop ! 
 The villa had called for lemons, Oom Paul had 
 
 taken his drop, 
 And both were kicking the referee. Poor fellow ! 
 
 he done his best ; 
 But, being in doubt, he 'd ruled them out which 
 
 he always did when pressed. 
 
 So, inch by inch, I tightened the winch, and 
 
 chucked the sandbags out 
 I heard the nursery cannons pop, I heard the 
 
 bookies shout : 
 " The Meteor wins ! " " No, Wooden Spoon ! " 
 
 " Check ! " " Vantage ! " " Leg Before ! " 
 " Last Lap ! " " Pass Nap ! " At his saddle-flap I 
 
 put up the helm and wore. 
 
 You may overlap at the saddle-flap, and yet be 
 
 loo'd on the tape : 
 And it all depends upon changing ends, how a 
 
 seven-year-old will shape ; 
 [ 1 80]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 I jvas tack and tack to the Lepe and back a fair 
 
 ding-dong to the Ridge, 
 And he led by his forward canvas yet as we shot 
 
 'neath Hammersmith Bridge. 
 
 He led by his forward canvas he led from his 
 
 strongest suit 
 But along we went on a roaring scent, and at 
 
 Fawley I gained a foot. 
 He fisted off with his jigger, and gave me his wash 
 
 too late ! 
 Deuce Vantage Check ! By neck and neck 
 
 we rounded into the straight. 
 
 I could hear the " Conquering 'Ero " a-crashing on 
 
 Godfrey's band, 
 And my hopes fell sudden to zero, just there, with 
 
 the race in hand 
 In sight of the Turf's Blue Ribbon, in sight of the 
 
 umpire's tape, 
 As I felt the tack of her spinnaker c-rack ! as I 
 
 heard the steam escape ! 
 
 Had I lost at that awful juncture my presence of 
 
 mind ? . . . but no ! 
 I leaned and felt for the puncture, and plugged it 
 
 there with my toe . . . 
 Hand over hand by the Members' Stand I lifted 
 
 and eased her up, 
 Shot clean and fair to the crossbar there, and 
 
 landed the Jubilee Cup!
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " The odd by a head, and leg before," so the Judge 
 
 he gave the word : 
 
 And the umpire shouted u Over ! " but I neither 
 , spoke nor stirred. 
 
 They crowded round : for there on the ground I 
 
 lay in a dead-cold swoon, 
 Pitched neck and crop on the turf atop of my 
 
 beautiful Wooden Spoon. 
 
 Her dewlap tire was punctured, her bearings all red 
 
 hot; 
 She 'd a lolling tongue, and her bowsprit sprung, 
 
 and her running gear in a knot; 
 And amid the sobs of her backers, Sir Robert 
 
 loosened her girth 
 And led her away to the knacker's. She had raced 
 
 her last on earth ! 
 
 But I mind me well of the tear that fell from the 
 
 eye of our noble Pr*nce, 
 And the things he said as he tucked me in bed 
 
 and I Ve lain there ever since ; 
 Tho' it all gets mixed up queerly that happened 
 
 before my spill, 
 But I draw my thousand yearly : it '11 pay for the 
 
 doctor's bill. 
 
 I 'm going out with the tide, lad you '11 dig me 
 
 a numble grave, 
 And whiles you will bring your bride, lad, and your 
 
 sons, if sons you have, 
 [182]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And there when the dews are weeping, and the 
 
 echoes murmur " Peace ! " 
 And the salt, salt tide comes creeping and covers 
 
 the popping-crease ; 
 
 In the hour when the ducks deposit their eggs with 
 
 a boasted force, 
 They '11 look and whisper " How was it ? " and 
 
 you '11 take them over the course, 
 And your voice will break as you try to speak of 
 
 the glorious first of June, 
 When the Jubilee Cup, with John Jones up, was 
 
 won upon Wooden Spoon. 
 
 Arthur T. Quiller-Coucb. 
 
 A SONG OF IMPOSSIBILITIES 
 
 LADY, I loved you all last year, 
 How honestly and well 
 Alas ! would weary you to hear, 
 And torture me to tell ; 
 I raved beneath the midnight sky, 
 
 I sang beneath the limes 
 Orlando in my lunacy, 
 
 And Petrarch in my rhymes. 
 But all is over ! When the sun 
 Dries up the boundless main, 
 When black is white, false-hearted one, 
 I may be yours again ! 
 C'83]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 When passion's early hopes and fears 
 
 Are not derided things ; 
 When truth is found in falling tears, 
 
 Or faith in golden rings ; 
 When the dark Fates that rule our way 
 
 Instruct me where they hide 
 One woman that would ne'er betray, 
 
 One friend that never lied ; 
 When summer shines without a cloud, 
 
 And bliss without a pain; 
 When worth is noticed in a crowd, 
 
 I may be yours again ! 
 
 When science pours the light of day 
 
 Upon the lords of lands ; 
 When Huskisson is heard to say 
 
 That Lethbridge understands ; 
 When wrinkles work their way in youth, 
 
 Or Eldon 's in a hurry ; 
 When lawyers represent the truth, 
 
 Or Mr. Sumner Surrey; 
 When aldermen taste eloquence 
 
 Or bricklayers champagne; 
 When common law is common sense, 
 
 I may be yours again ! 
 
 When learned judges play the beau, 
 
 Or learned pigs the tabor; 
 When traveller Bankes beats Cicero, 
 
 Or Mr. Bishop Weber; 
 When sinking funds discharge a debt, 
 
 Or female hands a bomb ; 
 [ 184]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 When bankrupts study the Gazette, 
 
 Or colleges Tom Thumb; 
 When little fishes learn to speak, 
 
 Or poets not to feign ; 
 When Dr. Geldart construes Greek, 
 
 I may be yours again ! 
 
 When Pole and Thornton honor cheques, 
 
 Or Mr. Const a rogue ; 
 When Jericho 's in Middlesex, 
 
 Or minuets in vogue ; 
 When Highgate goes to Devonport, 
 
 Or fashion to Guildhall ; 
 When argument is heard at Court, 
 
 Or Mr. Wynn at all ; 
 When Sydney Smith forgets to jest, 
 
 Or farmers to complain ; 
 When kings that are are not the best, 
 
 I may be yours again ! 
 
 When peers from telling money shrink, 
 
 Or monks from telling lies; 
 When hydrogen begins to sink, 
 
 Or Grecian scrip to rise; 
 When German poets cease to dream, 
 
 Americans to guess ; 
 When Freedom sheds her holy beam 
 
 On Negroes, and the Press ; 
 When there is any fear of Rome, 
 
 Or any hope of Spain ; 
 When Ireland is a happy home, 
 
 I may be yours again !
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 When you can cancel what has been, 
 
 Or alter what must be, 
 Or bring once more that vanished scene, 
 
 Those withered joys to me ; 
 When you can tune the broken lute, 
 
 Or deck the blighted wreath, 
 Or rear the garden's richest fruit, 
 
 Upon a blasted heath ; 
 When you can lure the wolf at bay 
 
 Back to his shattered chain, 
 To-day may then be yesterday 
 
 I may be yours again ! 
 
 W. M. Praed. 
 
 TRUST IN WOMEN 
 
 When these things following be done to our intent, 
 Then put women in trust and confident. 
 
 WHEN nettles in winter bring forth roses 
 red, 
 And all manner of thorn trees bear figs 
 
 naturally, 
 
 And geese bear pearls in every mead, 
 And laurel bear cherries abundantly, 
 And oaks bear dates very plenteously, 
 And kisks give of honey superfluence, 
 Then put women in trust and confidence. 
 [186]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 When box bear paper in every land and town, 
 And thistles bear berries in every place, 
 
 And pikes have naturally feathers in their crown, 
 And bulls of the sea sing a good bass, 
 And men be the ships fishes trace, 
 
 And in women be found no insipience, 
 
 Then put them in trust and confidence. 
 
 When whitings do walk forests to chase harts, 
 And herrings their horns in forests boldly blow, 
 
 And marmsets mourn in moors and lakes, 
 
 And gurnards shoot rooks out of a crossbow, 
 And goslings hunt the wolf to overthrow, 
 
 And sprats bear spears in armes of defence, 
 
 Then put women in trust and confidence. 
 
 When swine be cunning in all points of music, 
 And asses be doctors of every science, 
 
 And cats do heal men by practising of physic, 
 And buzzards to scripture give any credence, 
 And merchants buy with horn, instead of groats 
 and pence, 
 
 And pyes be made poets for their eloquence, 
 
 Then put women in trust and confideace. 
 
 When sparrows build churches on a height, 
 And wrens carry sacks unto the mill, 
 
 And curlews carry timber houses to dight, 
 And fomalls bear butter to market to sell, 
 And woodcocks bear woodknives cranes to kill, 
 
 And greenfinches to goslings do obedience, 
 
 Then put women in trust and confidence.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 When crows take salmon in woods and parks, 
 
 And be take with swifts and snails, 
 And camels in the air take swallows and larks, 
 
 And mice move mountains by wagging of their 
 tails, 
 
 And shipmen take a ride instead of sails, 
 And when wives to their husbands do no offence, 
 Then put women in trust and confidence. 
 
 When antelopes surmount eagles in flight, 
 
 And swans be swifter than hawks of the tower, 
 And wrens set gos-hawks by force and' might, 
 And muskets make verjuice of crabbes sour, 
 And ships sail on dry land, silt give flower, 
 And apes in Westminster give judgment and 
 
 sentence, 
 Then put women in trust and confidence. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 HERE IS THE TALE 
 
 AFTER RUDYARD KIPLING 
 
 Here is the tale and you must make the most of It f 
 Here is the rhyme ah, listen and attend ! 
 
 Backwards forwards read it all and boast of it 
 If you are anything the wiser at the end ! 
 
 NOW Jack looked up it was time to sup, 
 and the bucket was yet to fill, 
 And Jack looked round for a space and 
 frowned, then beckoned his SISK*- JU1, 
 [188]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And twice he pulled his sister's hair, and thrice he 
 
 smote her side ; 
 " Ha' done, ha' done with your impudent fun 
 
 ha' done with your games ! " she cried ; 
 " You have made mud-pies of a marvellous size 
 
 finger and face are black, 
 You have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay 
 
 now up and wash you, Jack ! 
 Or else, or ever we reach our home, there waiteth 
 
 an angry dame 
 Well you know the weight of her blow the 
 
 supperless open shame ! 
 Wash, if you will, on yonder hill wash, if you 
 
 will, at the spring, 
 Or keep your dirt, to your certain hurt, and an 
 
 imminent walloping ! " 
 
 " You must wash you must scrub you must 
 
 scrape ! " growled Jack, " you must traffic 
 
 with cans and pails, 
 Nor keep the spoil of the good brown soil in the 
 
 rim of your finger-nails ! 
 The morning path you must tread to your bath 
 
 you must wash ere the night descends, 
 And all for the cause of conventional laws and the 
 
 soapmakers' dividends ! 
 But if 't is sooth that our meal in truth depends on 
 
 our washing, Jill, 
 By the sacred right of our appetite haste haste 
 
 to the top of the hill ! " 
 [189]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 They have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay, 
 
 they have toiled and travelled far, 
 They have climbed to the brow of the hill-top now, 
 
 where the bubbling fountains are, 
 They have taken the bucket and filled it up yea, 
 
 filled it up to the brim; 
 But Jack he sneered at his sister Jill, and Jill she 
 
 jeered at him : 
 " What, blown already ! " Jack cried out (and his 
 
 was a biting mirth !) 
 " You boast indeed of your wonderful speed but 
 
 what is the boasting worth ? 
 Now, if you can run as the antelope runs, and if 
 
 you can turn like a hare, 
 Come, race me, Jill, to the foot of the hill and 
 
 prove your boasting fair ! " 
 
 " Race ? What is a race " (and a mocking face had 
 
 Jill as she spake the word) 
 " Unless for a prize the runner tries ? The truth 
 
 indeed ye heard, 
 For I can run as the antelope runs, and I can turn 
 
 like a hare : 
 The first one down wins half-a-crown and I will 
 
 race you there ! " 
 " Yea, if for the lesson that you will learn (the 
 
 lesson of humbled pride) 
 The price you fix at two-and-six, it shall not be 
 
 denied ; 
 Come, take your stand at my right hand, for here 
 
 is the mark we toe : 
 
 [ '9]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Now, are you ready, and are you steady ? Gird up 
 your petticoats ! Go ! " 
 
 And Jill she ran like a winging bolt, a bolt from 
 
 the bow released, 
 But Jack like a stream of the lightning gleam, with 
 
 its pathway duly greased ; 
 
 He ran down hill in front of Jill like a summer- 
 lightning flash 
 Till he suddenly tripped on a stone, or slipped, and 
 
 fell to the earth with a crash. 
 Then straight did rise on his wondering eyes the 
 
 constellations fair, 
 Arcturus and the Pleiades, the Greater and Lesser 
 
 Bear, 
 The swirling rain of a comet's train he saw, as he 
 
 swiftly fell 
 And Jill came tumbling after him with a loud 
 
 triumphant yell : 
 " You have won, you have won, the race is done ! 
 
 And as for the wager laid 
 You have fallen down with a broken crown the 
 
 half-crown debt is paid ! " 
 
 They have taken Jack to the room at the back 
 
 where the family medicines are, 
 And he lies in bed with a broken head in a halo of 
 
 vinegar ; 
 While, in that Jill had laughed her fill as her 
 
 brother fell to eaith, 
 She had felt the sting of a walloping she hath 
 
 paid the price of her mirth !
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Here is the tale and now you have the whole of it, 
 Here is the story well and wisely planned, 
 Beauty Duty these make up the soul of it 
 But, ah, my little readers, will you mark and under- 
 stand ? 
 
 Anthony C. Deane. 
 
 T 
 
 THE AULD WIFE 
 
 HE auld wife sat at her ivied door, 
 
 {Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) 
 A thing she had frequently done before ; 
 And her spectacles lay on her aproned knees. 
 
 The piper he piped on the hill-top high, 
 {Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) 
 
 Till the cow said " I die " and the goose asked 
 
 Why , " 
 And the dog said nothing, but searched for fleas. 
 
 The farmer he strode through the square farmyard ; 
 
 (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) 
 His last brew of ale was a trifle hard, 
 
 The connection of which with the plot one sees. 
 
 The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes, 
 (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) 
 
 She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies, 
 As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas. 
 [ '9 2 J
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The farmer's daughter hath ripe red lips ; 
 
 (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) 
 If you try to approach her, away she skips 
 
 Over tables and chairs with apparent ease. 
 
 The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair; 
 
 (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese} 
 And I met with a ballad, I can't say where, 
 
 Which wholly consisted of lines like these. 
 
 She sat with her hands 'neath her dimpled cheeks, 
 (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese} 
 
 And spake not a word. While a lady speaks 
 There is hope, but she did n't even sneeze. 
 
 She sat with her hands 'neath her crimson cheeks ; 
 
 (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese} 
 She gave up mending her father's breeks, 
 
 And let the cat roll in her best chemise. 
 
 She sat with her hands 'neath her burning cheeks 
 (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese}, 
 
 And gazed at the piper for thirteen weeks ; 
 
 Then she followed him out o'er the misty leas. 
 
 Her sheep followed her as their tails did them 
 (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese}* 
 
 And this song is considered a perfect gem, 
 And as to the meaning, it 's what you please. 
 
 Charles S. Calverley. 
 C '3] [ 193 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 NOT I 
 
 SOME like drink 
 In a pint pot, 
 Some like to think, 
 Some not. 
 
 Strong Dutch cheese, 
 
 Old Kentucky Rye, 
 Some like these ; 
 
 Not I. 
 
 Some like Poe, 
 
 And others like Scott ; 
 Some like Mrs. Stowe, 
 
 Some not. 
 
 Some like to laugh, 
 
 Some like to cry, 
 Some like to chaff; 
 
 Not I. 
 
 R. L. Stevenson 
 
 MINNIE AND WINNIE 
 
 MINNIE and Winnie 
 Slept in a shell. 
 Sleep, little ladies ! 
 And they slept well. 
 [ '94 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Pink was the shell within, 
 
 Silver without ; 
 Sounds of the great sea 
 
 Wandered about. 
 
 Sleep little ladies ! 
 
 Wake not soon ! 
 Echo on echo 
 
 Dies to the moon. 
 
 Two bright stars 
 
 Peep'd into the shell, 
 What are they dreaming of? 
 
 Who can tell ? 
 
 Started a green linnet 
 
 Out of the croft ; 
 Wake, little ladies, 
 
 The sun is aloft ! 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 THE MAYOR OF SCUTTLETON* 
 
 THE Mayor of Scuttleton burned his nose 
 Trying to warm his copper toes ; 
 He lost his money and spoiled^his will 
 By signing his name with an icicle quill ; 
 He went bareheaded, and held his breath, 
 And frightened his grandame most to death ; 
 He loaded a shovel and tried to shoot, 
 And killed the calf in the leg of his boot; 
 
 * From "Rhymes and Jingles," copyright, 1874, 1902, Charles 
 Scribner's Sons.
 
 He melted a snowbird and formed the habit 
 Of dancing jigs with a sad Welsh rabbit ; 
 He lived on taffy and taxed the town ; 
 And read his newspaper upside down ; 
 Then he sighed and hung his hat on a feather, 
 And bade the townspeople come together; 
 But the worst of it all was, nobody knew 
 What the Mayor of Scuttleton next would do. 
 
 Mary Mapes Dodge. 
 
 THE PURPLE COW* 
 
 I 
 
 NEVER saw a Purple Cow, 
 
 I never hope to see one ; 
 But I can tell you, anyhow, 
 I 'd rather see than be one. 
 
 Gelett Burgess. 
 
 THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE* 
 
 I 
 
 S D Never Dare to Walk across 
 A Bridge I Could Not See ; 
 For Quite afraid of Falling off, 
 I fear that I Should Be ! 
 
 Gelett Burgess. 
 
 * By permission of Gelett Burgess ; from " The Burgess Nonsense 
 Book," copyright, 1901. 
 
 [ '96]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE LAZY ROOF* 
 
 THE Roof it has a Lazy Time 
 A-lying in the Sun ; 
 The Walls they have to Hold Him Up ; 
 They do Not Have Much Fun ! 
 
 Gelett Burgess. 
 
 MY FEET' 
 
 MY feet, they haul me Round the House, 
 They Hoist me up the Stairs ; 
 I only have to Steer them and 
 They Ride me Everywheres. 
 
 Gelett Burgess. 
 
 THE HENt 
 
 ALAS ! my Child, where is the Pen 
 That can do Justice to the Hen ? 
 Like Royalty, She goes her way, 
 Laying foundations every day, 
 Though not for Public Buildings, yet 
 For Custard, Cake and Omelette. 
 
 * By permission of Gelett Burgess; from "The Burgess Nonsense 
 Book," copyright, 1901. 
 
 f By pmission of Oliver Herford ; from "More Animals," copy- 
 right, 1901. 
 
 [ 197]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Or if too Old for such a use 
 
 They have their Fling at some Abuse, 
 
 As when to Censure Plays Unfit 
 
 Upon the Stage they make a Hit, 
 
 Or at elections Seal the Fate 
 
 Of an Obnoxious Candidate. 
 
 No wonder, Child, we prize the Hen, 
 
 Whose Egg is Mightier than the Pen. 
 
 Oliver Herford. 
 
 THE COW* 
 
 THE Cow is too well known, I fear, 
 To need an introduction here. 
 If She should vanish from earth's face 
 It would be hard to fill her place ; 
 For with the Cow would disappear 
 So much that every one holds Dear. 
 Oh, think of all the Boots and Shoes, 
 Milk Punches, Gladstone Bags and Stews, 
 And Things too numerous to count, 
 Of which, my child, she is the Fount. 
 Let 's hope, at least, the Fount may last 
 Until our Generation 's past. 
 
 Oliver Herford. 
 
 * By permission of Oliver Herford ; from " More Animals," copy- 
 right, 1901. 
 
 [I 9 8]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 THE CHIMPANZEE* 
 
 /CHILDREN, behold the Chimpanzee: 
 
 He sits on the ancestral tree 
 ^""^ From which we sprang in ages gone. 
 I 'm glad we sprang : had we held on, 
 We might, for aught that I can say, 
 Be horrid Chimpanzees to-day. 
 
 Oliver Herford. 
 
 THE HIPPOPOTAMUS* 
 
 OH, say, what is this fearful, wild, 
 Incorrigible cuss?" 
 " This creature (don't say ' cuss,' my child ; 
 'T is slang) this creature fierce is styled 
 The Hippopotamus. 
 His curious name derives its source 
 From two Greek words : hippos a horse, 
 Potamos river. See ? 
 The river 's plain enough, of course ; 
 But why they called that thing a horse, 
 That 's what is Greek to me." 
 
 Oliver Herford. 
 
 THE PLATYPUS* 
 
 Y child, the Duck-billed Platypus 
 A sad example sets for us : 
 From him we learn how Indecision 
 Of character provokes Derision. 
 
 M' 
 
 * By permission of Oliver Herford; from " A Child's Primer of 
 Natural History," copyright, 1899. 
 
 [ '99 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 This vacillating Thing, you see, 
 
 Could not decide which he would be, 
 
 Fish, Flesh or Fowl, and chose all three. 
 
 The scientists were sorely vexed 
 
 To classify him ; so perplexed 
 
 Their brains, that they, with Rage at bay, 
 
 Called him a horrid name one day, 
 
 A name that baffles, frights and shocks us, 
 
 Ornithorhynchus Paradoxus. 
 
 Oliver Herford. 
 
 SOME GEESE* 
 
 EV-ER-Y child who has the use 
 Of his sen-ses knows a goose. 
 See them un-der-neath the tree 
 Gath-er round the goose-girl's knee, 
 While she reads them by the hour 
 From the works of Scho-pen-hau-er. 
 
 How pa-tient-ly the geese at-tend ! 
 But do they re-al-ly com-pre-hend 
 What Scho-pen-hau-er 's driv-ing at ? 
 Oh, not at all ; but what of that ? 
 Nei-ther do I ; nei-ther does she ; 
 And, for that mat-ter, nor does he. 
 
 Oliver Herford 
 
 * By permission of Oliver Herford ; from " A Child's Primer ol 
 Natural History," copyright, 1899. 
 
 [ 200 ]
 
 
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE FLAMINGO* 
 
 Inspired by reading a chorus of .spirits 
 in a German play 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 H ! tell me have you ever seen a red, long- 
 
 leg'd Flamingo ? 
 
 Oh ! tell me have you ever yet seen him the 
 water in go ? 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Oh ! yes at Bowling-Green I 've seen a red long- 
 
 leg'd Flamingo, 
 Oh ! yes at Bowling-Green I 've there seen him 
 
 the water in go. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Oh ! tell me did you ever see a bird so funny 
 
 stand-o 
 When forth he from the water comes and gets upon 
 
 the land-o ? 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 No ! in my life I ne'er did see a bird so funny 
 
 stand-o 
 When forth he from the water comes and gets upon 
 
 the land-o. 
 
 * By permission of D. Appleton & Co. 
 [201 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 He has a leg some three feet long, or near it, so 
 
 they say, Sir. 
 Stiff upon one alone he stands, t' other he stows 
 
 away, Sir. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 And what an ugly head he 's got ! I wonder that 
 
 he 'd wear it. 
 But rather more I wonder that his long, thin neck 
 
 can bear it. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 And think, this length of neck and legs (no doubt 
 
 they have their uses) 
 Are members of a little frame, much smaller than 
 
 a goose's ! 
 
 BOTH. 
 
 Oh ! is n't he a curious bird, that red, long-leg'd 
 
 Flamingo ? 
 ;\ water bird, a gawky bird, a sing'lar bird, by 
 
 jingo ! 
 
 Lewis Gaylord Clark.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 KINDNESS TO ANIMALS 
 
 SPEAK gently to the herring and kindly to the 
 calf, 
 Be blithesome with the bunny, at barnacles 
 
 don't laugh ! 
 
 Give nuts unto the monkey, and buns unto the bear, 
 Ne'er hint at currant jelly if you chance to see a 
 
 hare ! 
 Oh, little girls, pray hide your combs when tortoises 
 
 draw nigh, 
 
 And never in the hearing of a pigeon whisper Pie ! 
 But give the stranded jelly-fish a shove into the sea, 
 Be always kind to animals wherever you may be ! 
 
 Oh, make not game of sparrows, nor faces at the 
 
 ram, 
 And ne'er allude to mint sauce when calling on a 
 
 lamb. 
 Don't beard the thoughtful oyster, don't dare the 
 
 cod to crimp, 
 Don't cheat the pike, or ever try to pot the playful 
 
 shrimp. 
 Tread lightly on the turning worm, don't bruise 
 
 the butterfly, 
 Don't ridicule the wry-neck, nor sneer at salmon- 
 
 fry; 
 Oh, ne'er delight to make dogs fight, nor bantams 
 
 disagree, 
 Be always kind to animals wherever you may be !
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Be lenient with lobsters, and ever kind to crabs, 
 And be not disrespectful to cuttle-fish or dabs ; 
 Chase not the Cochin-China, chaff not the ox obese, 
 And babble not of feather-beds in company with 
 
 geese. 
 
 Be tender with the tadpole, and let the limpet thrive, 
 Be merciful to mussels, don't skin your eels alive ; 
 When talking to a turtle don't mention calipee 
 Be always kind to animals wherever you may be. 
 
 J. Ai hby-S 'terry. 
 
 SAGE COUNSEL 
 
 r I ^HE lion is the beast to fight, 
 He leaps along the plain, 
 And if you run with all your might, 
 He runs with all his mane. 
 
 I 'm glad I 'm not a Hottentot, 
 But if I were, with outward cal-lum 
 I 'd either faint upon the spot 
 Or hie me up a leafy pal-lum. 
 
 The chamois is the beast to hunt ; 
 
 He 's fleeter than the wind, 
 And when the chamois is in front, 
 The hunter is behind. 
 
 The Tyrolese make famous cheese 
 And hunt the chamois o'er the chaz-zums ; 
 I 'd choose the former if you please, 
 For precipices give me spaz-zums. 
 [204]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The polar bear will make a rug 
 Almost as white as snow ; 
 But if he gets you in his hug, 
 He rarely lets you go. 
 
 And Polar ice looks very nice, 
 With all the colors of a pris-sum ; 
 But, if you '11 follow my advice, 
 Stay home and learn your catechissum. 
 A. T, Qui/Ier- Couch. 
 
 OF BAITING THE LION* 
 
 REMEMBERING his taste for blood 
 You 'd better bait him with a cow ; 
 Persuade the brute to chew the cud 
 Her tail suspended from a bough ; 
 It thrills the lion through and through 
 To hear the milky creature moo. 
 
 Having arranged this simple ruse, 
 
 Yourself you climb a neighboring tree; 
 
 See to it that the spot vou choose 
 Commands the coming tragedy ; 
 
 Take up a smallish Maxim gun, 
 A search-light, whisky, and a bun. 
 
 It 's safer, too, to have your bike 
 
 Standing immediately below, 
 In case your piece should fail to strike, 
 
 Or deal an ineffective blow ; 
 
 * By permission of John Lane ; from " In Cap and Bells," copy- 
 right, 1899. 
 
 [205 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The Lion moves with perfect grace, 
 But cannot go the scorcher's pace. 
 
 Keep open ear for subtle signs ; 
 
 Thus, when the cow profusely moans, 
 That means to say, the Lion dines. 
 
 The crunching sound, of course, is bones ; 
 Silence resumes her ancient reign 
 
 This shows the cow is out of pain. 
 
 But when a fat and torpid hum 
 Escapes the eater's unctuous nose, 
 
 Turn up the light and let it come 
 Full on his innocent repose ; 
 
 Then pour your shot between his eyes, 
 And go on pouring till he dies. 
 
 Play, even so, discretion's part ; 
 
 Descend with stealth ; bring on your gun ; 
 Then lay your hand above his heart 
 
 To see if he is really done ; 
 Don't skin him till you know he 's dead 
 
 Or you may perish in his stead ! 
 
 Years hence, at home, when talk is tall, 
 You '11 set the gun-room wide agape, 
 
 Describing how with just a small 
 Pea-rifle, going after ape 
 
 You met a Lion unaware, 
 
 And felled him flying through the air. 
 
 Owen Seaman. 
 [ 206 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE FROG 
 
 BE kind and tender to the Frog, 
 And do not call him names, 
 As " Slimy-Skin," or " Polly-wog," 
 Or likewise, " Uncle James," 
 Or "Gape-a-grin," or u Toad-gone-wrong," 
 
 Or " Billy-Bandy-knees ; " 
 The Frog is justly sensitive 
 To epithets like these. 
 
 No animal will more repay 
 
 A treatment kind and fair, 
 At least, so lonely people say 
 Who keep a frog (and, by the way, 
 
 They are extremely rare). 
 
 Hilaire Belloc. 
 
 A 
 
 THE YAK 
 
 S a friend to the children commend me the yak, 
 
 You will find it exactly the thing : 
 It will carry and fetch, you can ride on its 
 
 back, 
 Or lead it about with a string. 
 
 A Tartar who dwells on the plains of Thibet 
 
 (A desolate region of snow) 
 Has for centuries made it a nursery pet, 
 
 And surely the Tartar should know !
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Then tell your papa where the Yak can be got, 
 
 And if he is awfully rich, 
 He will buy you the creature or else he will not, 
 
 (I cannot be positive which). 
 
 Hilaire Belloc. 
 
 A 
 
 THE PYTHON 
 
 PYTHON I should not advise, 
 It needs a doctor for its eyes, 
 And has the measles yearly. 
 
 However, if you feel inclined 
 
 To get one (to improve your mind, 
 
 And not from fashion merely), 
 Allow no music near its cage ; 
 And when it flies into a rage 
 
 Chastise it most severely. 
 
 I had an Aunt in Yucatan 
 
 Who bought a Python from a man 
 
 And kept it for a pet. 
 She died because she never knew 
 These simple little rules and few ; 
 
 The snake is living yet. 
 
 Hilaire Belloc. 
 [.08]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE BISON 
 
 f I ARE Bison is vain, and (I write it with pain) 
 
 The Door-mat you see on his head 
 Is not, as some learned professors maintain, 
 The opulent growth of a genius' brain ; 
 But is sewn on with needle and thread. 
 
 Hilaire Belloc. 
 
 THE PANTHER 
 
 BE kind to the panther ! for when thou wert 
 young, 
 In thy country far over the sea, 
 'T was a panther ate up thy papa and mamma, 
 And had several mouthfuls of thee ! 
 
 Be kind to the badger ! for who shall decide 
 
 The depths of his badgerly soul ? 
 And think of the tapir when flashes the lamp 
 
 O'er the fast and the free-flowing bowl. 
 
 Be kind to the camel ! nor let word of thine 
 
 Ever put up his bactrian back ; 
 And cherish the she-kangaroo with her bag, 
 
 Nor venture to give her the sack. 
 
 Be kind to the ostrich ! for how canst thou hope 
 
 To have such a stomach as it ? 
 And when the proud day of your bridal shall come, 
 
 Do give the poor birdie a bit. 
 [ H J [ 209 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Be kind to the walrus ! nor ever forget 
 
 To have it on Tuesday to tea -, 
 But butter the crumpets on only one side, 
 
 Save such as are eaten by thee. 
 
 Be kind to the bison ! and let the jackal 
 In the light of thy love have a share ; 
 
 And coax the ichneumon to grow a new tail, 
 And have lots of larks in its lair. 
 
 Be kind to the bustard ! that genial bird, 
 And humor its wishes and ways ; 
 
 And when the poor elephant suffers from bile, 
 Then tenderly lace up his stays ! 
 
 Anonymoii 
 
 THE MONKEY'S GLUE 
 
 WHEN the monkey in his madness 
 Took the glue to mend his voice, 
 'T was the crawfish showed his sadness 
 That the bluebird could rejoice. 
 
 Then the perspicacious parrot 
 
 Sought to save the suicide 
 By administering carrot, 
 
 But the monkey merely died. 
 
 So the crawfish and the parrot 
 
 Sauntered slowly toward the sea, 
 While the bluebird stole the carrot 
 
 And returned the glue to me. 
 
 Gold-win Goldsmith.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THERE WAS A FROG 
 
 r 1 ^HERE was a frog swum in the lake, 
 The crab came crawling by : 
 " Wilt them," coth the frog, " be my make ? " 
 
 Coth the crab, " No, not I." 
 " My skin is sooth and dappled fine, 
 
 I can leap far and nigh. 
 Thy shell is hard : so is not mine." 
 
 Coth the crab, " No, not I." 
 " Tell me," then spake the crab, " therefore, 
 
 Or else I thee defy : 
 Give me thy claw, I ask no more." 
 
 Coth the frog, " That will I." 
 The crab bit off the frog's fore-feet; 
 
 The frog then he must die. 
 To woo a crab it is not meet : 
 
 If any do, it is not I. 
 
 From Christ Church MS., I. 
 
 THE BLOATED BIGGABOON 
 
 r I "\HE bloated Biggaboon 
 
 Was so haughty, he would not repose 
 In a house, or a hall, or ces choses, 
 But he slept his high sleep in his clothes 
 'Neath the moon. 
 
 [211]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The bloated Biggaboon 
 Pour'd contempt upon waistcoat and skirt, 
 Holding swallow-tails even as dirt 
 So he puft'd himself out in his shirt, 
 
 Like a b'loon. 
 
 H. Cbolmondeley-Pennell. 
 
 
 
 N 
 
 WILD FLOWERS* 
 
 F what are you afraid, my child ? " inquired 
 
 the kindly teacher. 
 
 Oh, sir ! the flowers, they are wild," 
 replied the timid creature. 
 
 Peter Newell. 
 
 TIMID HORTENSE* 
 
 OW, if the fish will only bite, we '11 have some 
 
 royal fun." 
 
 " And do fish bite ? The horrid things ! 
 Indeed, I '11 not catch one ! " 
 
 Peter Newell. 
 
 HER POLKA DOTS* 
 
 SHE played upon her music-box a fancy air by 
 chance, 
 And straightway all her polka-dots began a 
 lively dance. 
 
 Peter Newell. 
 
 * By permission of Harper & Brothers ; from " Pictures and 
 Rhymes," copyright, 1900. 
 
 [212]
 
 A 
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 HER DAIRY* 
 
 MILKWEED, and a buttercup, and cow- 
 slip," said sweet Mary, 
 " Are growing in my garden-plot, and this 
 I call my dairy." 
 
 Peter Newell. 
 
 TURVEY TOP 
 
 'fT~> WAS after a supper of Norfolk brawn 
 
 That into a doze I chanced to drop, 
 And thence awoke in the gray of dawn, 
 In the wonder-land of Turvey Top. 
 
 A land so strange I never had seen, 
 
 And could not choose but look and laugh 
 
 A land where the small the great includes, 
 And the whole is less than the half! 
 
 A land where the circles were not lines 
 Round central points, as schoolmen show, 
 
 And the parallels met whenever they chose, 
 And went playing at touch-and-go ! 
 
 There except that every round was square 
 And save that all the squares were rounds 
 
 No surface had limits anywhere, 
 
 So they never could beat the bounds. 
 
 * By permission of Harper & Brothers; from " Pictures and 
 Rhymes," copyright, 1900.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 In their gardens, fruit before blossom came, 
 And the trees diminished as they grew ; 
 
 And you never went out to walk a mile, 
 'T was the mile that walked to you. 
 
 The people there are not tall or short, 
 
 Heavy or light, or stout or thin, 
 And their lives begin where they should leave off, 
 
 Or leave off where they should begin. 
 
 There childhood, with naught of childish glee, 
 Looks on the world with thoughtful brow ; 
 
 'T is only the aged who laugh and crow, 
 And cry, " We have done with it now ! " 
 
 A singular race ! what lives they spent ! 
 
 Got up before they went to bed ! 
 And never a man said what he meant, 
 
 Or a woman meant what she said. 
 
 They blended colours that will not blend, 
 All hideous contrasts voted sweet j 
 
 In yellow and red their Quakers dress'd, 
 And considered it rather neat. 
 
 They did n't believe in the wise and good, 
 Said the best were worst, the wisest fools ; 
 
 And 't was only to have their teachers taught 
 That they founded national schools.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 They read in " books that are no books," 
 Their classics chess-boards neatly bound; 
 
 Those their greatest authors who never wrote, 
 And their deepest the least profound. 
 
 Now, such were the folks of that wonder-land, 
 A curious people, as you will own ; 
 
 But are there none of the race abroad, 
 Are no specimens elsewhere known ? 
 
 Well, I think that he whose views of life 
 Are crooked, wrong, perverse, and odd, 
 
 Who looks upon all with jaundiced eyes 
 Sees himself and believes it God, 
 
 Who sneers at the good, and makes the ill, 
 
 Curses a world he cannot mend ; 
 Who measures life by the rule of wrong 
 
 And abuses its aim and end, 
 
 The man who stays when he ought to move, 
 And only goes when he ought to stop 
 
 Is strangely like the folk in my dream, 
 And would flourish in Turvey Top. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 WHAT THE PRINCE OF I DREAM I 
 
 I 
 
 DREAMT it ! such a funny thing 
 
 And now it 's taken wing ; 
 I s'pose no man before or since 
 Dreamt such a funny thing ?
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 It had a Dragon ; with a tail \ 
 A tail both long and slim, 
 
 And ev'ry day he wagg'd at it 
 How good it was of him 1 
 
 And so to him the tailest 
 Of all three-tailed Bashaws, 
 
 Suggested that for reasons 
 The waggling should pause; 
 
 And held his tail which, parting, 
 Reversed that Bashaw, which 
 
 Reversed that Dragon, who reversed 
 Himself into a ditch. 
 
 It had a monkey in a trap 
 
 Suspended by the tail : 
 Oh ! but that monkey look'd distress^ 
 
 And his countenance was pale. 
 
 And he had danced and dangled there; 
 
 Till he grew very mad : 
 For his tail it was a handsome tail 
 
 And the trap had pinched it bad. 
 
 The trapper sat below, and grinn'd ; 
 
 His victim's wrath wax'd hot : 
 He bit his tail in two and fell 
 
 And killed him on the spot. 
 
 [216]
 
 It had a pig a stately pig ; 
 
 With curly tail and quaint : 
 And the Great Mogul had hold of that 
 
 Till he was like to faint. 
 
 So twenty thousand Chinamen, 
 With three tails each at least, 
 
 Came up to help the Great Mogul, 
 And took him round the waist. 
 
 And so, the tail slipp'd through his hands ; 
 
 And so it came to pass, 
 That twenty thousand Chinamen 
 
 Sat down upon the grass. 
 
 It had a Khan a Tartar Khan 
 
 With tail superb, I wis; 
 And that fell graceful down a back 
 
 Which was considered his. 
 
 Wherefore all sorts of boys that were 
 
 Accursed, swung by it ; 
 Till he grew savage in his mind 
 
 And vex'd, above a bit : 
 
 And so he swept his tail, as one 
 Awak'ning from a dream ; 
 
 And those abominable ones 
 Flew off into the stream.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Likewise they hobbled up and down, 
 
 Like many apples there ; 
 Till they subsided and became 
 
 Amongst the things that were. 
 
 And so it had a moral too, 
 
 That would be bad to lose; 
 " Whoever takes a Tail in hand 
 
 Should mind his p's and queues." 
 
 I dreamt it ! such a funny thing ! 
 
 And now it 's taken wing ; 
 I s'pose no man before or since 
 
 Dreamt such a funny thing ? 
 
 H. Cholmondeley-Pennell. 
 
 THE DINKEY-BIRD* 
 
 IN an ocean, 'way out yonder 
 (As all sapient people know), 
 Is the land of Wonder- Wander, 
 Whither children love to go ; 
 It 's their playing, romping, swinging, 
 
 That give great joy to me 
 While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing 
 In the Amfalula-tree ! 
 
 There the gum-drops grow like cherries, 
 
 And taffy's thick as peas, 
 Caramels you pick like berries 
 
 When, and where, and how you please : 
 
 * From " Poems of Childhood," copyright, 1892, by Mary French 
 Field j 1894 by Eugene Field. 
 
 [218]
 
 Big red sugar-plums are clinging 
 To the cliffs beside that sea 
 
 Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing 
 In the Amfalula-tree. 
 
 So when children shout and scamper 
 
 And make merry all the day, 
 When there 's naught to put a damper 
 
 To the ardor of their play ; 
 When I hear their laughter ringing, 
 
 Then I 'm sure as sure can be 
 That the Dinkey-Bird is singing 
 
 In the Amfalula-tree. 
 
 For the Dinkey-Bird's bravuras 
 
 And staccatos are so sweet 
 His roulades, appogiaturas, 
 
 And robustos so complete, 
 That the youth of every nation 
 
 Be they near or far away 
 Have especial delectation 
 
 In that gladsome roundelay. 
 
 Their eyes grow bright and brighter, 
 
 Their lungs begin to crow, 
 Their hearts get light and lighter, 
 
 And their cheeks are all aglow ; 
 For an echo cometh bringing 
 
 The news to all and me. 
 That the Dinkey-Bird is singing 
 
 In the Amfalula-tree. 
 [ 219 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 I 'm sure you 'd like to go there 
 
 To see your feathered friend 
 And so many goodies grow there 
 
 You would like to comprehend ! 
 Speed, little dreams, your winging 
 
 To that land across the sea 
 Where the Dickey-Bird is singing 
 
 In the Amf alula- Tree ! 
 
 Eugene Field. 
 
 SAID the Raggedy Man on a hot afternoon, 
 "My! 
 Sakes ! 
 
 What a lot o' mistakes 
 
 Some little folks makes on the Man in the Moon I 
 But people that 's been up to see him like Me, 
 And calls on him frequent and intimutly, 
 Might drop a few hints that would interest you 
 Clean ! ' 
 
 Through ! 
 
 If you wanted 'em to 
 Some actual facts that might interest you ! 
 
 " O the Man in the Moon has a crick in his back ; 
 Whee ! 
 
 Whimm ! 
 
 Ain't you sorry for him ? 
 And a mole on his nose that is purple and black; 
 
 * By permission of the author; from "Rhymes of Childhood," 
 copyright, 1890, 1898. 
 
 [ 220 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And his eyes are so weak that they water and ru., 
 If he dares to dream even he looks at the sun, 
 So he jes' dreams of stars, as the doctors advise 
 My! 
 
 Eyes ! 
 
 But isn't he wise 
 To jes' dream of stars, as the doctors advise ? 
 
 " And the Man in the Moon has a boil on his eai - 
 Whee! 
 
 Whing ! 
 
 What a singular thing ! 
 
 I know ! but these facts are authentic, my dear, . 
 There 's a boil on his ear ; and a corn on his chin, 
 He calls it a dimple, but dimples stick in, 
 Yet it might be a dimple turned over, you know ! 
 Whang ! 
 Ho! 
 
 Why certainly so ! 
 It might be a dimple turned over, you know ! 
 
 " And the Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee, 
 Gee! 
 
 Whizz ! 
 
 What a pity that is ! 
 And his toes have worked round where his heels 
 
 ought to be. 
 
 So whenever he wants to go North he goes South, 
 And comes back with the porridge crumbs all round 
 his mouth, 
 
 [ 221 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan, 
 Whing! 
 
 Whann ! 
 
 What a marvellous man ! 
 What a very remarkably marvellous man ! 
 
 " And the Man in the Moon," sighed the Raggedy 
 
 Man, 
 "Gits! 
 So! 
 
 Sullonesome, you know ! 
 Up there by himself since creation began ! 
 That when I call on him and then come away, 
 He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay, 
 Till well, if it was n't for 'Jimmy-cum-'Jim, 
 Dadd! 
 
 Limb! 
 
 I 'd go pardners with him ! 
 Jes' jump my bob here and be pardners with him ! " 
 
 James Whit comb Ri/ey. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE WILD 
 HUNTSMAN 
 
 THIS is the Wild Huntsman that shoots the 
 hares ; 
 With the grass-green coat he always wears ; 
 With game-bag, powder-horn and gun, 
 He 's going out to have some fun. 
 He finds it hard without a pair 
 Of spectacles, to shoot the hare. 
 [ 222 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 He put his spectacles upon his nose, and said, 
 
 " Now I will shoot the hares and kill them 
 
 dead." 
 
 The hare sits snug in leaves and grass, 
 And laughs to see the green man pass. 
 Now as the sun grew very hot, 
 And he a heavy gun had got, 
 He lay down underneath a tree 
 And went to sleep as you may see. 
 And, while he slept like any top, 
 The little hare came, hop, hop, hop, 
 Took gun and spectacles, and then 
 Softly on tiptoe went off again. 
 The green man wakes, and sees her place 
 The spectacles upon her face. 
 She pointed the gun at the hunter's heart, 
 Who jumped up at once with a start. 
 He cries, and screams, and runs away. 
 u Help me, good people, help ! I pray." 
 At last he stumbled at the well, 
 Head over ears, and in he fell. 
 The hare stopped short, took aim, and hark ! 
 Bang went the gun ! she missed her mark ! 
 The poor man's wife was drinking up 
 Her coffee in her coffee-cup ; 
 The gun shot cup and saucer through ; 
 " Oh dear ! " cried she, what shall I do ? ' 
 Hiding close by the cottage there, 
 Was the hare's own child, the little hare. 
 When he heard the shot he quickly arose, 
 And while he stood upon his toes, 
 The coffee fell and burned his nose j 
 [ 223 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 " Oh dear," he cried, " what burns me so ? " 
 And held up the spoon with his little toe. 
 
 Dr. Heinricb Hoffman. 
 
 THE STORY OF PYRAMID 
 THOTHMES 
 
 /T~^HOTHMES, who loved a pyramid, 
 And dreamed of wonders that it hid, 
 Took up again one afternoon, 
 His longest staff, his sandal shoon, 
 His evening meal, his pilgrim flask, 
 And set himself at length the task, 
 Scorning the smaller and the small, 
 To climb the highest one of all. 
 
 The sun was very hot indeed, 
 Yet Thothmes never slacked his speed 
 Until upon the topmost stone 
 He lightly sat him down alone 
 To make himself some pleasant cheer 
 And turned to take his flask of beer, 
 For he was weary and athirst. 
 Forth from the neck the stopper burst 
 And rudely waked the sleeping dead. 
 In terror guilty Thothmes fled 
 As rose majestic, wroth and slow, 
 The Pharaoh's Ka of long ago. 
 " Help ! help ! " he cried, " or I am lost ! 
 Oh ! save me from old Pharaoh's ghost ! " 
 [ 224 ]
 
 Till, uttering one fearful yell, 
 He stumbled at the base and fell 
 Where Anubis was at his side, 
 And, by the god of death, he died. 
 
 The wife of Thothmes learned his tale 
 First from the " Memphis Evening Mail," 
 And called her son, and told their woe ; 
 " Alas ! " said she, " I told him so ! 
 Oh, think upon these awful things 
 And mount not on the graves of kings ! 
 A pyramid is strange to see, 
 Though only at its base you be." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THE STORY OF CRUEL PSAMTEK 
 
 HERE is cruel Psamtek, see. 
 Such a wicked boy was he ! 
 Chased the ibis round about, 
 Plucked its longest feathers out, 
 Stamped upon the sacred scarab 
 Like an unbelieving Arab, 
 Put the dog and cat to pain, 
 Making them to howl again. 
 Only think what he would do 
 Tease the awful Apis too ! 
 Basking by the sacred Nile 
 Lay the trusting crocodile ; 
 Cruel Psamtek crept around him, 
 Laughed to think how he had found him, 
 [15] [225]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 With his pincers seized his tail, 
 Made the holy one to wail ; 
 Till a priest of Isis came, 
 Called the wicked boy by name, 
 Shut him in a pyramid, 
 Where his punishment was hid. 
 But the crocodile the while 
 Bore the pincers up the Nile 
 Here the scribe who taught him letters, 
 And respect for all his betters, 
 Gave him many a heavy task, 
 Horrid medicines from a flask, 
 While on bread and water, too, 
 Bitter penance must he do. 
 
 The Crocodile is blythe and gay, 
 With friends and family at play, 
 And cries, " O blessed Land of Nile, 
 Where sacred is the crocodile, 
 Where no ill deed unpunished goes, 
 And man himself rewards our foes ! " 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THE CUMBERBUNCE 
 
 I STROLLED beside the shining sea, 
 I was as lonely as could be ; 
 No one to cheer me in my walk 
 But stones and sand, which cannot talk 
 Sand and stones and bits of shell, 
 Which never have a thing to tell. 
 
 By permission of Life Publishing Co. ; from "Life," copyright. 
 [226]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 But as I sauntered by the tide 
 I saw a something at my side, 
 A something green, and blue, and pink, 
 And brown, and purple, too, I think. 
 I would not say how large it was ; 
 I would not venture that, because 
 It took me rather by surprise, 
 And I have not the best of eyes. 
 
 Should you compare it to a cat, 
 I 'd say it was as large as that ; 
 Or should you ask me if the thing 
 Was smaller than a sparrow's wing, 
 I should be apt to think you knew, 
 And simply answer, " Very true ! " 
 
 Well, as I looked upon the thing, 
 It murmured, " Please, sir, can I sing ? " 
 And then I knew its name at once 
 It plainly was a Cumberbunce. 
 
 You are amazed that I could tell 
 
 The creature's name so quickly ? Well, 
 
 I knew it was not a paper-doll, 
 
 A pencil or a parasol, 
 
 A tennis-racket or a cheese, 
 
 And, as it was not one of these, 
 
 And I am not a perfect dunce 
 
 It had to be a Cumberbunce!
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 With pleading voice and tearful eye 
 
 It seemed as though about to cry. 
 
 It looked so pitiful and sad 
 
 It made me feel extremely bad. 
 
 My heart was softened to the thing 
 
 That asked me if it, please, could sing. 
 
 Its little hand I longed to shake, 
 
 But, oh, it had no hand to take ! 
 
 I bent and drew the creature near, 
 
 And whispered in its pale blue ear, 
 
 " What ! Sing, my Cumberbunce ? You can ! 
 
 Sing on, sing loudly, little man ! " 
 
 The Cumberbunce, without ado, 
 Gazed sadly on the ocean blue, 
 And, lifting up its little head, 
 In tones of awful longing, said : 
 
 " Oh, I would sing of mackerel skies, 
 
 And why the sea is wet, 
 Of jelly-fish and conger-eels, 
 
 And things that I forget. 
 And I would hum a plaintive tune 
 
 Of why the waves are hot 
 As water boiling on a stove, 
 
 Excepting that they 're not ! 
 
 " And I would sing of hooks and eyes, 
 
 And why the sea is slant, 
 And gayly tips the little ships, 
 
 Excepting that I can't ! 
 [ 22 8]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 I never sang a single song, 
 
 I never hummed a note. 
 There is in me no melody, 
 
 No music in my throat. 
 
 " So that is why I do not sing 
 
 Of sharks, or whales, or anything ! " 
 
 I looked in innocent surprise, 
 
 My wonder showing in my eyes. 
 
 41 Then why, O, Cumberbunce," I cried, 
 
 " Did you come walking at my side 
 
 And ask me if you, please, might sing, 
 
 When you could not warble anything ? " 
 
 " I did not ask permission, sir, 
 
 I really did not, I aver. 
 
 You, sir, misunderstood me, quite. 
 
 I did not ask you if I might. 
 
 Had you correctly understood, 
 
 You 'd know I asked you if I could. 
 
 So, as I cannot sing a song, 
 
 Your answer, it is plain, was wrong. 
 
 The fact I could not sing I knew, 
 
 But wanted your opinion, too." 
 
 A voice came softly o'er the lea. 
 
 " Farewell ! my mate is calling me ! " 
 
 I saw the creature disappear, 
 Its voice, in parting, smote my ear 
 " I thought all people understood 
 The difference 'twixt ' might ' and c could ' ! " 
 
 Paul West. 
 [ 229]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE AHKOND OF SWAT 
 
 w 
 
 HO, or why, or which, or what, 
 
 Is the Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Is he tall or short, or dark or fair ? 
 Does he sit on a stool or sofa or chair, or Squat, 
 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Is he wise or foolish, young or old ? 
 Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold, or Hot, 
 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk, 
 And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk, 
 
 or Trot, 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Does he wear a turban, a fez or a hat ? 
 Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed or a mat, 
 
 or a Cot, 
 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 
 
 When he writes a copy in round-hand size, 
 Does he cross his t's and finish his i's 
 
 with a Dot, 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Can he write a letter concisely clear, 
 Without a speck or a smudge or smear or Blot, 
 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 [ 230]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Do his people like him extremely well ? 
 Or do they, whenever they can, rebel, or Plot, 
 
 At the Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 If he catches them tnen, either old or young, 
 Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung, 
 
 or Shot, 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Do his people prig in the lanes or park ? 
 Or even at times, when days are dark, Garotte ? 
 Oh, the Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Does he study the wants of his own dominion ? 
 Or does n't he care for public opinion a Jot, 
 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 To amuse his mind do his people show him 
 Pictures, or any one's last new poem, or What, 
 For the Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 At night if he suddenly screams and wakes, 
 Do they bring him only a few small cakes, 
 
 or a Lot, 
 For the Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Does he live on turnips, tea or tripe, 
 Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe 
 
 or a Dot, 
 The Ahkond of Swat ?
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Does he like to lie on his back in a boat 
 Like the lady who lived in that isle remote, 
 
 Shalott. 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Is he quiet, or always making a fuss ? 
 
 Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ, 
 
 or a Scot, 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave ? 
 Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave, 
 
 or a Grott, 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Does he drink small beer from a silver jug ? 
 Or a bowl ? or a glass ? or a cup ? or a mug ? 
 
 or a Pot, 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe, 
 When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe, 
 
 or Rot, 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Does he wear a white tie when he dines with his 
 
 friends, 
 
 And tie it neat in a bow with ends, or a Knot, 
 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 [ 232 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies ? 
 When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes, 
 
 or Not, 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake ? 
 Does he sail about on an inland lake, 
 
 in a Yacht, 
 The Ahkond of Swat ? 
 
 Some one, or nobody knows I wot 
 Who or which or why or what 
 
 Is the Ahkond of Swat ! 
 
 Edward Lear. 
 
 A THRENODY 
 
 WHAT, what, what, 
 What 's the news from Swat ? 
 Sad news, 
 Bad news, 
 
 Comes by the cable led 
 Through the Indian Ocean's bed, 
 Through the Persian Gulf, the Red 
 Sea and the Med- 
 iterranean he 's dead ; 
 The Ahkoond is dead ! 
 [233]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 For the Ahkoond I mourn, 
 
 Who would n't ? 
 He strove to disregard the message stern, 
 
 But he Ahkood n't. 
 Dead, dead, dead ; 
 
 (Sorrow Swats !) 
 
 Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled, 
 Swats whom he hath often led 
 Onward to a gory bed, 
 
 Or to Victory, 
 
 As the case might be, 
 Sorrow Swats ! 
 
 Tears shed, 
 
 Tears shed like water, 
 Your great Ahkoond is dead ! 
 
 That Swats the matter ! 
 
 Mourn, city of Swat ! 
 Your great Ahkoond is not, 
 But lain 'mid worms to rot. 
 His mortal part alone, his soul was caught 
 (Because he was a good Ahkoond) 
 Up to the bosom of Mahound. 
 Though earthly walls his frame surround 
 (Forever hallowed be the ground ! ) 
 And sceptics mock the lowly mound 
 And say " He 's now of no Ahkoond ! " 
 
 His soul is in the skies 
 The azure skies that bend above his loved 
 Metropolis of Swat. 
 [ 2 34]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 He sees with larger, other eyes, 
 Athwart all earthly mysteries 
 He knows what 's Swat. 
 
 Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond 
 
 With a noise of mourning and of lamentation ! 
 Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond 
 
 With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish 
 
 nation ! 
 
 Fallen is at length 
 Its tower of strength, 
 Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned ; 
 Dead lies the great Ahkoond, 
 
 The great Ahkoond of Swat 
 Is not ! 
 
 George Thomas Lanigan, 
 
 DIRGE OF THE MOOLLA 
 OF KOTAL 
 
 Rival of the Akhoond of Swat 
 
 ALAS, unhappy land ; ill-fated spot 
 Kotal though where or what 
 On earth Kotal is, the bard has forgot ; 
 Further than this indeed he knoweth not 
 It borders upon Swat ! 
 
 [235]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 ii 
 
 When sorrows come, they come not single spies, 
 
 But in battal- 
 ions : the gloom that lay on Swat now lies 
 
 Upon Kotal, 
 
 On sad Kotal, whose people ululate 
 P'or their loved Moolla late. 
 Put away his little turban, 
 And his narghileh embrowned, 
 The lord of Kotal rural urban 
 'S gone unto his last Akhoond, 
 'S gone to meet his rival Swattan, 
 'S gone, indeed, but not forgotten. 
 
 in 
 
 His rival, but in what ? 
 
 Wherein did the deceased Akhoond of Swat 
 
 Kotal's lamented Moolla late, 
 
 As it were, emulate ? 
 
 Was it in the tented field 
 
 With crash of sword on shield, 
 
 While backward meaner champions reeled 
 
 And loud the tom-tom pealed ? 
 
 Did they barter gash for scar 
 
 With the Persian scimetar 
 
 Or the Afghanistee tulwar, 
 
 While loud the tom-tom pealed 
 
 While loud the tom-tom pealed, 
 
 And the jim-jam squealed, 
 
 And champions less well heeled 
 
 Their war-horses wheeled 
 
 [236]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 And fled the presence of these mortal big bugs o' 
 
 the field ? 
 
 Was Kotal's proud citadel 
 Bastioned, and demi-luned, 
 Beaten down with shot and shell 
 By the guns of the Akhoond ? 
 Or were wails despairing caught, as 
 The burghers pale of Swat 
 Cried in panic, " Moolla ad Portas " ? 
 
 Or what ? 
 
 Or made each in the cabinet his mark 
 Kotalese GortschakofF, Swattish Bismarck ? 
 Did they explain and render hazier 
 The policies of Central Asia ? 
 Did they with speeches from the throne, 
 
 Wars dynastic, 
 Ententes cordiales, 
 Between Swat and Kotal; 
 Holy alliances, 
 And other appliances 
 Of statesmen with morals and consciences 
 
 plastic 
 
 Come by much more than their own ? 
 Made they mots, as " There to-day are 
 No more Himalayehs," 
 Or, if you prefer it, "There to-day are 
 No more Himalaya " ? 
 Or, said the Akhoond, u Sah, 
 L'fitat de Swat c'est moi " ? 
 Khabu, did there come great fe>- 
 On thy Khabuldozed Ameer 
 
 Ali Shere ? 
 
 [237]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Or did the Khan of far 
 
 Kashgar 
 
 Tremble at the menace hot 
 OftheMoollaof Kotal, 
 " I will extirpate thee, pal 
 Of my foe the Akhoond of Swat " ? 
 
 Who knows 
 
 Of Moolla and Akhoond aught more than I did ? 
 Namely, in life they rivals were, or foes, 
 And in their deaths not very much divided ? 
 If any one knows it, 
 Let him disclose it ! 
 
 George Thomas Lanigan. 
 
 RUSSIAN AND TURK 
 
 r I ^HERE was a Russian came over the sea, 
 Just when the war was growing hot j 
 And his name it was Tjalikavakaree- 
 Karindobrolikanahudarot- 
 Shibkadirova- 
 Ivarditztova 
 Sanilik 
 Danerik 
 Varagobhot. 
 
 A Turk was standing upon the shore- 
 Right where the terrible Russian crossed, 
 
 And he cried : "Bismillah ! I 'm Ab-El Kor- 
 Bazarou-Kilgonautosgobross-
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Getfinpravadi- 
 Kligekoladji 
 Grivino 
 Blivido- 
 Jenikodosk ! 
 
 So they stood like brave men long and well ; 
 
 And they called each other their proper names, 
 Till the lockjaw seized them, and where they fell 
 They buried them both by the Irdesholmmes 
 Kalatalustchuk 
 Mischtaribusiclup- 
 Bulgari- 
 Dulbary- 
 Sagharimsing. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 LINES TO MISS FLORENCE 
 HUNTINGDON 
 
 SWEET maiden of Passamaquoddy, 
 Shall we seek for commui.ion of souls 
 Where the deep Mississippi meanders, 
 Or the distant Saskatchewan rolls ? 
 
 Ah no, for in Maine I will find thee 
 
 A sweetly sequestrated nook, 
 Where the far-winding Skoodoowabskooksis 
 
 Conjoins with the Skoodoowabskook. 
 [ 239]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 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 
 
 In geography, atlas, or book, 
 How fair is the Skoodoowabskooksis, 
 
 When joining the Skoodoowabskook ! 
 
 Our cot shall be close by the waters 
 Within that sequestrated nook 
 
 Reflected in Skoodoowabskooksis 
 And mirrored in Skoodoowabskook. 
 
 You shall sleep to the music of leaflets, 
 By zephyrs in wantonness shook, 
 
 And dream of the Skoodoowabskooksis, 
 And, perhaps, of the Skoodoowabskook. 
 
 When awaked by the hens and the roosters, 
 Each morn, you shall joyously look 
 
 On the junction of Skoodoowabskooksis 
 With the soft gliding Skoodoowabskook. 
 
 Your food shall be fish from the waters, 
 Drawn forth on the point of a hook, 
 
 From murmuring Skoodoowabskooksis, 
 Or wandering Skoodoowabskook ! 
 [ 240]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Vou shall quaff the most sparkling of water, 
 Drawn forth from a silvery brook 
 
 Which flows to the Skoodoowabskooksis, 
 And then to the Skoodoowabskook ! 
 
 And you shall preside at the banquet, 
 
 And I will wait on thee as cook ; 
 And we '11 talk of the Skoodoowabskooksis, 
 
 And sing of the Skoodoowabskook ! 
 
 Let others sing loudly of Saco, 
 Of Quoddy, and Tattamagouche, 
 
 Of Kennebeccasis, and Quaco, 
 Of iMerigonishe, and Buctouche, 
 
 Of Nashwaak, and Magaguadavique, 
 
 Or Memmerimammericook, 
 There 's none like the Skoodoowabskooksis, 
 
 Excepting the Skoodoowabskook ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 COBBE'S PROPHECIES 
 
 WHEN the day and the night do meete 
 And the houses are even with the streete : 
 And the fire and the water agree, 
 And blinde men have power to see : 
 When the Wolf and the Lambe lie down togither, 
 And the blasted trees will not wither : 
 When the flood and the ebbe run one way, 
 And the Sunne and the Moone are at a stay ; 
 [' fi ] [241]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 When Age and Youth are all one, 
 And the Miller creepes through the Mill-stone: 
 When the Ram butts the Butcher on the head, 
 And the living are buried with the dead. 
 When the Cobler doth worke without his ends, 
 And the Cutpurse and the Hangman are friends: 
 Strange things will then be to see, 
 But I think it will never be ! 
 
 1614. 
 
 AN UNSUSPECTED FACT 
 
 IF down his throat a man should choose 
 In fun, to jump or slide, 
 He 'd scrape his shoes against his teeth, 
 Nor dirt his own inside. 
 But if his teeth were lost and gone, 
 And not a stump to scrape upon, 
 He 'd see at once how very pat 
 His tongue lay there by way of mat, 
 And he would wipe his feet on that! 
 
 Edward Cannon. 
 
 THE SORROWS OF WERTHER 
 
 WERTHER had a love for Charlotte 
 Such as words could never utter ; 
 Would you know how first he met her? 
 She was cutting bread and butter. 
 [242 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Charlotte was a married lady, 
 And a moral man was Werther, 
 
 And for all the wealth of Indies, 
 Would do nothing for to hurt her. 
 
 So he sigh'd and pined and ogled, 
 And his passion boil'd and bubbled, 
 
 Till he blew his silly brains out, 
 And no more was by it troubled. 
 
 Charlotte, having seen his body 
 Borne before her on a shutter, 
 
 Like a well-conducted person, 
 
 Went on cutting bread and butter. 
 
 W. M. Thackeray. 
 
 NONSENSE VERSES 
 
 LAZY-BONES, lazy-bones, wake up and peep ! 
 The cat's in the cupboard, your mother's 
 asleep. 
 
 There you sit snoring, forgetting her ills ; 
 Who is to give her her Bolus and Pills ? 
 Twenty fine Angels must come into town, 
 All for to help you to make your new gown : 
 Dainty aerial Spinsters and Singers ; 
 Are n't you ashamed to employ such white fingers ? 
 Delicate hands, unaccustom'd to reels, 
 To set 'em working a poor body's wheels ? 
 Why they came down is to me all a riddle, 
 And left Hallelujah broke off in the middle :
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Jove's Court, and the Presence angelical, cut 
 To eke out the work of a lazy young slut. 
 Angel-duck, Angel-duck, winged and silly, 
 Pouring a watering-pot over a lily, 
 Gardener gratuitous, careless of pelf, 
 Leave her to water her lily herself, 
 Or to neglect it to death if she chuse it : 
 Remember the loss is her own if she lose it. 
 
 Charles Lamb. 
 
 THE NOBLE TUCK-MAN 
 
 AMERICUS, as he did wend 
 With A. J. Mortimer, his chum, 
 The two were greeted by a friend, 
 " And how are you, boys, Hi, Ho, Hum ? " 
 
 He spread a note so crisp, so neat 
 (Ho, and Hi, and tender Hum), 
 
 " If you of this a fifth can eat 
 
 I '11 give you the remainder. Come ! " 
 
 To the tuck-shop three repair, 
 (Ho, and Hum, and pensive Hi), 
 
 One looks on to see all 's fair, 
 Two call out for hot mince-pie. 
 
 Thirteen tarts, a few Bath buns 
 (Hi, and Hum, and gorgeous Ho), 
 
 Lobster cakes (the butter'd ones), 
 All at once they cry, " No go." 
 
 r 244]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Then doth tuck-man smile. " Them there 
 
 (Ho, and Hi, and futile Hum) 
 fellies three and sixpence air, 
 
 Use of spoons an equal sum." 
 
 Three are rich. Sweet task 't is o'er, 
 " Tuckman, you 're a brick," they cry, 
 
 Wildly then shake hands all four 
 (Hum and Ho, the end is Hi). 
 
 Jean Inge low. 
 
 THE PESSIMIST* 
 
 NOTHING to do but work, 
 Nothing to eat but food, 
 Nothing to wear but clothes 
 To keep one from going nude. 
 
 Nothing to breathe but air, 
 Quick as a flash 't is gone ; 
 
 Nowhere to fall but off, 
 Nowhere to stand but on. 
 
 Nothing to comb but hair, 
 Nowhere to sleep but in bed, 
 
 Nothing to weep but tears, 
 Nothing to bury but dead. 
 
 * By permission of Forbes & Co. ; from "Ben King's Verses,' 
 copyright, 1894, 1898. 
 
 [245]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Nothing to sing but songs, 
 
 Ah, well, alas ! alack ! 
 Nowhere to go but out, 
 
 Nowhere to come but back. 
 
 Nothing to see but sights, 
 
 Nothing to quench but thirst, 
 
 Nothing to have but what we've got ; 
 Thus thro' life we are cursed. 
 
 Nothing to strike but a gait ; 
 
 Everything moves that goes. 
 Nothing at all but common sense 
 
 Can ever withstand these woes. 
 
 Ben King. 
 
 THE MODERN HIAWATHA 
 
 HE killed the noble Mudjokivis. 
 Of the skin he made him mittens, 
 Made them with the fur side inside, 
 Made them with the skin side outside. 
 He, to get the warm side inside, 
 Put the inside skin side outside ; 
 He, to get the cold side outside, 
 Put the warm side fur side inside. 
 That 's why he put the fur side inside, 
 Why he put the skin side outside, 
 Why he turned them inside outside. 
 
 Anonymsus. 
 [246]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 SAID Folly to Wisdom, 
 " Pray, where are we going ? " 
 Said Wisdom to Folly, 
 " There 's no way of knowing." 
 
 Said Folly to Wisdom, 
 
 " Then what shall we do ? " 
 
 Said Wisdom to Folly, 
 " I thought to ask you." 
 
 Tudor Jenks. 
 
 UNCLE SIMON AND UNCLE JIM 
 
 UNCLE Simon he 
 Clum up a tree 
 To see what he could sec 
 When presentlee 
 Uncle Jim 
 
 Clum up beside of him 
 And squatted down by he. 
 
 Artemus Ward. 
 
 POOR DEAR GRANDPAPA 
 
 w 
 
 HAT is the matter with Grandpapa ? 
 
 What can the matter be ? 
 He 's broken his leg in trying to spell 
 Tommy without a T. 
 
 D' 4rcy W, Thompson. 
 
 * By permission of the author. 
 [247]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE SEA-SERPENT 
 
 ALL bones but yours will rattle when I say 
 I 'm the sea-serpent from America. 
 Mayhap you 've heard that I 've been round 
 
 the world ; 
 
 I guess I 'm round it now, Mister, twice curled. 
 Of all the monsters through the deep that splash, 
 I 'm " number one " to all immortal smash. 
 When I lie down and would my length unroll, 
 There ar' n't half room enough 'twixt pole and 
 
 pole. 
 
 In short, I grow so long that I 've a notion 
 I must be measured soon for a new ocean. 
 
 Plancbe. 
 
 I AM a peevish student, I ; 
 My star is gone from yonder sky. 
 I think it went so high at first 
 That it just went and gone and burst. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THE MONKEY'S WEDDING 
 
 THE monkey married the Baboon's sister, 
 Smacked his lips and then he kissed her, 
 He kissed so hard he raised a blister. 
 She set up a yell
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 The bridesmaid stuck on some court plaster, 
 It stuck so fast it could n't stick faster, 
 Surely 't was a sad disaster, 
 But it soon got well. 
 
 What do you think the bride was dressed in ? 
 White gauze veil and a green glass breast-pin, 
 Red kid shoes she was quite interesting, 
 
 She was quite a belle. 
 
 The bridegroom swell'd with a blue shirt collar^ 
 Black silk stock that cost a dollar, 
 Large false whiskers the fashion to follow ; 
 
 He cut a monstrous swell. 
 
 What do you think they had for supper ? 
 Black-eyed peas and bread and butter, 
 Ducks in the duck-house all in a flutter, 
 
 Pickled oysters too. 
 Chestnuts raw and boil'd and roasted, 
 Apples sliced and onions toasted, 
 Music in the corner posted, 
 
 Waiting for the cue. 
 
 What do you think was the tune they danced to ? 
 " The drunken Sailor" sometimes "Jim Crow," 
 Tails in the way and some got pinched, too, 
 
 'Cause they were too long. 
 What do you think they had for a fiddle ? 
 An old Banjo with a hole in the middle, 
 A Tambourine made out of a riddle, 
 
 And that 's the end of my song. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 [ 2 49]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 MR. FINNEY'S TURNIP 
 
 MR. FINNEY had a turnip 
 And it grew and it grew ; 
 And it grew behind the barn, 
 And that turnip did no harm. 
 
 There it grew and it grew 
 Till it could grow no longer j 
 
 Then his daughter Lizzie picked it 
 And put it in the cellar. 
 
 There it lay and it lay 
 
 Till it began to rot ; 
 And his daughter Susie took it 
 
 And put it in the pot. 
 
 And they boiled it and boiled it 
 
 As long as they were able, 
 And then his daughters took it 
 
 And put it on the table. 
 
 Mr. Finney and his wife 
 
 They sat down to sup ; 
 And they ate and they ate 
 
 And they ate that turnip up. 
 
 Anonymous.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE SUN 
 
 Sun, yon glorious orb of day, 
 Ninety-four million miles away, 
 Will keep revolving in its orbit 
 Till heat and motion reabsorb it. 
 
 J. Davis. 
 
 THE AUTUMN LEAVES 
 
 Autumn leaves are falling, 
 Are falling here and there. 
 They 're falling through the atmosphere 
 And also through the air. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 IN THE NIGHT 
 
 HE night was growing old 
 
 As she trudged through snow and sleet ; 
 Her nose was long and cold, 
 And her shoes were full of feet. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 T 
 
 POOR BROTHER 
 
 OW very sad it is to think 
 
 Our poor benighted brother 
 Should have his head upon one end, 
 His feet upon the other. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 H
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THE BOY* 
 
 DOWN through the snow-drifts in the street 
 With blustering joy he steers ; 
 His rubber boots are full of feet 
 And his tippet full of ears. 
 
 Eugene Field. 
 
 THE SEA 
 
 BEHOLD the wonders of the mighty deep, 
 Where crabs and lobsters learn to creep, 
 And little fishes learn to swim, 
 And clumsy sailors tumble in. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL 
 
 was a little girl, 
 And she had a little curl 
 
 Right in the middle of her forehead. 
 When she was good 
 She was very, very good, 
 
 And when she was bad she was horrid. 
 
 One day she went upstairs, 
 When her parents, unawares, 
 
 In the kitchen were occupied with meals 
 And she stood upon her head 
 In her little trundle-bed, 
 
 And then began hooraying with her heels. 
 
 * From " Sharps and Flats," copyright, 1900, by Julia Sutherland 
 Field.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Her mother heard the noise, 
 And she thought it was the boys 
 
 A-playing at a combat in the attic ; 
 But when she climbed the stair, 
 And found Jemima there, 
 
 She took and she did spank her most emphatic. 
 
 H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 FIN DE SIECLE 
 
 HE sorry world is sighing now ; 
 
 T_ _ 
 La Grippe is at the door; 
 And many folks are dying now 
 Who never died before. 
 
 Newton Mackintosh. 
 
 MARY JANE 
 
 MARY JANE was a farmer's daughter, 
 Mary Jane did what she oughter. 
 She fell in love but all in vain; 
 Oh, poor Mary ! oh, poor Jane! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 TENDER-HEARTEDNESS * 
 
 T ITTLE Willie, in the best of sashes, 
 
 Fell in the fire and was burned to ashes. 
 ^-^ By and by the room grew chilly, 
 But no one liked to poke up Willie. 
 
 Col. D. Streamer. 
 
 * By permission of R. H. Russell ; from " Ruthless Rhymes for 
 Heartless Homes," copyright, 1901. 
 
 [ 253] 
 
 I/
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 IMPETUOUS SAMUEL* 
 
 s 
 
 AM had spirits naught could check, 
 
 And to-day, at breakfast, he 
 Broke his baby sister's neck, 
 So he sha'n't have jam for tea ! 
 
 Col. D. Streamer. 
 
 MISFORTUNES NEVER COME 
 SINGLY * 
 
 MAKING toast at the fireside, 
 Nurse fell in the grate and died; 
 And, what makes it ten times worse, 
 All the toast was burned with Nurse. 
 
 Col. D. Streamer. 
 
 I 
 
 AUNT ELIZA* 
 
 N the drinking-well 
 
 (Which the plumber built her) 
 Aunt Eliza fell, 
 We must buy a filter. 
 
 Col. D. Streamer. 
 
 SUSAN 
 
 SUSAN poisoned her grandmother's tea ; 
 Grandmamma died in agonee. 
 Susan's papa was greatly vexed, 
 And he said to Susan, " My dear, what next ? " 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 * By permission of R. H. Russell ; from "Ruthless Rhymes fo* 
 Heartless Homes," copyright, 1901. 
 
 [254]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 BABY AND MARY 
 
 BABY sat on the window-seat ; 
 Mary pushed Baby into the street ; 
 Baby's brains were dashed out in the " arey," 
 And mother held up her forefinger at Mary. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THE SUNBEAM 
 
 I DINED with a friend in the East, one day, 
 Who had no window-sashes ; 
 A sunbeam through the window came 
 And burnt his wife to ashes. 
 '" John, sweep your mistress away," said he, 
 " 4 And bring fresh wine for my friend and me." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 LITTLE WILLIE 
 
 LITTLE Willie hung his sister, 
 She was dead before we missed her. 
 " Willie 's always up to tricks ! 
 Ain't he cute ? He 's only six ! " 
 
 Anonymous. 
 [255]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 MARY AMES 
 
 PITY now poor Mary Ames, 
 Blinded by her brother James; 
 Red-hot nails in her eyes he poked, 
 I never saw Mary more provoked. 
 
 Anonymous, 
 
 MUDDLED METAPHORS 
 
 By a Moore- os e Melodist 
 
 
 
 H, ever thus from childhood's hour, 
 
 I 've seen my fondest hopes recede ! 
 I never loved a tree or flower 
 That did n't trump its partner's lead. 
 
 I never nursed a dear gazelle, 
 
 To glad me with its dappled hide, 
 
 But when it came to know me well, 
 It fell upon the buttered side. 
 
 I never taught a cockatoo 
 
 To whistle comic songs profound, 
 But, just when " Jolly Dogs " it knew, 
 
 It failed for ninepence in the pound. 
 
 I never reared a walrus cub 
 In my aquarium to plunge, 
 
 But, when it learned to love its tub, 
 It placidly threw up the sponge ! 
 [256]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 I never strove a metaphor 
 
 Xo every bosom home to bring 
 But just as it had reached the door 
 
 It went and cut a pigeon's wing ! 
 
 Tom Hood, Jr. 
 
 VILLON'S STRAIGHT TIP TO 
 ALL CROSS COVES 
 
 " Tout aux tav ernes et aux fielh " 
 
 you screeve ? or go cheap-jack ? 
 Or fake the broads ? or fig a nag ? 
 Or thimble-rig ? or knap a yack ? 
 Or pitch a snide ? or smash a rag ? 
 Suppose you duff? or nose and lag? 
 Or get the straight, and land your pot ? 
 
 How do you melt the multy swag ? 
 Booze and the blowens cop the lot. 
 
 Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack ; 
 
 Or moskeneer, or flash the drag ; 
 Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack ; 
 
 Pad with a slang, or chuck a fag ; 
 
 Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag; 
 Rattle the tats, or mark the spot ; 
 
 You cannot bag a single stag; 
 Booze and the blowens cop the lot. 
 
 C'7] [2 57 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Suppose you try a different tack, 
 
 And on the square you flash your flag? 
 At penny-a-lining make your whack, 
 
 Or with the mummers mug and gag ? 
 
 For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag ! 
 At any graft, no matter what, 
 
 Your merry goblins soon stravag : 
 Booze and the blowens cop the lot. 
 
 THE MORAL 
 
 It 's up the spout and Charley Wag 
 With wipes and tickers and what not 
 
 Until the squeezer nips your scrag, 
 Booze and the blowens cop the lot. 
 
 W. E. Henley. 
 
 ODE TO THE HUMAN HEART 
 
 BLIND Thamyris, and blind Maeonides, 
 Pursue the triumph and partake the gale ! 
 Drop tears as fast as the Arabian trees, 
 To point a moral or adorn a tale. 
 
 Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 
 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears, 
 
 Like angels' visits, few and far between, 
 Deck the long vista of departed years. 
 [258]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Man never is, but always to be bless'd ; 
 
 The tenth transmitter of a foolish face, 
 Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest, 
 
 And makes a sunshine in the shady place. 
 
 For man the hermit sigh'd, till woman smiled, 
 To waft a feather or to drown a fly, 
 
 (In wit a man, simplicity a child,) 
 
 With silent finger pointing to the sky. 
 
 But fools rush in where angels fear to tread, 
 Far out amid the melancholy main ; 
 
 As when a vulture on Imaus bred, 
 Dies of a rose in aromatic pain. 
 
 Laman Bfarcbard. 
 
 C 2 59]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 LIMERICKS 
 
 r 1 ^HERE was an old person of Ware 
 Who rode on the back of a bear; 
 
 When they said, " Does it trot ? " 
 He said : " Certainly not, 
 I" 's a Moppsikon Floppsikon bear." 
 
 THERE was an old person of Wick, 
 Who said, " Tick-a-Tick, Tick-a-Tick, 
 v^nickabee, Chickabaw," 
 And he said nothing more, 
 This laconic old person of Wick. 
 
 THERE was an old person of Woking, 
 Whose mind was perverse and provoking ; 
 
 He sate on a rail, 
 
 With his head in a pail, 
 That illusive old person of Woking. 
 
 THERE was once a man with a beard 
 Who said, " It is just as I feared ! 
 Two Owls and a Hen, 
 Four Larks and a Wren 
 Have all built their nests in my beard." 
 [ 260]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THERE was an old man of Thermopylae, 
 Who never did anything properly ; 
 
 But they said : " If you choose 
 
 To boil eggs in your shoes, 
 Vou cannot remain in Thermopylae." 
 
 THERE was an Old Man who said, " Hush ! 
 I perceive a young bird in this bush ! " 
 
 When they said, " Is it small ? " 
 
 He replied, " Not at all ; 
 It is four times as big as the bush ! " 
 
 THERE was an Old Man who supposed 
 That the street door was partially closed ; 
 
 But some very large Rats 
 
 Ate his coats and his hats, 
 While that futile Old Gentleman dozed. 
 
 THERE was an Old Man of Leghorn, 
 The smallest that ever was born ; 
 
 But quickly snapt up he 
 
 Was once by a Puppy, 
 Who devoured that Old Man of Leghorn. 
 
 THERE was an Old Man of Kamschatka 
 Who possessed a remarkably fat Cur; 
 His gait and his waddle 
 Were held as a model 
 To all the fat dogs in Kamschatka. 
 
 Edward Lear. 
 [26!]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 [From books printed for the benefit of the New York 
 Fair in aid of the Sanitary Commission, 1864] 
 
 THERE was a gay damsel of Lynn, 
 Whose waist was so charmingly thin, 
 The dressmaker needed 
 A microscope she did 
 To fit this slim person of Lynn. 
 
 THERE was a young lady of Milton, 
 Who was highly disgusted with Stilton ; 
 When offered a bite, 
 She said, " Not a mite ! " 
 That suggestive young lady of Milton. 
 
 THERE was a dear lady of Eden, 
 
 Who on apples was quite fond of feedin' ; 
 
 She gave one to Adam, 
 
 Who said, " Thank you, Madam," 
 And then both skedaddled from Eden. 
 
 THERE was a young lady of Wales, 
 Who wore her back hair in two tails; 
 And a hat on her head 
 That was striped black and red, 
 And studded with ten-penny nails. 
 [262]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THERE was an old man who said, " Do 
 Tell me how I 'm to add two and two ? 
 
 I 'm not very sure 
 
 That it does n't make four 
 But I fear that is almost too few." 
 
 THERE once was a man who said, " How 
 Shall I manage to carry my cow ? 
 
 For if I should ask it 
 
 To get in my basket, 
 'T would make such a terrible row." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 THERE once was an old man of Lyme 
 Who married three wives at a time; 
 When asked, " Why a third ? " 
 He replied, " One 's absurd ! 
 And bigamy, sir, is a crime." 
 
 THERE once was a person of Benin, 
 Who wore clothes not fit to be seen in ; 
 When told that he should n't, 
 He replied, "Gumscrumrudent ! " 
 A word of inscrutable meanin'. 
 [263]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THERE once was a girl of New York 
 Whose body was lighter than cork ; 
 
 She had to be fed 
 
 For six weeks upon lead, 
 Before she went out for a walk. 
 
 Cosmo Monkhouse. 
 
 was a young man who was bitten 
 By twenty-two cats and a kitten ; 
 Sighed he, " It is clear 
 My finish is near; 
 No matter ; I '11 die like a Briton ! " 
 
 THERE was a princess of Bengal, 
 Whose mouth was exceedingly small; 
 
 Said she, " It would be 
 
 More easy for me 
 To do without eating at all ! " 
 
 THERE was an old stupid who wrote 
 The verses above that we quote; 
 
 His want of all sense 
 
 Was something immense, 
 Which made him a person of note. 
 
 Walter Parke 
 [264]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 VERS NONSENSIQUES 
 
 A POTSDAM, les totaux absteneurs, 
 Comme tant d'autres titotalleurs, 
 Sont gloutons, omnivores, 
 Nasorubicolores, 
 Grands manchons, et terribles duffeurs. 
 
 Un vieux due (le meilleur des epoux) 
 Demandait (en lui tatant le pouls) 
 
 A sa vielle duchesse 
 
 (Qu'un vieux catarrhe oppresse) : . 
 " Et ton the, t'a-t-il ote ta toux ? " 
 
 II naquit pres de Choisy-le-Roi ; 
 
 Le Latin lui causait de I'effroi ; 
 Et les Mathematiques 
 Lui donnaient des coliques, 
 
 Et le Grec 1'enrhumait. Ce fut moi. 
 
 II etait un gendarme, a Nanteuil, 
 Qui n'avait qu'une dent et qu'un oeil ; 
 
 Mais cet oeil solitaire 
 
 Etait plein de mystere ; 
 Cette dent, d'importance et d'orgueil. 
 
 " Cassez-vous, cassez-vous, cassez-vous, 
 O mer, sur vos froids gris calloux ! " 
 
 Ainsi traduisit Laure 
 
 Au profit d'Isadore 
 
 (Bon jeune homme, at son futur epoux.) 
 [265]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Un marin naufrage (de Doncastre) 
 Pour priere, au milieu du desastre 
 
 Repetait a genoux 
 
 Ces mots simples et doux : 
 41 Scintillez, scintillez, petit astre ! " 
 
 George du Maurier. 
 
 r\ "VHERE was a young man of Cohoes,* 
 Wore tar on the end of his nose ; 
 
 When asked why he done it, 
 
 He said for the fun it 
 Afforded the men of Cohoes. 
 
 Robert J. Burdette. 
 
 I'D rather have habits than clothes, 
 For that 's where my intellect shows. 
 And as for my hair, 
 Do you think I should care 
 To comb it at night with my toes ? 
 
 I WISH that my Room had a Floor; 
 I don't so much care for a Door, 
 But this walking around 
 Without touching the ground 
 Is getting to be quite a bore ! 
 
 Gelett Burgess 
 * By permission of the author.
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 HWAS an indigent Hen, 
 Who picked up a corn now and then ; 
 She had but one leg 
 On which she could peg, 
 And behind her left ear was a wen. 
 
 Bruce Porter. 
 
 CLEOPATRA, who thought they maligned 
 her, 
 Resolved to reform and be kinder; 
 " If, when pettish," she said, 
 "I should knock off your head, 
 Won't you give me some gentle remirlder ? " 
 
 Newton Mackintosh. 
 
 WHEN that Seint George hadde sleyne ye 
 draggon, 
 He sate him down furninst a flaggon; 
 And, wit ye well, 
 Within a spell 
 He had a bien plaisaunt jag on. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 [ 2 6 7 ]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 THERE was a young lady of Niger 
 Who smiled as she rode on a Tiger; 
 They came back from the ride 
 With the lady inside, 
 And the smile on the face of the Tiger. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 r 1 AHERE was a young maid who said, " Why 
 Can't I look in my ear with my eye? 
 If I give my mind to it, 
 I 'm sure I can do it, 
 You never can tell till you try." 
 
 dnonynotu. 
 
 [268]
 
 INDEX OF TITLES
 
 INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 ABSTEMIA Gelett Burgess . . 3! 
 
 Abstrosophy Gelett Burgess . . 37 
 
 Estivation O. W. Holmes . . 136 
 
 Ahkond of Swat, The . . Edward Lear . . 230 
 
 Alone 40 
 
 As with my Hat upon my 
 
 Head Dr. Johnson . . . xxx 
 
 Auld Wife, The . . . . C. S. Cal-verley . . 192 
 
 Aunt Eliza Col. D. Streamer . . 254 
 
 Autumn Leaves, The 251 
 
 BABY AND MARY 255 
 
 Ballade of the Nurserie . . Jo/in Twig ... 60 
 
 Ballad of Bedlam 24 
 
 Ballad of High Endeavor, A 62 
 
 Ballad with an Ancient Refrain 65 
 
 Bison, The Hilaire Belloc . . 209 
 
 Bloated Biggaboon, The . . H. Cholmondeley-Pennell 2 1 1 
 
 Blue Moonshine Francis G. Stokes . . 46 
 
 Boy, The Eugene Field . . . 252 
 
 Bulbul, The O-iven Seaman . . 6? 
 
 Buz, quoth the Blue Fly . . Ben Jonson ... 66 
 
 CENTIPEDE, A xxxi 
 
 Chimpanzee, The .... Oliver Herford . . 199 
 
 Chronicle, A 155 
 
 Classic Ode, A Charles Battell Loom is 45 
 
 Cobbe's Prophecies 241 
 
 Cock and the Bull, The . . C. S. Calverley . . 165 
 Collusion between a Alegaiter 
 
 and a Water-Snaik . . J. IV. Morris. . . 143 
 
 Companions C. S. Calverley . . 163
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Cossimbazar 
 
 Henry S. Leigh 
 
 43 
 
 Cow, The 
 
 Oliver Herford . 
 
 198 
 
 Cruise of the "P. C.", The . 
 
 
 
 *3 
 
 Cumberbunce, The 
 
 Paul West . . . 
 
 . 226 
 
 DARWINITY Herman Merivale . 31 
 
 Dinkey-Bird, The .... Eugene Field . . . 218 
 
 Dirge of the Moolhi of Kotal George T. Lanigan 235 
 
 ELDERLY GENTLEMAN, THE . George Canning . . 134. 
 Elegy on the Death of a Mad 
 
 Dog Oliver Goldsmith . 151 
 
 Elegy on Madam Blaize . . Oliver Goldsmith . 149 
 
 FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY . . Thomas Hood . . . 131 
 Famous Ballad of the Jubilee 
 
 Cup, The A. T. >uilier-Couch . 175 
 
 Father William 22 
 
 Ferdinando and Elvira . . . W. S. Gilbert . . . 160 
 
 Fin de Siecle Newton Mackintosh . 253 
 
 Flamingo, The Lewis Gaylord Clark 201 
 
 Forcing a Way 54 
 
 Frangipanni 51 
 
 Frog, The Hilaire Eelloc . . 207 
 
 GENERAL JOHN W. S. Gilbert . . . 112 
 
 Gentle Alice Brown . . . W. S. Gilbert . . . 102 
 
 Great Man, A Oliver Goldsmith . 148 
 
 Guinea Pig, The 68 
 
 HEN, THE Oliver Herford . . 197 
 
 Her Dairy Peter Newell . . . 213 
 
 Here is the Tale .... Anthony C. Deane . 188 
 Her Polka Dots .... Peter Newell . . . 212 
 Higher Pantheism in a Nut- 
 shell, The A. C. Swinburne . 30 
 
 Hippopotamus, The . . . Oliver Herford . . 199 
 
 Holiday Task, A .... Gilbert Abbott a Becket 137 
 
 Hunting of the Snark, The . Lewis Carroll . . 97
 
 Index of Titles 
 
 Hyder iddle diddle dell 73 
 
 Hymn to the Sunrise . 25 
 
 IF 70 
 
 If Half the Road xxxiii 
 
 If a Man who Turnips Cries . Dr. Johnson . . . xxxi 
 
 I Love to Stand xxxiii 
 
 Imitation of Wordsworth . . Catharine M. Fans/ia-ive 173 
 
 Impetuous Samuel .... Col. D. Streamer . . 254 
 Incidents in the Life of my 
 
 Uncle Arly .... Edward Lear . 86 
 
 Indifference 42 
 
 In Immemorian Cuthbert Bede . 29 
 
 In the Dumps 74 
 
 In the Gloaming . . . . James C. Bayles . 23 
 
 In the Night 251 
 
 Invisible Bridge, The . . . Gelett Burgess . . 196 
 
 JABBERWOCKY Lenuis Carroll . . 3 
 
 John Jones A. C. Sivinburne . 57 
 
 Jumblies, The Ediuard Lear . . . 83 
 
 KEN YE AUGHT o' CAPTAIN 
 
 GROSE Robert Burns ... 73 
 
 Kindness to Animals . J. Ashby-Sterry . . 203 
 
 King Arthur . 73 
 
 LAYE OF YE WOODPECKORE, 
 
 YE Henry A. Beers . . 139 
 
 Lazy Roof, The .... Gelett Burgess . . . 197 
 
 Like to the Thundering Tone Bishop Corbet . . 27 
 LIMERICKS: 
 
 Cleopatra, who thought they 
 
 maligned her . . . Newton Mackintosh , 267 
 
 H was an indigent Hen . Bruce Porter . . . 267 
 I 'd rather have habits than 
 
 clothes Gelett Burgess . .266 
 
 I wish that my room had a 
 
 door Gelett Burgess . . 266 
 
 There once was a girl of New 
 
 York Cosmo Monkhouse . 264 
 
 [>] [273]
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 LIMERICKS Continued 
 
 There once was a man who 
 
 said " How " 163 
 
 There once was an old man 
 
 of Lyme .... Cosmo Monkhouse . 263 
 There once was a person of 
 
 Benin Cosmo Monkhouse . . 263 
 
 There was a dear lady of 
 
 Eden 262 
 
 There was a gay damsel of 
 
 Lynn 262 
 
 There was an old man in a 
 
 tree Edward Lear . . xxx 
 
 There was an Old Man of 
 
 Kamschatka . . . Edward Lear . . 261 
 There was an Old Man of 
 
 Leghorn .... Edward Lear . . 261 
 There was an old man of St. 
 
 Bees W. S. Gilbert ... xxx 
 
 There was an old man of 
 
 Thermopylae . . . Edward Lear . . 261 
 There was an old man who 
 
 said "Do" 263 
 
 There was an Old Man who 
 
 said "Hush" . . . Edward Lear . . 261 
 There was an Old Man who 
 
 supposed .... Edward Lear . . 261 
 There was an old person of 
 
 Ware Edward Lear . . 260 
 
 There was an old person of 
 
 Wick Edward Lear . . 260 
 
 There was an old person of 
 
 Woking .... Edward Lear . . 260 
 There was an old stupid 
 
 who wrote .... Walter Parke . 264 
 
 There was once a man with 
 
 a beard Edward Lear . . . 260 
 
 There was a princess of 
 
 Bengal Walter Parke . . . 264
 
 Index of Titles 
 
 LIMERICKS Continued 
 
 There was a small boy of 
 
 Quebec Rudyard Kipling . . xxxii 
 
 There was a young lady of 
 
 Milton 262 
 
 There was a young lady of 
 
 Niger 268 
 
 There was a young lady of 
 
 Wales 262 
 
 There was a young maid 
 
 who said " Why " 268 
 
 There was a young man at 
 
 St. Kitts xxv 
 
 There was a young man of 
 
 Cohoes Robert J. Burdette . 266 
 
 There was a young man 
 
 who was bitten . . Walter Parke . . . 264 
 Vers Nonsensiques . . . George du Maurier . 265 
 When that Seint George 
 
 hadde sleyne ye dragon 267 
 
 Lines by a Fond Lover 53 
 
 Lines by a Medium 41 
 
 Lines by a Person of Quality . Alexander Pope . . 50 
 Lines to Miss Florence Hunt- 
 ingdon 239 
 
 Lines to a Young Lady . . Edward Lear . . 88 
 
 Little Billee W. M . Thackeray . 114 
 
 Little Peach, The 138 
 
 Little Willie 255 
 
 Lobster wooed a Lady Crab, A xxxxiii 
 
 Lovers and a Reflection . . C. S. Cal<verley . . 170 
 
 Love Song by a Lunatic 55 
 
 Lugubrious Whing-Whang, 
 
 The James W. Riley . . 63 
 
 Lunar Stanzas H. C. Knight ... 15 
 
 MALUM OPUS J. Appleton Morgan . 135 
 
 Man in the Moon, The . . James^W. Riley . . 220 
 Martin Luther at Potsdam . Barry Pain , . , 1 60 
 
 ['75] -
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Martin to his Man 74 
 
 Mary Ames . 256 
 
 Mary Jane 253 
 
 Master and Man 72 
 
 Mayor of Scuttleton, The . Mary Mapei Dodge . 195 
 
 Melancholia 248 
 
 Metaphysics Oliver Herford . . 36 
 
 Minnie and Winnie . . . Lord Tennyson . . 194 
 
 Misfortunes Col. D. Streamer . . 254 
 
 Mr. Finney's Turnip 250 
 
 Modern Hiawatha, The 246 
 
 Monkey's Glue, The . . . Goldivin Goldsmith . 210 
 
 Monkey's Wedding The 248 
 
 Monsieur McGinte 139 
 
 Moon is up, The 26 
 
 Moorlands of the Not 36 
 
 Mors labrochii 4 
 
 Muddled Metaphors . . . Tom Hood, Jr. . . 256 
 
 My Dream 28 
 
 My Feet Gelett Burgess . . 197 
 
 My Home 29 
 
 My Recollectest Thoughts . Charles E. Carryl . 21 
 
 NEPHELIDIA A. C. Swinburne . 158 
 
 Noble Tuckman, The . . yean Ingelo^w . . . 244 
 
 Nonsense 16 
 
 Nonsense Thomas Moore . . 47 
 
 Nonsense Verses .... Charles Lamb . . . 242 
 
 Not I R. L. Stevenson . . 194 
 
 Nyum-Nyum, The 6 
 
 OCEAN WANDERER, THE 18 
 
 Odd to a Krokis 146 
 
 Ode to the Human Heart . . Laman Blanchard . 258 
 
 Of Baiting the Lion . . . O-iven Seaman . . 206 
 
 Oh, my Geraldine . . . . F. C. Burnand . . 66 
 
 Oh, Weary Mother . . . Barry Pain . . . 64 
 
 On the Oxford Carrier . . . John Milton . . . 157 
 
 On the Road ...... Tudor Jenks . . . 247 
 
 Owl and the Pussy-Cat, The . Edward Lear . . . 59
 
 Index of Titles 
 
 PANTHER, THE 209 
 
 Parson Gray Oliver Goldsmith . 150 
 
 Parterre, The E. H. Palmer . . 56 
 
 Personified Sentimental, The . Bret Harte ... 44 
 
 Pessimist, The Ben King .... 245 
 
 Platypus, The Oliver Herford . . 199 
 
 Pobble who has no Toes, The Edward Lear . . 8 1 
 
 Poor Brother 251 
 
 Poor Dear Grandpapa . . D" Arcy W. Thompson 247 
 
 Psycholophon Gelett Burgess . . 39 
 
 Puer ex Jersey ..138 
 
 Purple Cow, The .... Gelett Burgess . . . 196 
 
 Python, The Hilaire Belloc . . 208 
 
 QUATRAIN 43 
 
 RIDDLE, A 70 
 
 Rollicking Mastodon, The . Arthur Macy . . . 125 
 
 Russian and Turk 238 
 
 SAGE COUNSEL A. T. Quiller-Couch . 204 
 
 Sailor's Yarn, A .... James Jeffrey Roche . 120 
 
 Sea, The 252 
 
 Sea-Serpent, The .... Planch'e .... 248 
 She's All my Fancy Painted 
 
 Him Lewis Carroll . . 20 
 
 She Went into the Garden . S. Foote .... xxxi 
 
 Shipwreck, The . . . . E. H. Palmer . . 1 1 8 
 
 Silver Question, The . . . Oliver Herford . . 127 
 
 Sing for the Garish Eye . . W. S. Gilbert ... 13 
 Singular Sangfroid of Baby 
 
 Bunting, The .... Guy W. Carryl . 129 
 
 Some Geese Oliver Herford . . 200 
 
 Some Verses to Snaix 147 
 
 Song of Impossibilities . . William M. Praed . 183 
 
 Song of the Screw, The 33 
 
 Song on King William III 67 
 
 Sonnet Found in a Deserted 
 
 Madhouse 1 8 
 
 Sorrows of Werther, The . . W. M . Thackeray . 242
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 Spirk Troll-Derisive . . . "James W. Riley . . 10 
 
 Story of Cruel Psamtek, The 225 
 
 Story of Prince Agib, The . W.S.Gilbert. . . 107 
 
 Story of Pyramid Thothmes 224. 
 
 Story of the Wild Huntsman . Heinrich Hoffman . 222 
 
 Sun, The J. Davis .... 251 
 
 Sunbeam, The 255 
 
 Superior Nonsense Verses 47 
 
 Susan 254 
 
 Swiss Air Bret Harte .... 64 
 
 Sylvie and Bruno .... Lewis Carroll . . 101 
 
 TENDER-HEARTEDNESS . . Col. D. Streamer . . 253 
 
 Tender Infant, The . . . Dr. "Johnson . . . xxx 
 
 There was a Frog 211 
 
 There was a Little Girl . . H. W. Longfellonv . 252 
 
 There was a Monkey 67 
 
 Three Acres of Land 71 
 
 Three Children 69 
 
 Three Jovial Huntsmen 70 
 
 Threnody George T. Lanigan . 233 
 
 Thy Heart 55 
 
 Timid Hortense .... Peter Newell . . . 212 
 
 Timon of Archimedes . . . Charles Battell Loomis 39 
 *T is Midnight and the Setting 
 
 Sun 26 
 
 'Tis Sweet to Roam 23 
 
 To Marie 14 
 
 To Mollidusta Blanche .... 57 
 
 Transcendentalism 41 
 
 Trust in Women 186 
 
 Turvey Top 43 
 
 Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee 74 
 
 UFFIA Harriet R. While . 10 
 
 Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim . Artemus Ward . . 247 
 
 Unsuspected Fact, An . . Edward Cannon . . 242 
 
 Uprising See the Fitful Lark 27 
 
 VILLON'S STRAIGHT TIP . W. E. Henley . . . 257 
 f a?8 ^
 
 Index of Titles 
 
 WALLOPING WINDOW-BLIND, 
 
 THE Charles E. Carryl . 123 
 
 Walrus and the Carpenter, The Lewis Carroll . . 93 
 
 Ways and Means .... Lewis Carroll . . 90 
 
 Whango Tree, The 12 
 
 What the Prince of I Dreamt H. Cholmondeley-Pennell 215 
 When Moonlike ore the 
 
 Hazure Seas . . . . W. M. Thackeray . 49 
 
 Where Avalanches Wail 45 
 
 Wild Flowers Peter Newell . . . 212 
 
 Wonderful Old Man, The 153 
 
 Wreck of the " Julie Plante" If. H. Drummond . 116 
 
 YAK, THE Hilaire Belloc . . . in 
 
 Yonghy-Bonghy-B6, The . Edward Lear . . 76 
 
 C79]
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS
 
 INDEX OF AUTHORS 
 
 A BECKET, GILBERT ABBOTT 
 
 A Holiday Task 137 
 
 ASHBY-STERRY, J. 
 
 Kindness to Animals 203 
 
 BAYLES, JAMES C. 
 
 In the Gloaming 23 
 
 BEDE, CUTHBERT 
 
 In Immemoriam 29 
 
 BEERS, HENRY A. 
 
 Ye Laye of ye Woodpeckore 139 
 
 BELLOC, HILAIRE 
 
 The Bison 209 
 
 The Frog : 207 
 
 The Python 208 
 
 The Yak '. . 207 
 
 BLANCHARD, LAMAN 
 
 Ode to the Human Heart 258 
 
 BURDETTE, ROBERT J. 
 
 Limerick 266 
 
 BURGESS, GELETT 
 
 Abstemia 38 
 
 Abstrosophy 37 
 
 The Invisible Bridge 196 
 
 The Lazy Roof 197 
 
 Limericks . 266 
 
 My Feet 197 
 
 Psycholophon 39 
 
 The Purple Cow 196 
 
 BURNAND, F. C. 
 
 Oh, my Geraldine 66
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 BURNS, ROBERT 
 
 Ken ye Aught o' Captain Grose? 73 
 
 CALVERLEY, CHARLES S. 
 
 The Auld Wife 192 
 
 The Cock and the Bull 165 
 
 Companions 163 
 
 Lovers and a Reflection 170 
 
 CANNING, GEORGE 
 
 The Elderly Gentleman 134 
 
 CANNON, EDWARD 
 
 An Unsuspected Fact 242 
 
 CARROLL, LEWIS 
 
 The Hunting of the Snark 97 
 
 Jabberwocky 3 
 
 She's All my Fancy Painted Him .... 20 
 
 Sylvie and Bruno .. 101 
 
 The Walrus and the Carpenter 93 
 
 Ways and Means 90 
 
 CARRYL, CHARLES E. 
 
 My Recollectest Thoughts 21 
 
 The Walloping Window-Blind 123 
 
 CARRYL, GUY WETMORE 
 
 The Singular Sangfroid of Baby Bunting . . . 129 
 
 CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL, H. 
 
 The Bloated Biggaboon 211 
 
 What the Prince of I Dreamt 215 
 
 CLARK, LEWIS GAYLORD 
 
 The Flamingo 201 
 
 CORBET, BISHOP 
 
 Like to the Thundering Tone 27 
 
 DAVIS, J. 
 
 The Sun 251 
 
 DEANE, ANTHONY C. 
 
 Here is the Tale iS8 
 
 DODGE, MARY MAPES 
 
 The Mayor of Scuttleton 195 
 
 [284]
 
 Index of Authors 
 
 DRUMMOND, W. H. 
 
 Wreck of the "Julie Plante," The . . . . 116 
 Du MAURIER, GEORGE 
 
 Vers Nonsensiques 265 
 
 FANSHAWE, CATHARINE M. 
 
 Imitation of Wordsworth 173 
 
 FIELD, EUGENE 
 
 The Boy 252 
 
 The Dinkey Bird 218 
 
 FOOTE, S. 
 
 Farrago of Nonsense xxxi 
 
 GILBERT, W. S. 
 
 Ferdinando and Elvira no 
 
 General John 112 
 
 Gentle Alice Brown 102 
 
 Sing for the Garish Eye 13 
 
 The Story cf Prince Agib 107 
 
 There was an Old Man of St. Bees .... xxx 
 
 GOLDSMITH, GOLDWIN 
 
 The Monkey's Glue 210 
 
 GOLDSMITH, OLIVER 
 
 Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog . . . . 151 
 
 Elegy on Madam Blaize 149 
 
 A Great Man 148 
 
 Parson Gray 150 
 
 HARTE, BRET 
 
 The Personified Sentimental 44 
 
 Swiss Air 64 
 
 HENLEY, W. E. 
 
 Villon's Straight Tip 257 
 
 HERFORD, OLIVER 
 
 The Chimpanzee 199 
 
 The Cow 198 
 
 The Hen 197 
 
 The Hippopotamus 199 
 
 Metaphysics 36
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 HERFORD, OLIVER Continued 
 
 The Platypus 199 
 
 The Silver Question 117 
 
 Some Geese 200 
 
 HOFFMAN, HEINRICH 
 
 The Story of the Wild Huntsman ...... 222 
 
 HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL 
 
 Estivation 136 
 
 HOOD, THOMAS 
 
 Faithless Nelly Gray 131 
 
 HOOD, THOMAS, JR. 
 
 Muddled Metaphors 256 
 
 INGELOW, JEAN 
 
 The Noble Tuckman 244 
 
 JENKS, TUDOR 
 
 On the Road 247 
 
 JOHNSON, SAMUEL 
 
 As with my Hat xxx 
 
 If a Man who Turnips Cries ...<.. xxxi 
 The Tender Infant xxx 
 
 JONSON, BEN 
 
 Buz, quoth the Blue Fly 66 
 
 KING, BEN 
 
 The Pessimist 245 
 
 KIPLING, RUDYARD 
 
 Limerick xxxii 
 
 KNIGHT, HENRY C. 
 
 Lunar Stanzas 15 
 
 LAMB, CHARLES 
 
 Nonsense Verses 243 
 
 LANIGAN, GEORGE T. 
 
 Dirge of the Moolla of Kotal 235 
 
 A Threnody 2^3 
 
 LEAR, EDWARD 
 
 The Ahkond of Swat 230 
 
 Incidents in the Life of my Uncle Arly ... 86 
 [286]
 
 Index of Authors 
 
 LEAR, EDWARD Continued 
 
 The Jumblies 83 
 
 Limericks 260-263 
 
 Lines to a Young Lady 88 
 
 The Owl and the Pussy-Cat 59 
 
 The Pobble 8 1 
 
 There was an Old Man in a Tree xxx 
 
 The Yonghy-Bonghy-B6 76 
 
 LEIGH, HENRY S. 
 
 Cossimbazar 43 
 
 LONGFELLOW, H. W. 
 
 There was a Little Girl 252 
 
 LOOMIS, CHARLES BATTELL 
 
 A Classic Ode 45 
 
 Timon of Archimedes 39 
 
 MACKINTOSH, NEWTON 
 
 Fin de Siecle 253 
 
 Limerick 267 
 
 MACY, ARTHUR 
 
 The Rollicking Mastodon 125 
 
 MERIVALE, HERMAN 
 
 Darwinity 31 
 
 MILTON, JOHN 
 
 On the Oxford Carrier 157 
 
 MONKHOUSE, COSMO 
 
 Limericks 263-264 
 
 MOORE, THOMAS 
 
 Nonsense 47 
 
 MORGAN, JAMES APPLETON 
 
 Malum Opus 135 
 
 MORRIS, J W. 
 
 Collusion between a Alegaiter and a Water-Snaik 143 
 
 NEWELL, PETER 
 
 Her Dairy 213 
 
 Her Polka Dots 212 
 
 Timid Hortense 212 
 
 Wild Flowers 212
 
 A Nonsense Anthology 
 
 PAIN, BARRY 
 
 Martin Luther at Potsdam 160 
 
 Oh, Weary Mother 64 
 
 PALMER, E. H. 
 
 The Parterre 56 
 
 The Shipwreck 1 1 8 
 
 PARKE, WALTER 
 
 Limericks 264 
 
 PLANCHE 
 
 The Sea-Serpent 248 
 
 To Mollidusta 57 
 
 POPE, ALEXANDER 
 
 Lines by a Person of Quality 50 
 
 PORTER, BRUCE 
 
 Limerick 267 
 
 PRAED, W. M. 
 
 Song of Impossibilities 183 
 
 QUILLER-COUCH, A. T. 
 
 The Famous Ballad of the Jubilee Cup . . . 175 
 Sage Counsel 204 
 
 RILEY, JAMES W. 
 
 The Lugubrious Whing-Whang 63 
 
 The Man in the Moon 220 
 
 Spirk Troll-Derisive 10 
 
 ROCHE, JAMES JEFFREY 
 
 A Sailor's Yarn 120 
 
 SEAMAN, OWEN 
 
 The Bulbul 65 
 
 Of Baiting the Lion 205 
 
 STEVENSON, R. L. 
 
 Not I 194 
 
 STOKES, FRANCIS G. 
 
 Blue Moonshine 46 
 
 STREAMER, COL. D. 
 
 Aunt Eliza 254 
 
 Impetuous Samuel 254 
 
 [288]
 
 Index of Authors 
 
 STREAMER, COL. D. Continued 
 
 Misfortunes 254 
 
 Tender-Heartedness 253 
 
 SWINBURNE, A. C. 
 
 The Higher Pantheism 30 
 
 John Jones 57 
 
 Nephelidia 158 
 
 TENNYSON, LORD 
 
 Minnie and Winnie 194 
 
 THACKERAY, W. M. 
 
 Little Billee 114 
 
 The Sorrows of Werther 242 
 
 When Moonlike ore the Hazure Seas .... 49 
 
 THOMPSON, D'ARCY W. 
 
 Poor Dear Grandpapa 247 
 
 TWIG, JOHN 
 
 Ballade of the Nurserie 60 
 
 WARD, ARTEMUS 
 
 Uncle Simon and Uncle Jim 247 
 
 WEST, PAUL 
 
 The Cumberbunce 226 
 
 WHITE, HARRIET R. 
 
 Uffia .... 10 
 
 [289]
 
 UC SOUTHERN REQONA' 
 
 000161594 7 
 
 FINE BOOKS 
 703 1-2 W. TH ST. 
 
 uos ANGELES