It was many and many a year ago, In a District styled E.C., That a monster dwelt whom I came to know By the name of Cannibal Flea; And the brute was possessed with no other thought Than to live,――and to live on me! II. I was in bed, and he was in bed, In the District named E.C., When first in his thirst, so accursed he burst Upon me the Cannibal Flea! With a bite that felt as if some one had driven A bayonet into me! III. And this is the reason why long ago, In that District called E.C., I tumbled out of my bed, willing To capture the Cannibal Flea, Who all the night, until morning came, Kept boring away at me! It wore me down to a skeleton, In the District hight, E.C. IV. From the hour that I sought my bed――eleven―― Till daylight he tortured me,―― Yes!――that was the reason (as all men know, In that District named E.C.), I so often jumped out of my bed by night, Willing the killing of Cannibal Flea. V. But his hops they were longer by far than the hops Of creatures much larger than he,―― Of parties more long-legged than he; And neither the powder nor turpentine drops, Nor the persons engaged by me, Were so clever as ever to stop me the hop Of the terrible Cannibal Flea. VI. For at night with a scream I am waked from my dream, By the terrible Cannibal Flea, And at morn I ne’er rise without the bites,――of such size!―― From the terrible Cannibal Flea; So I’m forced to decide I’ll no longer reside In the District――the District――where he doth abide, The locality known as E.C.―― That is postally known as E.C.! TOM HOOD, the younger. ―――――――― [3]THE L. C. D. AND THE L. S. D. It was many and many a year ago―― How many boots little to me―― That a railway was made, which you may know By the name of the L. C. D. Crowns have tottered, and armies have fought, And Empires have ceased to be, Since that line from city to sea was brought―― Absorbing much L. S. D. A friend of my youth, long under the turf, In a cinque port by the sea, Once walking beside the rolling surf On the sands thus spoke to me: “A dear old Nunky, who sleeps in peace In a sepulchre here by the sea, Was graciously pleased on his decease, To leave me some L. S. D. “In Bank Consols, which are safe and sound, But yield only percentage three, While seven at least, all the season round Might be shared from the L. C. D.” _I_ was a child, and _he_ was a child, And precious noodles we, Who might as well in the ocean wild Have scattered our L. S. D.