Volume 150 — NURSERY RHYMES OF LONDON TOWN.
Reading edition
XI.—Saint John's Wood.
Saint John walked in a Wood Where elm-trees spread their branches And Squirrels climbed and Pigeons cooed. And Hares sat on their haunches. He built him willow huts Wherever he might settle; His meat was chiefly hazel-nuts, His drink the honey-nettle. His Wood that grew so green Is now as grey as stone; His Wood may any day be seen, But where's the good Saint John?
"On all faces was the defiant scowl of hatred as we looked at them."—Daily Chronicle.
What had our genial contemporary done to deserve this?
"Turkish newspapers received in Copenhagen contain long lists of names of prominent Arabs who have been hanged for treason or for absenting themselves from military service. Overleaf is another list of well-known Arabs living in Great Britain and the British Colonies, who are cordially invited to return without delay."—Morning Paper.
Dilly ducks, dilly ducks, come and be killed.
JUSTIFICATION.
Wife. "Two bottles of ginger-beer, dear?""
He. "Why, yes. Have you forgotten that this is the anniversary of our wedding-day?"