“Mr. Mayor,” my young one, how are you to-night?
That’s our “Member of Congress,” we say when we chaff;
There’s the “Reverend” What’s-his-name?—don’t make me laugh.
That boy with the grave mathematical look
Made believe he had written a wonderful book,
And the Royal Society thought it was true!
So they chose him right in,—a good joke it was too!
There’s a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain,
That could harness a team with a logical chain;
When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire,