HOW PUNSTERS SMITE THE LYRE.

What, what, what, What's the news from Swat? Sad news, Bad news, Comes by the cable led Through the Indian Ocean's bed, Through the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea, and the Med- iterranean—he's dead; The Ahkoond is dead! For the Ahkoond I mourn; Who wouldn't? He strove to disregard the message stern, But he Ahkoodn't. Dead, dead, dead; (Sorrow Swats!) Swats wha hae wi' Ahkoond bled, Swats whom he hath often led Onward to a gory bed, Or to victory, As the case might be, Sorrow Swats! Tears shed, Shed tears like water, Your great Ahkoond is dead! That Swats the matter! Mourn, city of Swat! Your great Ahkoond is not, But lain 'mid worms to rot. His mortal part alone; his soul was caught (Because he was a good Ahkoond) Up to the bosom of Mahound. Though earthly walls his fame surround (Forever hallowed be the ground!) And skeptics mock the lowly mound And say "He's now of no Ahkoond!" His soul is in the skies— The azure skies that bend above his loved Metropolis of Swat. He sees with larger, other eyes, Athwart all earthly mysteries He knows what's Swat. Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With a noise of mourning and of lamentation! Let Swat bury the great Ahkoond With the noise of the mourning of the Swattish nation! Fallen is at length Its tower of strength, Its sun is dimmed ere it had nooned; Dead lies the great Ahkoond; The great Ahkoond of Swat Is not!

"Dear wife, I'm waxing near my end," The dying cobbler said; "Soon to an upper world my soul Its lonely way must tread. "I fear indeed I'm pegging out; But then what boots it, love? Here we've been a well-fitted pair, And so we'll be above. "My ills I know no drugs may heel, So it's well to prepare; We can't run counter to our fate— Just put a peg in there. "The future need not give you care, I've left my awl to you; For deep within my inner sole I know that you've been true. "I've always given you your rights, But now you must be left; However, do not grieve too much When of me you're bereft. "A last farewell I now will take." He smiled and raised his head. "B-last the cruel malady That lays you low," she said. "I'll slipper away in peace," he sighed; "The strife will soon be past." His head fell back, he sweetly smiled, And then he breathed his last.

I started on a journey just about a week ago, For the little town of Morrow, in the State of Ohio. I never was a traveler, and really didn't know That Morrow had been ridiculed a century or so. I went down to the depot for my ticket, and applied For the tips regarding Morrow, not expecting to be guyed. Said I, "My friend, I want to go to Morrow and return Not later than to-morrow, for I haven't time to burn." Said he to me, "Now let me see if I have heard you right; You want to go to Morrow and come back to-morrow night. You should have gone to Morrow yesterday and back to-day, For if you started yesterday to Morrow, don't you see, You could have got to Morrow and returned to-day at three. The train that started yesterday—now understand me right— To-day it gets to Morrow, and returns to-morrow night." Said I, "My boy, it seems to me you're talking through your hat, Is there a town named Morrow on your line? Now tell me that." "There is," said he, "and take from me a quiet little tip— To go from here to Morrow is a fourteen-hour trip. The train that goes to Morrow leaves to-day eight-thirty-five; Half after ten to-morrow is the time it should arrive. Now if from here to Morrow is a fourteen-hour jump, Can you go to-day to Morrow and come back to-day, you chump?" Said I, "I want to go to Morrow; can I go to-day And get to Morrow by to-night, if there is no delay?" "Well, well," said he, "explain to me and I've no more to say; Can you go anywhere to-morrow and come back to-day? For if to-day you'd get to Morrow, surely you'll agree You should have started not to-day, but yesterday, you see. So if you start to Morrow, leaving here to-day, you're flat, You won't get in to Morrow till the day that follows that. "Now if you start to-day to Morrow, it's a cinch you'll land To-morrow into Morrow, not to-day, you understand. For the train to-day to Morrow, if the schedule is all right, Will get you into Morrow by about to-morrow night." Said I, "I guess you know it all, but kindly let me say, How can I go to Morrow if I leave the town to-day?" Said he, "You cannot go to Morrow any more to-day, For the train that goes to Morrow is a mile upon its way."

I was so disappointed I was mad enough to swear; The train had gone to Morrow and had left me standing there. The man was right in telling me I was a howling jay; I didn't go to Morrow, so I guess I'll go to-day.

Wring out the old, wring out the new, Wring out the black, wring out the gray, Wring out the white, wring out the blue— And thus I wring my life away. An occupation strange is mine; At least it seems to people droll That while I'm working at the line I'm going on from pole to pole. Where'er I go I strive to please, From morn to night I rub and rub; I'm something like Diogenes— I almost live within a tub. To acrobats who vault and spring In circuses I take a shine; They make their living in the ring, And by the wringer I make mine. My calling's humble, I'll agree, But I am no cheap calico, As some folks are who sneer at me; I'm something that will wash, you know. I smile in calm, I strive in storm, With life's adversities I cope My duties bravely to perform; My motto—While there's life there's soap. Wring out the old, wring out the new, Wring out the black, wring out the gray, Wring out the white, wring out the blue— And thus I wring my life away.