And I'll tell the children to cease their din,
Or I'll let that grim old party in,
To stop their squeazles and likewise their measles."—
She practised this with the greatest success.
She was every one's grandmother, I guess.
"That's much the best of all!" pronounced Alice Gibbons. "I wonder who wrote it?"
"Dear me! did you like it so much?" said Rose, simpering, and doing her best to blush.
"Did you really write it?" said Mary; but Louisa laughed, and exclaimed, "No use, Rosy! you can't take us in,—we know better!"
"Now for the last," said Katy. "The word is 'Buckwheat,' and the question, 'What is the origin of dreams?'"
When the nuns are sweetly sleeping,
Mrs. Nipson comes a-creeping,
Creeping like a kitty-cat from door to door;
And she listens to their slumbers,
And most carefully she numbers,
Counting for every nun a nunlet snore!
And the nuns in sweet forgetfulness who lie,
Dreaming of buckwheat cakes, parental love, and—pie,
Moan softly, twist and turn, and see
Black cats and fiends, who frolic in their glee;
And nightmares prancing wildly do abound
While Mrs. Nipson makes her nightly round.
"Who did write that?" exclaimed Rose. No-
