Nice to eat;
A supper fit
For a dog alone
Is all the fare
Of poor Mary Lebone.
She squats by the corner
Of Baker Street
And snuffs the air
So spicy and sweet
When the Bakers are baking
Their puddings and pies,
Their buns and their biscuits
And Banburies--
A tart for Jocelyn
A cake for Joan,
And nothing at all
For poor Mary Lebone!

XVII.

SCOTLAND YARD.

"How long's the Yard in Scotland?
Tell me that now, Mother."
"Six-and-thirty inches, Daughter,
Just like any other."
"O isn't it thirty-five, Mother?"
"No more than thirty-seven."
"Then the bonny lad that sold me plaid
Will never get to heaven."