Just then away went clouds, and there
A sitting on the log--
The other end I mean--the moon
Showed angry Polly Wog.
Her small eyes flashed, she swelled until
She looked almost a frog;
"How _dare_ you, sir, call _me_," she asked,
"Your _precious_ Polly Wog?
"Why, one would think you'd spent your life
In some low, muddy bog.
I'd have you know--to _strange_ young men
My name's Miss Mary Wog."
One wild, wild laugh that tree-toad gave,
And tumbled off the log,
And on the ground he kicked and screamed,
"Oh, Mary, Mary Wog.
Oh, May! oh, Ry--oh, Wog!
Oh, proud Miss Mary Wog!
Oh, goodness gracious! what a joke!
Hurrah for Mary Wog!"
"KISS PRETTY POLL!"
BY MARY D. BRINE.
"Kiss Pretty Poll!" the parrot screamed,
And "Pretty Poll," repeated I,
The while I stole a merry glance
Across the room all on the sly,
Where some one plied her needle fast,
Demurely by the window sitting;
But I beheld upon her cheek
A multitude of blushes flitting.
"Kiss Pretty Poll," the parrot coaxed:
"I would, but dare not try," I said,
And stole another glance to see
How some one drooped her golden head,
And sought for something on the floor
(The loss was only feigned, I knew)--
And still, "Kiss Poll," the parrot screamed,
The very thing I longed to do.
But some one turned to me at last,
"Please, won't you keep that parrot still?"
"Why, yes," said I, "at least--you see
If you will let me, dear, I will."
And so--well, never mind the rest;
But some one said it was a shame
To take advantage just because
A foolish parrot bore her name.
--_Harper's Weekly._
THANKSGIVING-DAY (THEN AND NOW).
BY MARY D. BRINE.
Thanksgiving-day, a year ago,
A bachelor was I,
Free as the winds that whirl and blow,
Or clouds that sail on high:
I smoked my meerschaum blissfully,
And tilted back my chair,
And on the mantel placed my feet,
For who would heed or care?
The fellows gathered in my room
For many an hour of fun,
Or I would meet them at the club
For cards, till night was done.
I came or went as pleased me best,
Myself the first and last.
One year ago! Ah, can i
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