I on the fence, he down below,
And thou the copula, my trouser,
I thought he never would let go,—
This gentle Towser.
They say that fashion cuts thee loose,
But not so fashioned is Sal's Towser;
Thou gavest away at last, no use
To tarry, tearèd trouser.
Miss Sarah, she is wondrous sweet,
And I'd have once loved to espouse her,
But my calling trouser has no seat,—
I left it there with Towser.
So all unseated is my suit;
I must eschew Miss Sarah now, sir;
He's chewed my trouser; 'twouldn't suit
Me to meet Towser.
Anonymous.
ROVER IN CHURCH
'Twas a Sunday morning in early May,
A beautiful, sunny, quiet day,
And all the village, old and young,
Had trooped to church when the church bell rung.
The windows were open, and breezes sweet
Fluttered the hymn books from seat to seat.
Even the birds in the pale-leaved birch
Sang as softly as if in church!
Right in the midst of the minister's prayer
There came a knock at the door. "Who's there,
I wonder?" the gray-haired sexton thought,
As his careful ear the tapping caught.
Rap-rap, rap-rap—a louder sound,
The boys on the back seats turned around.
What could it mean? for never before
Had any one knocked at the old church door.