ENIGMA.

The lady treads her lofty halls,
Her robes are long and fine,
And because of my first their velvet folds
With softest, lustre shine.
And when the revel and rout are done,
And the robes are laid away,
Again my first the lady takes
Through half the livelong day.
Through every land beneath the sun
Where Nature's touch we find,
It's never my last that's "more than kin."
Though always "less than kind."
The sweetest lips that e'er were kissed
Have to my whole been pressed:
It rests on the knees of feeble age,
On the infant's tender breast.

He did not read his book, but ate a deal of cake.

And so, although he tried, he could not keep awake;

Thus fast asleep he fell, and very, very soon

He had a horrid nightmare, in the afternoon—

The table grew an elephant, the cake changed to a tiger,

And gobbled up his little self, who turned into a ni'ger.