And the Host of other ills――Christmas ills! Eatables in baronies and drinkables in rills, All the day and all the night Spent in over-eating quite, And in pouring down your throat Inopportune―― Floods of liquor that would float―― If not a merchant vessel――a big boat, Pretty soon! Oh, the gorges and the swills, With no thought about the morrow, and the call for DR. SQUILLS, And your wills, Codocils, That you write with shaky quills, For ’tis indigestion kills! Oh, the languish and the anguish Of your ills, ills, ills, ills, Ills, ills, ills, Oh, the bother and the pother of your ills! Then to-morrow and its pills――bitter pills! Fever-heats succeeding on the heels of horrid chills, All the livelong restless night―― What a cheerful Christmas plight! Too much agonized to speak, You can only squeak――squeak Like a coon, In a clamorous appealing from your indigestion’s pangs―― In a mad expostulation with the gnawing of its fangs, And a sense of utter loathing for the pills, For the pills, pills, pills, pills, Pills, pills, pills―― And the comrades of the pills, The pills, bills, ills! Oh, the very name of Christmas all my soul with terror fills. _Fun_, December 28, 1867. ――――:o:―――― THE BELLS. Oh, those bells――oh, those bells! Oh, those bells, bells, bells! Oh, the weary, weary, worry that their ringing always tells! How they jangle and they jangle Through the troubled day and night! How they clash, and clang, and mangle, As if calling out in spite―― You must run, run, run! Your work’s never done, From the rising to the setting of the sun, sun, sun. Oh, those never-ceasing bells―― Chamber-bells―― What a climbing and a fetching their music ever tells! Now it’s number seven hundred―― Now it’s number twenty-five―― Now it’s forty more in chorus Calling――Waiter, look alive! Ting-a-ling, ling, ling, Don’t you hear me ring, ring? You, had better come a-running, or I’ll break a string, string! Oh, those silver-sounding bells―― Parlour-bells―― What a coming and a running their melody compels! How they jingle, jingle, jingle, Till the horrid jingling seems To multiply and mingle Into harsh and mocking screams, Crying――Fly, fly, fly! We are paying very high, We’ll get our money’s value, or we’ll know the reason why.