The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon
And wistfully gazed on the sea
Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune
To the air of Ti-fol-de-ding-dee.
The quavering shriek of the Fliupthecreek
Was fitfully wafted afar
To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek
With the pulverized rays of a star.

The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig,
And his heart it grew heavy as lead
As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wig
On the opposite side of his head;
And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill
Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies,
To plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill
To pick the tears out of his eyes.

The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance;
And the Squidjum hid under a tub
As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance
With a rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub dub!
And the Crankadox cried as he laid down and died,
"My fate there is none to bewail!"
While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide
With a long piece of crape to her tail.

The Chemist of the Carolinas

Asheville, N. C., Dec. 13--Last week I went out into the mountains for
the purpose of securing a holly tree with red berries on it for
Yuletide. I had noticed in all my pictures of Christmas festivities in
England that the holly, with cranberries on it, constituted the
background of Yuletide. A Yuletide in England without a holly bough and
a little mistletoe in it wouldn't be worth half price. Here these
vegetables grow in great confusion, owing to the equable climate, and so
the holly tree is within the reach of all.

I resolved to secure one personally, so I sped away into the mountains
where, in less than the time it takes to tell it, I had succeeded in
finding a holly tree and losing myself. It is a very solemn sensation to
feel that you are lost, and that before you can be found something is
liable to happen to the universe.

I wandered aimlessly about for half an hour, hoping that I would be
missed in society and some one sent in search of me. I was just about to
give up in despair and sink down on a bed of moss with the idea of
shuffling off six or seven feet of mortal coil when, a few rods away, I
saw a blue smoke issuing from the side of the mountain and rising toward
the sky. I went rapidly towards it and found it to be a plain dugout
with a d