There is nothing so sweet, or so quaintly complete As a dear little babykin's queer little feet, With their ten tiny toes like the buds of a rose And their heels soft as velvet.

Forget not the boys of Kilmichael, those brave lads so gallant and true. Who fought 'neath the green flag of Erin, and conquered the red, white and blue.

'What're these big-ass panties doing on my rail?' demanded Britney in the dressing room, 'Where's the name tag . . . These have clitty litter in them! Ugh!'

The damsel, ycleped Louisa, made rather a shame-faced obeisance, and her old grandmother went on to inform me that she had only lately been forgiven by the overseer for an attempt to run away from the plantation.