Und zo, alzo, dot moral vas, Boued Mary’s lambs’ relations: Of you lofe dose like she lofe dose, Dot lambs vas obligations. ―――― MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB. A TALE. Mary was the proprietress of a diminutive incipient sheep, whose outer covering was as devoid of colour as congealed atmospheric vapour, and to all localities to which Mary perambulated, her young South-down was morally sure to follow. It tagged her to the dispensary of learning one diurnal section of time, which was contrary to all precedent, and excited cachinnation to the seminary attendants when they perceived the presence of a young mutton at the establishment of instruction. Consequently the preceptor expelled him from the interior, but he continued to remain in the immediate vicinity, without fretfulness, until Mary once more became visible. “What caused this specimen of the _genus ovis_ to bestow so much affection on Mary?” the impetuous progeny vociferated. “Because Mary reciprocated the wool-producer’s esteem, you understand,” the teacher answered. ――――:o:―――― MARY’S LITTLE LAMB. _Verses culled from different Authors._ Oh, who has not heard of Sweet Mary’s pet sheep, With fleece like the lilies by Alaway’s stream, When the day on the breast of the night falls asleep With the fragrance of lilies to perfume its dream? The love of that mutton for Mary was more Like the nightingale’s song by the swift Bendemeer Which born in the grove, seeks a grave on the shore As laughter or music is drowned in a tear. THOMAS MOORE. I saw that lamb rise from the hallowed ground That emperors have kissed as they resigned their rule; I saw him rise like Venice rise and straddle round, There where the wraith of Time prowls like a ghoul And centuries have sate, each on its stool, Then, with a spring of ages, saw him bound To Mary’s side, and down the sombre cool Dark corridors of rotting years he followed her to school LORD BYRON. Bounce, bounce, bounce, For Mary’s poor pet wool! But the tenderness of three days’ grace Can’t get him back to school; Oh, well for the sailor lad That he bit his sister’s thumb, For the contribution box goes round And the lamb is deaf and dumb! TENNYSON.