Clutched in his grasp the partner of his trade, The Spoon yclept, and, hurrying hastily, Bore him away right down into the street, And reached by stealth the pawnbroker’s at length, Whence,――for the spoon was one of Mappin’s make,―― He went back richer by a good round sum, Nor told to anyone his shameless sin. (Attributed to Mr. T. H. S. Escott, afterwards Editor of the _Fortnightly Review_.) From _College Rhymes_. Oxford, 1873. ―――― AT THE INVENTIONS. Hey diddle diddle, Piano and fiddle, The fountains sprang up towards the moon, The people all flocked to see the fine sight, And sipp’d Indian tea with a spoon. CHICKWEED. _Truth._ October 15, 1885. ――――:o:―――― MISTRESS MARY. Mistress Mary, Quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With silver bells And cockle shells And hyacinths all of a row. DOMINA MARIA. O mea Maria, Tota contraria, Quid tibi crescit in horto? Testae et crotali Sunt mihi flosculi, Cum hyacinthino serto. HENRY DRURY. From _Arundines Cami_. Cambridge. 1841. A REVISED EDITION. Mary, Mary quite contrary, How does your garden grow? Do red rose and sweet mignonette Make quite a summer show? Twice seven days since we have met, But it seems years ago―― Mary, Mary, so contrary, Why do I love you so! Mary, Mary, in your airy Summer gown of snow, Folding fragrant linen fair, Through your house to go; Full of self and full of care Will you heed my woe―― Mary, Mary, so contrary, Why do I love you so? Mary, Mary, in the dairy, Setting pans in row, Jingling keys and silver bells, Marching to and fro, Learned in all your household spells―― (Wise you are we trow), Tell me Mary, still contrary, Why do I love you so! Ah! my Mary comes a fairy, Whispers soft and low, All the sweet and sudden truth Heart to heart must owe; Be it joy or be it ruth, Only this I know―― ’Tis because you are contrary That I love you so! S. FRANCES HARRISON. ―――― FROM W. E. G. Joseph, Joseph, quite contrary, How do your acres grow? Some with weeds and some with seeds, But ne’er a one with a cow. _Truth._ September 30, 1886. ―――― Harty, Harty, what of your party, How does your Union grow; Primrose belles, and Radical swells, Coercionists all in a row. _Newcastle Chronicle._ November, 1887. ―――― “Master Joey, Quite too showy, How does your party grow?” “There’s Collings, and Dick, And Mister Kenrick, And myself, the boss of the show.” P. Q. X. _Truth._ June 28, 1888. ――――:o:――――