HOME THEY BROUGHT.
(With abject apologies to Mr. Tennyson, Miss Dance and Miss Dolby).
HOME they brought her lap-dog dead,
Just run over by a fly,
JEAMES to Buttons, winking, said,
"Won't there be a row, O my!"
Then they called the flyman low,
Said his baseness could be proved:
How she to the Beak should go—
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.