Very Felis-itous.

“Felis sedit by a hole,
Intente she, cum omni soul,
Predere rats.
Mice cucurrerunt trans the floor,
In numero duo tres or more,
Obliti cats.
Felis saw them oculis,
‘I’ll have them,’ inquit she, ‘I guess,
Dum ludunt.’
Tunc illa crepit toward the group,
‘Habeam,’ dixit, ‘good rat soup—
Pingues sunt.’

Mice continued all ludere,
Intenti they in ludum vere,
Gaudeuter.
Tunc rushed the felis into them,
Et tore them omnes limb from limb,
Violenter.
MORAL.
Mures omnes, nunc be shy,
Et aurem præbe mihi—
Benigne:
Sic hoc satis—“verbum sat,”
Avoid a whopping Thomas cat
Studiose.”
—Green Kendrick.

Ce Meme Vieux Coon.

“Ce meme vieux coon n’est pas quite mort,
Il n’est pas seulement napping:
Je pense, myself, unless j’ai tort
Cette chose est yet to happen.
En dix huit forty-four, je sais,
Vous’ll hear des curious noises;
He’ll whet ces dents against some Clay,
Et scare des Loco—Bois-es!
You know que quand il est awake,
Et quand il scratch ces clawses,
Les Locos dans leurs souliers shake,
Et, sheepish, hang leurs jaws-es.

Ce meme vieux coon, je ne sais pas why,
Le mischief’s come across him,
Il fait believe he’s going to die,
Quand seulement playing possum.
Mais wait till nous le want encore,
Nous’ll stir him with une pole;
He’ll bite as mauvais as before
Nous pulled him de son hole!”
—Relic of Henry Clay Campaign of 1844.

Malum Opus.

“Prope ripam fluvii solus
A senex silently sat;
Super capitem ecce his wig,
Et wig super, ecce his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus,
Dum elderly gentleman sat;
Et a capite took up quite torve
Et in rivum projecit his hat.
Tunc soft maledixit the old man,
Tunc stooped from the bank where he sat,
Et cum scipio poked in the water,
Conatus servare his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus,
The moment it saw him at that;
Et whisked his novum scratch wig
In flumen, along with his hat.

Ab imo pectore damnavit
In cœruleus eye dolor sat;
Tunc despairingly threw in his cane
Nare cum his wig and his hat.
L’ENVOI.
Contra bonos mores, don’t swear,
It est wicked, you know (verbum sat),
Si this tale habet no other moral,
Mehercle! you’re gratus to that!”
—J. A. M.

Carmen ad Terry.

(WRITTEN WHILE GENERAL TERRY, U.S.A., WITH HIS BLACK SOLDIERS, WAS IN COMMAND
AT RICHMOND, VIRGINIA, AFTER ITS EVACUATION BY THE CONFEDERATE TROOPS.)

“Terry, leave us, sumus weary:
Jam nos tædet te videre,
Si vis nos with joy implere,
Terry in hac terra tarry,
Diem nary.
For thy domum long’st thou nonne?
Habes wife et filios bonny?
Socios Afros magis ton-y?
Haste thee, Terry, mili-terry,
Pedem ferre.
Forte Thaddeus may desire thee,
Sumner, et id. om., admire thee,
Nuisance nobis, not to ire thee,
We can spare thee, magne Terry,
Freely, very.
Hear the Prex’s proclamation,
Nos fideles to the nation,
Gone est nunc thy place and station
Terry-sier momen-terry
Sine query.
Yes, thy doom est scriptum—‘Mene,’
Longer ne nos naso tene,
Thou hast dogged us, diu bene,
Loose us, terrible bull terry-er,
We’ll be merrier.
But the dulces Afros, vale,
Pompey, Scipio et Sally,
Seek some back New Haven alley,
Terry, quit this territory
Con amore.
Sed verbum titi, abituro,
Pay thy rent-bills, et conjuro,
Tecum take thy precious bureau
Terry, Turner, blue-coat hom’nes
Abhinc omnes!”
—Horace Milton.

Lydia Green.