Seven weary years I wandered—Patagonia, China, Norway, Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway. There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle, So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle. He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy, And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy. And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter hearty— He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party. And I said, “O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry? Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?” But he answered, “I’m so happy—no profession could be dearer— If I am not humming ‘Tra! la! la!’ I’m singing ‘Tirer, lirer!’ “First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the jellies, Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is; “Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers; Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers.”— “Found at last!” I madly shouted. “Gentle pieman, you astound me!” Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me. And I shouted and I danced until he’d quite a crowd around him— And I rushed away exclaiming, “I have found him! I have found him!” And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling, “‘Tira, lira!’ stop him, stop him! ‘Tra! la! la!’ the soup’s a shilling!” But until I reached ELVIRA’S home, I never, never waited, And ELVIRA to her FERDINAND’S irrevocably mated! LORENZO DE LARDY DALILAH DE DARDY adored The very correctest of cards, LORENZO DE LARDY, a lord— He was one of Her Majesty’s Guards. DALILAH DE DARDY was fat, DALILAH DE DARDY was old— (No doubt in the world about that) But DALILAH DE DARDY had gold. LORENZO DE LARDY was tall, The flower of maidenly pets, Young ladies would love at his call, But LORENZO DE LARDY had debts. His money-position was queer, And one of his favourite freaks Was to hide himself three times a year, In Paris, for several weeks. Many days didn’t pass him before He fanned himself into a flame, For a beautiful “DAM DU COMPTWORE,” And this was her singular name: ALICE EULALIE CORALINE EUPHROSINE COLOMBINA THÉRÈSE JULIETTE STEPHANIE CELESTINE CHARLOTTE RUSSE DE LA SAUCE MAYONNAISE. She booked all the orders and tin, Accoutred in showy fal-lal, At a two-fifty Restaurant, in The glittering Palais Royal. He’d gaze in her orbit of blue, Her hand he would tenderly squeeze, But the words of her tongue that he knew Were limited strictly to these: “CORALINE CELESTINE EULALIE, Houp là! Je vous aime, oui, mossoo, Combien donnez moi aujourd’hui Bonjour, Mademoiselle, parlez voo.”