Sometimes the rascal tries to make believe that he is scared,
  And really, when I first began, he stared, and stared, and stared;
  And then his under lip came out and farther out it came,
  Till mamma and the nurse agreed it was a “cruel shame”—­
  But now what does that same wee, toddling, lisping baby do
  But laugh and kick his little heels when I say “Booh!”

  He laughs and kicks his little heels in rapturous glee, and then
  In shrill, despotic treble bids me “do it all aden!”
  And I—­of course I do it; for, as his progenitor,
  It is such pretty, pleasant play as this that I am for! 
  And it is, oh, such fun! and I am sure that we shall rue
  The time when we are both too old to play the game of “Booh!”

THE DUEL.

The gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat; ’Twas half-past twelve, and (what do you think!) Nor one nor t’other had slept a wink!  The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate Appeared to know as sure as fate There was going to be a terrible spat. (I wasn’t there; I simply state What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)

The gingham dog went “bow-wow-wow!” The calico cat replied “mee-ow!” The air was littered, an hour or so, With bits of gingham and calico, While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place Up with its hands before its face, For it always dreaded a family row! (Now mind:  I’m only telling you What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)

[Illustration:  ELIZABETH WINSLOW, TO WHOM THE POEM OF “THE DUEL” IS DEDICATED.]

The Chinese plate looked very blue, And wailed, “Oh, dear! what shall we do!” But the gingham dog and the calico cat Wallowed this way and tumbled that, Employing every tooth and claw—­ In the awfullest way you ever saw—­ And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew! (Don’t fancy I exaggerate—­ I got my news from the Chinese plate!)

Next morning, where the two had sat They found no trace of dog or cat; And some folks think unto this day That burglars stole that pair away!  But the truth about the cat and pup Is this:  they ate each other up!  Now what do you really think of that! (The old Dutch clock it told me so, And that is how I came to know.)

[Illustration:  IRVING WAY, JR., TO WHOM THE POEM OF “THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE” is DEDICATED.

From a photograph by Leonard, Topeka, Kansas.]

THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE.

  Play that my knee was a calico mare
  Saddled and bridled for Bumpville;
  Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare,
  And gallop away to Bumpville! 
  I hope you’ll be sure to sit fast in your seat,
  For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet,
  And many adventures you’re likely to meet
  As you journey along to Bumpville.