Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he,

"I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks

should see;

I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear,

Leander swam the Hellespont,

- and I will swim this here."

And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining

stream,

And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight

gleam;

Oh, there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as

But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again!

Out spoke the ancient fisherman: "Oh, what was that, my daughter?"

""T was nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water." "And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?"

"It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a-swimming past."

Out spoke the ancient fisherman: "Now bring me my harpoon!

I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon.'
Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb,
Her hair dropped round her pallid cheeks, like seaweed on a
clam.

Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound,

And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned;

But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe, And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down below. -Oliver Wendell Holmes

DANNY DEEVER

"What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade. "To turn you out, to turn you out," the Color-Sergeant

said.

"What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-onParade.

"I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch," the Color-Sergeant said.

For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can 'ear the Dead March play,

The regiment's in 'ollow square

him to-day;

they're hangin'

They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes

away,

An' they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

"What makes the rear-rank breathe so 'ard?" said Fileson-Parade.

"It's bitter cold, it's bitter cold," the Color-Sergeant said. "What makes that front-rank man fall down?" says Fileson-Parade.

"A touch o' sun, a touch o' sun," the Color-Sergeant said. They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin'

of 'im round.

They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground;

An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin', shootin' hound

O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'!

"'Is cot was right-'and cot to mine," said Files-on-Parade. "'E's sleepin' out an' far to-night," the Color-Sergeant said.

"I've drunk 'is beer a score o' times," said Files-on-Parade. "'E's drinkin' bitter beer alone," the Color-Sergeant said. They are hangin' Danny Deever, you must mark

Nine 'undred of 'is county an' the regiment's disgrace,

While they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

"What's that so black agin the sun?" said Files-on-Parade. "It's Danny fightin' 'ard for life," the Color-Sergeant said. "What's that that whimpers over'ead?" said Files-onParade.

"It's Danny's soul that 's passin' now," the Color-Sergeant said.

For they've done with Danny Deever, you can 'ear the quickstep play,

The regiment's in column, an' they're marchin' us

away;

Ho! the young recruits are shakin', an' they'll want

their beer to-day,

After hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin'.

"FUZZY-WUZZY”

(SOUDAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE, 1889)

We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not:
The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese;

But the Fuzzy was the finest o' the lot.
We never got a ha'porth's change of 'im:

'E squatted in the scrub an' 'ocked our 'orses, 'E cut our sentries up at Suakim,

An' 'e played the cat an' banjo with our forces.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan;
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin'

man;

We gives you your certifikit, an' if you want it signed
We'll come an' 'ave a romp with you whenever you're
inclined.

We took our chanst among the Kyber 'ills,
The Boers knocked us silly at a mile,
The Burman give us Irriwaddy chills,
An' a Zulu impi dished us up in style:
But all we ever got from such as they

Was pop to what the Fuzzy made us swaller;
We 'eld our bloomin' own, the papers say,

But man for man the Fuzzy knocked us 'oller.

Then 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' the missis and the kid;

Our orders was to break you, an' of course we went
and did..

We sloshed you with Martinis, an' it wasn't 'ardly fair;
But for all the odds agin you, Fuzzy-Wuz, you broke

the square.

'E 'asn't got no papers of 'is own,

'E 'asn't got no medals nor rewards, So we must certify the skill 'e's shown

In usin' of 'is long two-'anded swords:
When 'e's 'oppin' in an' out among the bush
With 'is coffin-'eaded shield an' shovel-spear,
A 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush

Will last a 'ealthy Tommy for a year.

So 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, an' your friends which

are no more,

If we 'adn't lost some messmates we would 'elp you to deplore;

But give an' take's the gospel, an' we'll call the bargain fair,

For if you 'ave lost more than us, you crumpled up the square!

'E rushes at the smoke when we let drive,

An', before we know, 'e's 'ackin' at our 'ead;

'E's all 'ot sand an' ginger when alive,

An' 'e's generally shammin' when 'e's dead. 'E's a daisy, 'e's a ducky, 'e's a lamb!

'E's a injia-rubber idiot on the spree,
'E's the only thing that doesn't give a damn
For a Regiment o' British Infantree!

So'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, at your 'ome in the Soudan;
You're a pore benighted 'eathen but a first-class fightin'

man;

An' 'ere's to you, Fuzzy-Wuzzy, with your 'ayrick 'ead

of 'air

You big black boundin' beggar

for you broke a British

square!

Rudyard Kipling