The wife (whose name was Julia)

Maintained an ample board,

But one thing was peculiar,

Lean meat she quite abhorred.

Here also should be stated

Another fact: 'tis that

Her spouse abominated

The very taste of fat.

This contrast curious of taste

Precluded any thought of waste,

For all they left of any meal

No self-respecting dog would steal.

No generous table d'hÔte meal,

No dainties packed in tins,

But only bowls of oatmeal

They gave the wretched twins;

And yet like princes pampered

Had lived those babes accursed,

Could they have fed unhampered:—

I have not told the worst!

Since nothing from the dining-room

Was left to feed the cook and groom,

It seems that these domestics cruel

Were led to steal the children's gruel!

The twins, all hopes resigning,

And wounded to the core,

Confined themselves to dining

On buttons off the floor.

No passionate resentment

The docile babes displayed:

Each day in calm contentment

Three hearty meals they made.

And daily Jack and Mrs. Sprat

Ate all the lean and all the fat,

And every day the groom and cook

The children's meal contrived to hook.

But when the twins grew older,

As twins are apt to do,

And, shoulder touching shoulder,

Sat Sundays in their pew.

They saw no Christian glory

In parting with a dime,

And in the offertory

Dropped buttons every time.

Said they: "What's good enough for Sprats

Is good enough for heathen brats."

(I most sincerely wish I knew

What was the heathen's point of view.)

The moral: Anecdotes abound

Of buttons in collections found.

Thus on the wheels of progress go,

And heathens reap what Christians sew!