How strange the food he covets,
The restless, restless wight;—
Fred's old stuffed armadillo
He found a tempting bite,
Fred's old stuffed armadillo,
With ears a perfect fright.
The Lady Ruth's great bureau,
Each foot a dragon's paw!
The midget ate the nails from
His famous antique claw.
Oh, what a cruel beastie
To hurt a dragon's claw!
To autographic copies
Upon my choicest shelf,—
To every dainty volume
The rogue has helped himself.
My books! Oh dear! No matter!
The rogue has helped himself.
And yet, my little squirrel,
Your taste is not so bad;
You've swallowed Caird completely
And psychologic Ladd.
Rosmini you've digested,
And Kant in rags you've clad.
Gnaw on, my elfish rodent!
Lay all the sages low!
My pretty lace and ribbons,
They're yours for weal or woe!
My pocket-book's in tatters
Because you like it so.
Mary E. Burt.
