THE ROLLICKING MASTODON

A Rollicking Mastodon lived in Spain,

In the trunk of a Tranquil Tree.

His face was plain, but his jocular vein

Was a burst of the wildest glee.

His voice was strong and his laugh so long

That people came many a mile,

And offered to pay a guinea a day

For the fractional part of a smile.

The Rollicking Mastodon's laugh was wide —

Indeed,‘ twas a matter of family pride;

And oh! so proud of his jocular vein

Was the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

The Rollicking Mastodon said one day,

“I feel that I need some air,

For a little ozone's a tonic for bones,

As well as a gloss for the hair.”

So he skipped along and warbled a song

In his own triumphulant way.

His smile was bright and his skip was light

As he chirruped his roundelay.

The Rollicking Mastodon tripped along,

And sang what Mastodons call a song;

But every note of it seemed to pain

The Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

A Little Peetookle came over the hill,

Dressed up in a bollitant coat;

And he said, “You need some harroway seed,

And a little advice for your throat.”

The Mastodon smiled and said, “My child,

There's a chance for your taste to grow.

If you polish your mind, you'll certainly find

How little, how little you know.”

The Little Peetookle, his teeth he ground

At the Mastodon's singular sense of sound;

For he felt it a sort of musical stain

On the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.

“Alas! and alas! has it come to this pass?”

Said the Little Peetookle: “Dear me!

It certainly seems your horrible screams

Intended for music must be.”

The Mastodon stopped; his ditty he dropped,

And murmured, “Good-morning, my dear!

I never will sing to a sensitive thing

That shatters a song with a sneer!”

The Rollicking Mastodon bade him “adieu.”

Of course,‘ twas a sensible thing to do;

For Little Peetookle is spared the strain

Of the Rollicking Mastodon over in Spain.