COBWEBS AND BROOMS.

"There was an old woman

Tossed up in a blanket,

Seventeen times as high as the moon;

What she did there

I cannot tell you,

But in her hand she carried a broom.

Old woman, old woman,

Old woman, said I,

O whither, O whither, O whither so high?

And I'll be back again, by and by."

MIND

you, she wore no wings,

That she might truly soar; no time was lost

In growing such unnecessary things;

But blindly, in a blanket, she was tost!

Spasmodically, too!

'Twas not enough that she should reach

the moon;

But seventeen times the distance she must

do,

Lest, peradventure, she get back too

soon.

That emblematic broom!

Besom of mad Reform, uplifted high,

That, to reach cobwebs, would precipitate

doom,

And sweep down thunderbolts from out

the sky!

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COBWEBS AND BROOMS.

Doubtless, no rubbish lay

About her door, - no work was there to

do,

That through the astonished aisles of Night

and Day,

She took her valorous flight in quest of

new!

Lo! at her little broom

The great stars laugh, as on their wheels

of fire

They go, dispersing the eternal gloom,

And shake Time's dust from off each blazing tire!

BLACK SPIDERS.

"Little Miss Muffet

Sat on a tuffet,

Eating curds and whey:

There came a black spider,

And sat down beside her,

And frightened Miss Muffet away."

To all mortal blisses,

From comfits to kisses,

There's sure to be something by way of

alloy;

Each new expectation

Brings fresh aggravation,

And a doubtful amalgam's the best of our

joy.