MR. NOBODY 
        By Unknown
        
        I know a funny little man,
        As quiet as a mouse,
        Who does the mischief that is done
        In everybody’s house!
        There’s no one ever sees his face,
        And yet we all agree
        That every plate we break was cracked
        By Mr. Nobody.
        
        ‘Tis he who always tears out books,
        Who leaves the door ajar,
        He pulls the buttons from our shirts,
        And scatters pins afar;
        That squeaking door will always squeak,
        For prithee, don’t you see,
        We leave the oiling to be done
        By Mr. Nobody.
        
        The finger marks upon the door
        By none of us are made;
        We never leave the blinds unclosed,
        To let the curtains fade.
        The ink we never spill; the boots
        That lying round you see
        Are not our boots,—they all belong
        To Mr. Nobody.