Part 18 (1/2)

How 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.

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_.

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 b.u.t.terflies That sleep among the wheat: I make them into mutton-pies, And sell them in the street.

I sell them unto men,” he said, ”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.

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 Maca.s.sar 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; ”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-b.u.t.tons In the silent night.

And these I do not sell for gold Or coin of silvery s.h.i.+ne, But for a copper halfpenny And that will purchase nine.”

”I sometimes dig for b.u.t.tered rolls, Or set limed twigs for crabs; I sometimes search the gra.s.sy knolls For wheels of Hansom cabs.

And that's the way” (he gave a wink) ”By which I get my wealth-- And very gladly will I drink Your Honor's n.o.ble health.”

I heard him then, for I had just Completed my design To keep the Menai Bridge from rust By boiling it in wine.