(A Geometrical Jingle.)

BY ROSSITER JOHNSON.

  Teddy, Jimmy, Frank, and I
  Fished all day for smallest fry,
  And as evening shades drew nigh,
  Stopped to see if we could buy,
  At a road-side groce-ry,
  Anything they called a pie.

  There was one, and only one,
  Deeply filled and brownly done,
  Warm from standing in the sun,
  Flanked on each side by a bun,
  Since that summer day begun.

  From the window it was brought,
  With our pennies it was bought;
  Then a knife was quickly sought—­
  Who would cut it as he ought?

  “Leave it all,” says Ted, “to me,”
  As the knife he flourished free;
  “I have cut a great ma-ny.”

  “But,” says Frank, who feared our fate,
  “Will you cut it fair and straight?”
  “Straight?” says Ted.  “I’ll tell you what—­
  Straighter than a rifle-shot: 
  Straighter than the eagle’s flight. 
  Straight as any ray of light.”

  “I will mark the place,” says Jim—­
  Great exactness was his whim—­
  And he measured, on the rim,
  Starting-points, as guides for him.

  Ted put in the knife with glee;
  First he cut from A to B! 
  Then he cut from C to D!! 
  Then he took the piece marked E!!!

  Every cut was straight, he said,—­
  He would bet his curly head. 
  Such a perfect, born-and-bred
  Geometric rogue was Ted.

[Illustration]

“CHAIRS TO MEND!”

BY ALEXANDER WAINWRIGHT.

The art of doing small things well has a good illustration in the humble chair-mender of the London streets, who is also one of the most interesting of out-door tradesmen.

He carries all his implements and materials with him.  A very much worn chair is thrown over one arm as an advertisement of his occupation, and it is needed, for his cry, “Cha-ir-s to men-n-nd,” is uttered in a melancholy and indistinct, though penetrating, tone.  Under the other arm he usually has a bundle of cane, split into narrow ribbons.

His look is that of forlorn respectability; his hat is greasy, and mapped with so many veins, caused by crushings, that it might have been used as a chair or, at least, a foot-stool; around his neck he wears a heavy cloth kerchief, and his long coat of by-gone fashion reaches nearly to the ankles, which are covered by shabby gaiters.  He walks along at a very gentle pace and scans the windows of the houses for some sign that his services are wanted.

[Illustration:  “CHAIRS TO MEND!”]

Perhaps business is dull, but in the neighborhoods where there are plenty of children he is pretty sure to find some work.  Cane-seated chairs are durable, but they will not stand the rough usage of those little boys and girls who treat them as step-ladders and stamp upon them.  It often happens that a neat English house-maid appears at the area railings with a chair that has a big, ragged hole in the seat, through which Master Tommy has fallen, with his boots on, in an effort to reach the gooseberry jam on the pantry shelf.