Soft was the night, the eve how airy,
When through the big, fat dictionary
I wandered on in careless ease,
And read the a's, b's, c's and d's!

But stop! What is this form I see,
Beginning with a hump-backed d?
I pause! I gasp! I falter there!
It is the djolan, I declare!

It is the djolan, wond'rous word!
The Buceros plicatus bird!
Ne'er, ne'er before had I the bliss
To meet a djolly word like this!

'Twas djust before my dinner hour --
Well, let the djuicy djoint go sour!
Djoyful I read.
I djust must see What this strange djolan word may be! Ah! ha! It is a noun! A noun! (A ''name word" as we say in town) "E.
The native name of the Year bird.
" These are the words I see.
"A hornbill with a white tail and --" The big book trembles in my hand -- "-- plicated membrane at the base --" Ah, well-a-day! If that's the case! "-- base of the beak, inhabiting --" Oh! dictionary, wond'rous thing! "-- the Sunda Islands ----" Where would we Without our dictionary be? "-- Malacca, e-t-c.
" That's all! I let the dictionary fall.
I am replete.
All is explained.
Knowledge (it's power) is what I've gained! Soft was the night, the eve how airy, I read no more the dictionary, But Oh! and Oh! my heart was stirred To learn the djolan was a bird!

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