Sary still maintains it's han'some, "an' them city folks 'll see That we're posted on the fashions when they visit us," says she; But it plagues her some to tell her, ef it ain't no other use, We can set it fer the golf-lynx ef he ever sh'u'd get loose. Albert Bigelow Paine. THE CONSTANT CANNIBAL MAIDEN FAR, oh, far is the Mango island, I've been deceived by a damsel Spanish, For the Puritan Prue she sets in the offing, And the Spanish minx is the wust at scoffing But the cannibal maid is a simple creetur, And constant and faithful a-yearnin' for me. Me Turkish sweetheart she played me double- When she ups and married an oblong Swede. Widow Bedott to Elder Sniffles But there's truth in the heart of the maid o' Mango, Though her cheeks is black like the kiln baked cork, As she sets in the shade o' the whingo-whango, 195 Wallace Irwin. WIDOW BEDOTT TO ELDER SNIFFLES O REVEREND sir, I do declare A body'd thought it was enough To mourn your wife's departer, But sickness and affliction Are sent by a wise creation, O, I could to your bedside fly, It's a world of trouble we tarry in, That you may soon be movin' again Both sick and well, you may depend By your faithful and affectionate friend, Frances Miriam Whitcher. UNDER THE MISTLETOE SHE stood beneath the mistletoe A timid longing filled her heart; He sprang to where the fair girl stood. May I-just one-my sweet?" He asked his love, who tossed her head, He sat before the fireplace Down at the club that night. She held his picture to her heart, Then pressed it to her lips. "My loved one!" sobbed she, "if you-cared You surely would have-would have-dared." George Francis Shults. THE BROKEN PITCHER IT was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well, Alphonso Guzman was he hight, the Count of Desparedo. "Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! why sitt'st thou by the spring? Say, dost thou seek a lover, or any other thing? The Broken Pitcher 197 "I do not seek a lover, thou Christian knight so gay, Because an article like that hath never come my way; And why I gaze upon you, I cannot, cannot tell, Except that in your iron hose you look uncommon swell. "My pitcher it is broken, and this the reason is,― "My uncle, the Alcaydè, he waits for me at home, "Oh, maiden, Moorish maiden! wilt thou be ruled by me! So wipe thine eyes and rosy lips, and give me kisses three; And I'll give thee my helmet, thou kind and courteous lady, To carry home the water to thy uncle, the Alcaydè." He lighted down from off his steed-he tied him to a tree He bowed him to the maiden, and took his kisses three: "To wrong thee, sweet Zorayda, I swear would be a sin! He knelt him at the fountain, and he dipped his helmet in. Up rose the Moorish maiden-behind the knight she steals, And caught Alphonso Guzman up tightly by the heels; She tipped him in, and held him down beneath the bubbling water, "Now, take thou that for venturing to kiss Al Hamet's daughter!" A Christian maid is weeping in the town of Oviedo; GIFTS RETURNED "You must give back," her mother said, To a poor sobbing little maid, "All the young man has given you, Hard as it now may seem to do." ""Tis done already, mother dear!" Said the sweet girl, "So never fear." Mother. Are you quite certain? Come, recount (There was not much) the whole amount. Girl. The locket; the kid gloves. Mother. Go on. Girl. Of the kid gloves I found but one. Mother. Never mind that. What else? Proceed. You gave back all his trash? Girl. Indeed. Mother. And was there nothing you would save? Mother. To the last tittle? I cry so I can hardly see ... All the fond looks and words that past, And all the kisses, to the last. Walter Savage Landor. |