the camel with a HUMP upon his back!

Then I saw the gray wolf, with mutton in his maw;
Then I saw the wambat waddle in the straw;
Then I saw the elephant with his waving trunk,
Then I saw the monkeys--mercy, how unpleasantly they--smelt!"

There. No one can beat that piece of wit, can he, Bob? And so it is
all over; but we had a jolly time, whilst you were with us, hadn't we?
Present my respects to the doctor; and I hope, my boy, we may spend
another merry Christmas next year.

ON A CHALK-MARK ON THE DOOR

On the doorpost of the house of a friend of mine, a few inches above
the lock, is a little chalk-mark which some sportive boy in passing has
probably scratched on the pillar. The door-steps, the lock, handle, and
so forth, are kept decently enough; but this chalk-mark, I suppose some
three inches out of the housemaid's beat, has already been on the door
for more than a fortnight, and I wonder whether it will be there whilst
this paper is being written, whilst it is at the printer's, and, in
fine, until the month passes over? I wonder whether the servants in that
house will read these remarks about the chalkmark? That the Cornhill
Magazine is taken in in that house I know. In fact I have seen it there.
In fact I have read it there. In fact I have written it there. In
a word, the house to which I allude is mine--the "editor's private
residence," to which, in spite of prayers, entreaties, commands, and
threats, authors, and ladies especially, WILL send their communications,
although they won't understand that they injure their own interests by
so doing; for how is a man who has his own work to do, his own exquisite
inventions to form and perfect--Maria to rescue from the unprincipled
Earl--the atrocious General to confound in his own machinations--the
angelic Dean to promote to a bishopric, and so forth--how is a man to do
all this, under a hundred interruptions, and keep his nerves and temper
in that just and equable state in which they ought to be when he comes
to assume the critical office? As you will send here, ladies, I must
tell you you have a much worse chance than if you forward your valuable
articles to Cornhill. Here your papers arrive, at dinner-time, we
will say. Do you suppose that is a pleasant period, and that we are
to criticise you between the ovum and malum, between the soup and the
dessert? I have touched, I think, on this subject before. I say again,
if you want real