"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose with the bones and the beakPray, how did you manage to do it?" "In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law, And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, "You are old,” said the youth; 66 one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose- "I have answered three questions, and that is enough," Said his father; "don't give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs! LEWIS CARROLL. [By kind permission of the author.] A-SITTING ON A GATE. I'll tell thee everything I can : I saw an aged, aged man, A-sitting on a gate. "Who are you, aged man?" I said, "And how is it you live?" And his answer trickled through my head Like water through a sieve. He said "I look for butterflies That sleep among the wheat: But I was thinking of a plan 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. His accents mild took up the tale : And when I find a mountain-rill, I set it in a blaze: And thence they make a stuff they call Yet twopence-halfpenny is all But I was thinking of a way I shook him well from side to side, "Come, tell me how you live," I cried, "And what it is you do?" He said, "I hunt for haddock's eyes And work them into waistcoat-buttons And these I do not sell for gold Or coin of silvery shine, "I sometimes dig for buttered rolls, I heard him then, for I had just To keep the Menai bridge from rust I thanked him much for telling me And now, if e'er by chance I put Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot Into a left-hand shoe, Or if I drop upon my toe I A very heavy weight, weep, for it reminds me so Of that old man I used to know Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow, A-sitting on a gate. LEWIS CARROLL. [By kind permission of the author.] THE DECLARATION. 'Twas late, and the gay company was gone, Of orange-leaves, and sweet verbena came And the rich pictures, with their dark old tints, The dark-eyed, spiritual Isabel, Was leaning on her harp, and I had staid To the cold breath of reason, told my love. Besought her, that this silent evidence N. P. WILLIS. THE DEMON SHIP. 'Twas off the Wash-the sun went down-the sea look'd black and grim, For stormy clouds, with murky fleece, were mustering at the brim ; Titanic shades! enormous gloom!-as if the solid night Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light! It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye, With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and sky! Down went my helm-close reef'd-the tack held freely in my hand With ballast snug-I put about, and scudded for the land. Loud hiss'd the sea beneath her lee-my little boat flew fast, But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast. Lord! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail! What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of hail! What darksome caverns yawn'd before! what jagged steeps behind! Like battle-steeds, with foaming manes, wild tossing in the wind. Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase, But where it sank another rose and gallop'd in its place; |