THE COMET. Ah! well may regal orbs burn blue, Ten million cubic miles of head, Ten billion leagues of tail! And what would happen to the land, If in the bearded devil's path Our earth should chance to be? I saw a tutor take his tube The Comet's course to spy; I saw a fort, the soldiers all Were armed with goggles green; I saw a poet dip a scroll Each moment in a tub, I read upon the warping back, And ever and anon he bent To wet them as they dried. I saw the scalding pitch roll down I asked the firemen why they made They answered not,-but all the while I saw a roasting pullet sit Upon a baking egg; I saw a cripple scorch his hand Extinguishing his leg; TIRRAR OF TEZ UNIVERSITY SE CALIFORNIA 51. I saw nine geese upon the wing I saw the ox that browsed the grass I saw huge fishes, boiled to rags, Bob through the bubbling brine; And thoughts of supper crossed my soul; Strange sights! strange sounds! O fearful dream! Spare, spare, O spare thine evening meal, RHYME OF THE RAIL.-JOHN G. SAXE. SINGING through the forests, Rattling over ridges, Shooting under arches, Rumbling over bridges; Whizzing through the mountains, Buzzing o'er the vale, Men of different stations Here are very quickly Coming to the same; RHYME OF THE RAIL. High and lowly people, Traveling together. Gentlemen in shorts, Looming very tall; Gentlemen at large, Talking very small; Gentlemen in tights, With a loose-ish mien; Gentlemen in gray, Looking rather green; Gentlemen quite old, Asking for the news; Dreadfully in liquor! Stranger on the right Looking very sunny, Obviously reading Something rather funny. Now the smiles are thicker Wonder what they mean? Faith, he's got the Knicker bocker Magazine! Stranger on the left Closing up his peepers; Now he snores amain, Like the seven sleepers; At his feet a volume Gives the explanation, How the man grew stupid From "association !" Ancient maiden lady Anxiously remarks, That there must be peril 'Mong so many sparks: 63 Roguish-looking fellow, Turning to the stranger, Says it's his opinion, Woman with her baby, Says it's tiresome talking, Are so very shocking! Market woman, careful Of the precious casket, Knowing eggs are eggs, If it came, would surely Rather prematurely. Singing through the forests, Rattling over ridges, Shooting under arches, Whizzing through the mountains, FRENCH AND ENGLISH.-THOMAS HOOD. I. NEVER go to France Unless you know the lingo, If you do, like me, You'll repent, by jingo. |