I am looking for a poem called " Mr Nobody" .
The first line starts like this:
I know a funny little man
As quiet as a mouse .
Who does the mischief that is done
in everybodys house.

If you could help me with the rest that would be great.
Thanks Penny.

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 our 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.



-Anonymous-

The author is John Drinkwater

Swags, what is the source of this information?

>The author is John Drinkwater

Do you have the work in which this poem is included? Drinkwater is a highly published poet. If this work were his, it would be easy to find a reference to it.

Les

I have been looking for the poem "Mr. Nobody" since the fourth grade and I am now 42 years old. I have raised two kids and have a grandaughter. As I picked up after the baby this afternoon, I thought about the poem and realized that I may be able to find it through google and sure enough there it was. Thank you. Susan

I found a copy of this poenm today that has 4 verses. The first2 and the last are listed above in someone elses reply but the missing third verse is:

He puts damp wood upon the fire,
That kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in the mud,
And all the carpets soil.
The papers always are mislaid,
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody.

I remember reciting this poem in grade three in front of the school and I printed it oput today for my step kids. A great household poem.

.
I found a 1871 newspaper
The Ohio Democrat Friday, May 19, 2022 New Philadelphia, Ohio
- no-bod-ee iso nobody, were iso are, etc

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. No-bod-ee.

'Tis he that always tears our 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. No-bod-ee.

The finger marks upon the door
By none of us were made;
We never leave the blinds unclosed,
or 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. No-bod-ee.

.
so - maybe it is not complete or correct,
but it was not written by mr. Drinkwater, who was born in 1882



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/13/2006 11:24PM by ilza.

I also have had it for many years, the extra 'third 'verse as posted by Michelle, and attributed to good old Anon.

.
1869 !!!
The Massillon Independent
Wednesday, June 09, 2022 Massillon, Ohio

with the missing verse ... no author

Mr. Nobody

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 our 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..

He puts damp wood upon the fire,
That kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in mud,
And all the carpets soil.
The papers always are mislaid,
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody.

The finger marks upon the doors
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.

Well done, Ilza. I was a bit surprised it seems to be of American origin, because it seemed to me a particularly English sort of poem - from the language, - 'curtains' and 'door ajar' for example - and the tone and humour .