"The day is fast wearing out, And so are my boots and I; The sleet blows in my face, As with the breeze I sigh. Although white fog I'm in, Yet 'tis a dark look out For one who hither has come for a change, And cannot change a clout." "I walk! walk! walk! And nothing can find to see; While water and mud from out my boots Is squirting up to each knee. Talk of scenery! Bah! it's all stuff, But the waterfall, I admit, Is good, for it's running down my back, And I've no dry place to sit." "I walk! walk! walk! With my throat quite parched and dry; No spirit to rouse my spirits up; With pulse quite fevered and high. I've a dropsy got outside, Whilst inside there's a drought; Oh! for a good warm draught within, As a check to the draught without." "Walk! walk! walk! I'll never come here again: My holiday shall be spent elsewhere, Free from fatigue and pain. Or I'll stay at home with my wife, Where a dry shirt I can wear;"-- And worn out with misfortune's strife, And almost weary of his life, He sank in the old arm chair. JOHN REED APPLETON, F.S.A. * * * * * THE SONG OF THE SPURT. With hands all blistered and worn, With eyes excited and red, A boating man sat, in jersey and bags, Awaiting the signal with dread. Tug! tug! tug! Every bone in his body is hurt; And still, with a sigh and a dolorous shrug, He sang the "Song of the Spurt!" "Work! work! work! Till I shiver in every limb; Work! work! work! Till the eyes begin to swim Steam, bucket, and pant, Pant, bucket, and steam, Till over the oar I almost faint, And row along in a dream." "O, men, with sisters dear, O, men, with pretty cousins, I must mind and keep my form for the end-- They'll be there on the barge by dozens! Pull! pull! pull! What is poverty, hunger, or dirt, Compared with the more than double dread Of catching a crab in the spurt!" With eyes excited and red, With good hope of victory fired, He was rowing along in his jersey and bags, But feeling uncommonly tired! Pull! pull! pull! He began his full powers to exert; Soon his boat would have been at the head of the river, But when just at the barge--an unfortunate shiver Made him catch a crab in the spurt! REMEX MORIBUNDUS. _College Rhymes_ (T. and G. Shrimpton), Oxford, 1865. * * * * * THE DRIPPING SHEET. "This sheet, wrung out of cold or tepid water, is thrown around the body. Quick rubbing follows, succeeded by the same operation with a dry sheet. Its operation is truly _shocking_. Dress after to prevent remarks." SONG OF THE SHEET. (_After Hood._)