When February's days are twenty-nine.
CXVIII.
My story's ended,
My spoon is bended:
If you don't like it,
Go to the next door,
And get it mended.
CXIX.
[On arriving at the end of a book, boys have a practice of reciting the following absurd lines, which form the word finis backwards and forwards, by the initials of the words,]—