sticking into my body his sharp and pricking staffe which he did sometimes
use. He led me out bodily to the noone-house, where I found myself fully
awakened, but much broken in spirit. Then and there did I write these
verses, which I send to you:

"Mother," says I, "is that a pie?" in tones akin to scorning;
"It is, my son," quoth she, "and one full ripe for Christmas morning!
It's fat with plums as big as your thumbs, reeking with sapid juices,
And you'll find within all kinds of sin our grocery store produces!"
"O, well," says I,
"Seein' it's _pie_
And is guaranteed to please, ma'am,
By your advice,
I'll take a slice,
If you'll kindly pass the cheese, ma'am!"

But once a year comes Christmas cheer, and one should then be merry,
But as for me, as you can see, I'm disconcerted, very;
For that pesky pie sticks grimly by my organs of digestion,
And that 't will stay by me till May or June I make no question.
So unto you,
Good friends and true,
I'll tip this solemn warning:
At every price,
Eschew the vice
Of eating pie in the morning.


FRANK W. GUNSAULUS.
Chicago, March, 1896.