To Gelett Burgess.

He girded on his shining sword,
    He clad him in his suit of mail,
He gave his friends the parting word,
    With high resolve his face was pale.
They said, "You've kissed the Papal Toe,
    To great Moguls you've made your bow,
Why will you thus world-wandering go?"
    "I never saw a purple cow!"

"I never saw a purple cow!
    Oh, hinder not my wild emprise,
Let me depart! For even now
    Perhaps, before some yokel's eyes
The purpling creature dashes by,
    Bending its noble, horned brow.
They see its glowing charms, but I,
    I never saw a purple cow!"

"But other cows there be," they said,
    "Both cows of high and low degree,
Suffolk and Devon, brown, black, red,
    The Ayrshire and the Alderney.
Content yourself with...

By my friend, T. WOODWARD, ESQ., of a Group, consisting of a Donkey, a Boy, and a Dog.


Welcome, my pretty Neddy--welcome too
Thy merry Rider with his apron blue;
And thou, poor Dog, most patient thing of all,
Begging for morsels that may never fall!
Oh! 'tis a faithful group--and it might shame
Painters of bold pretence, and greater name--
To see how nature triumphs, and how rare
Such matchless proofs of Nature's triumphs are--
The smallest particle of sand may tell
With what rich ore Pactolus' tide may swell:
And Woodward! this ingenious, chaste design,
Proclaims what treasures lie within the mine--
Pupil of Cooper--Nature's favorite son--
Whom, but to name, and to admire, is one!

Why that's a doodle bug, my child
    Who lives alone, remote and wild.
His domicile's a hole in the ground
    And when at home he's easily found.
The only plan allowed by law
    Is to lure him forth upon a straw,
For the doodle bug is a misanthrope
    And otherwise is sure to elope.

    There was an old man who said, "How
    Shall I flee from this horrible cow?
    I will sit on this stile
    And continue to smile,
    Which may soften the heart of that cow."

    Not, where the stairway turns in the dark
    A hooded figure, shriveled under a flowing cloak!
    Not yellow eyes in the room at night,
    Staring out from a surface of cobweb gray!
    And not the flap of a condor wing
    When the roar of life in your ears begins
    As a sound heard never before!
    But on a sunny afternoon,
    By a country road,
    Where purple rag-weeds bloom along a straggling fence
    And the field is gleaned, and the air is still
    To see against the sun-light something black
    Like a blot with an iris rim -
    That is the sign to eyes of second sight. . .
    And that I saw!

The Comfortable Confidential Cow,
who sate in her Red Morocco Arm Chair and
toasted her own Bread at the parlour Fire.