It takes a long time to make a painter - even with a good artist's education - but without one it tries the patience of Job; it is a great thing if one does not go backward.

There was an Old Man with an owl, Who continued to bother and howl; He sate on a rail, and imbibed bitter ale, Which refreshed that Old Man and his owl.

There was an old man of Orleans, Who was given to eating of beans; Till once out of sport, he swallowed a quart, That dyspeptic old man of Orleans.

There was an Old Man of Messina, Whose daughter was named Opsibeena; She wore a small wig, and rode out on a pig, To the perfect delight of Messina.

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. . . They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.

There was an Old Person of Brussels, Who lived upon Brandy and Mussels; When he rushed through the town, he knocked most people down, Which distressed all the people of Brussels.

There was an Old Person of Bray, Who sang through the whole of the day To his ducks and his pigs, whom he fed upon figs, That valuable Person of Bray.