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WELL now I 'm sure I don't know why in the world it was

put there, Standing up in the middle of the face like the gnomon of a

súndial, Very much, as one would say, in the way of the pássers by, And exposed to heat and cold, wet and dry, all the winds

that blow.

Don't tell me that it was for the sake of beaúty it was ever

set up there, Still less that it was for utility, i. e. by way of a handle, And as to the hints I sometimes hear that it was out of mere

whim or vagary, I assure you I 'm not the man to lend an ear to insinuations

of that sort.

But I 'll tell you the idea that has just now flashed across

my mind And which of course I hold myself at liberty to correct as I

improve in knowledge, For these are improving times, as you know, and the whole

world 's in progress, And the only wonder is, that with all our advancement we 're

so very far behind yet.

Now my idea 's neither móre nor less than that it was set up

where it is simply because God Hadn't, or couldn't at the moment find, a more convenient

spot to pút it in; And I 'm further of opinion that if you or I had had the

placing of it, It 's no better but a thousand times worse it would have been

placed than nów it is.

: little too far fórward set, Like a camp picket or vedette upon the very fore front and

. edge of danger, Still there 's no denying the solidity and security of its basis, And that it rarely if ever happens it 's obliged to evacuate

its position.

And with his right hand clenched till it looked like a sledge

hammer or mason's mallet Strike it such a blow right in the face as you 'd swear must

annihilate it, Or at least send its ghost down dolefully whimpering to Orcus.

Nay, I 've seen its best friend and nearest earthly relative With a giant's grasp lay hold of it, and squeeze it between

finger and thumb, Till it roared with downright agony as loud as a braying ass

or élephant, And yet, the moment after, it seemed not a hair the worse

but rather refreshed by it.

But all this is scarce worth mentioning in comparison of what

I 've seen it bear At the hands of that same nátural friend, ally, and protector, Who twenty times a day or, if the humor happened so to take him, A húndred times a day would in one of the dark cellars under it

Explode all on a sudden so strong a détonating powder
That you 'd say there never yet was iron tower or vaulted

granite casemate That wouldn't have tumbled down incontinent at the very first

concussion, And yet that wondrous piece of flesh and bone seemed but

to take delight in it.

But, sétting aside these wholly minor and secondary consi

derations, What would you say of an architect who had constrúcted a face

other on the left side of it, And yet had made no manner of provision at all for the

support of a pair of spectacles ?

So avaunt with your idle criticisms, your good-for-nothing

stuff and twaddle, Such as one dozes over a-nights in the Quarterly just before

one goes to bed, And let me have a pinch out of your canister, for I know

it 's the genuine Lundy More care - easing even than Nepenthe, than Ambrosia more

odoriferous. DalkeY LODGE, DALKEY (IRELAND), Dec. 16, 1854.

indy

On the day before the first day
Gód was tired with doing nothing,
Ánd determined to rise early
Ón the next day and do something.

Só upon the next day Gód rose
Véry early, and the light made —
You must know that úntil that day
Gód had álways lived in dárkness: —

“Bravo! bravo! that's a good job,” Said God when his eye the light caught;

Á convénient place to live in.”

Só upon the next day Gód rose
Át the dáwn of light, and heáven made,
Ảnd from that day fórward néver
Wanted á snug box to live in.

“Well! a líttle work is pleasant,”
Said God, “ánd besides it 's úseful;
Whát a pity f?ve so long sat
Dúmping, múmping, doing nothing!”

Só upon the third day Gód made
This round ball of land and water
Ảnd with right thumb ảnd forefinger
Sét it like teetốtum spinning;

Spinning twirling like teetótum,
Round and round about, the ball went,
While God clapped his hands, delighted,
Ånd called th’ ángels to look at it.

Whó made th’ ángels? if you ásk me,
Í replý: — that 's more than Í know;
Fór if God had, I don't doubt but
Hé 'd have put them in his catalogue.

Bút no mátter — some one made them, Ánd they came about him flócking, Wondering at the súdden fit of Mánufácturing that had táken him: –

“It's a pretty báll,” they áll said; “Dó pray tell us whát 's the use of it; Wón't you máke a great many of them? Wé would like to seé them trúndling."

“Wait until tomorrow," said God, “And I think I 'll show you something; This is quite enoúgh for one day, And you know I 'm bút beginning.”

Só about noon on the fourth day,
Gód called th’ ángels áll about him,
And showed them the great big báll he 'd
Máde to give light to the little one.

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