E MAN IN THE MOON]

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;
And his eyes are so weak that they water and run
If he dares to dream even he looks at the sun,--
So he just dreams of stars, as the doctors advise--
My!
Eyes!
But isn't he wise--
To just dream of stars, as the doctors advise?

And The Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear--
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 porridge-crumbs all round his mouth,
And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan,
Whing!
Whann!
What a marvelous man!
What a very remarkably marvelous man!

[Illustration: His Christmas Sled.]

I watch him, with his Christmas sled;
He hitches on behind
A passing sleigh, with glad hooray,
And whistles down the wind;
He hears the horses champ their bits,
And bells that jingle-jingle--
You Woolly Cap! you Scarlet Mitts!
You miniature "Kriss Kringle!"

I almost catch your secret joy--
Your chucklings of delight,
The while you whizz where glory is
Eternally in sight!
With you I catch my breath, as swift
Your jaunty sled goes gliding
O'er glassy track and shallow drift,
As I behind were riding!

He winks at twinklings of the frost.
And on his airy race,
Its tingles beat to redder heat
The rapture of his face:--
The colder, keener is the air,
The less he cares a feather.
But, there! he's gone! and I gaze on
The wintriest of weather!

Ah, boy! still speeding o'er the track
Where none returns again,
To Sigh for you, or cry for you,