Tobogganing on Parnassus Part 7

a.s.suming I should write such dope-- If, haply, you can but conceive it-- As Fahrenheit as Laurence Hope-- You'd not believe it.

YOU'D not; but, oh, Another would!

For, by and large and altogether, Us potes must be misunderstood.

What lovely weather!

"A Perfect Woman n.o.bly Planned"

(The man who wants the perfect wife should marry a "stock-size." She comes cheaper.--_London Chronicle_.)

Ah, Myrtilla, woe and dear me!

Lackadaydee and alas!

What is this, I greatly fear me, That has come to pa.s.s?

Craving, as I do, perfection, Loathing anything like flaws, I must raise a slight objection To your building laws.

You are five one-and-a-quarter, And your girth is thirty-three-- Myrtie, you're a little shorter Than you ought to be.

It is far from my intentions Your proportions to describe, Briefly, Myrtie, your dimensions Do not seem to jibe.

Farewell, Myrt, for Ethelisa Seems to be my certain fate, Stupid? Silly? Sure, but she's a Perfect thirty-eight.

An Ultimatum to Myrtilla

(Inspired by the shameless styles in hair.)

Ah, Myrtilla mine, you said-- And your tone was earnest, very-- You would never deck your head With this vernal millinery.

Myrt, to mince no words, you lied; Oh, that I should live to know it!

You that are my nearly-bride; I that am your nearly-poet!

For I saw the awful lid You had on at 10 this morning; Myrt, it was a merrywid, Spite of my decisive warning.

Still, I can forgive you that; Though the thing look ne'er so silly; I will overlook the hat If you promise this, Myrtillie:

Wear your lacebelows and fluffs; Wear the awfullest creations-- But--omit the stylish puffs And the vogueish transformations.

Myrt, if you inflate your hair I shall--well--excoriate you, And, I positively swear, Loathe, despise, detest, and hate you.

Love Gustatory

Myrtilla, I have seen you eat-- Have heard you drink, to be precise-- Your soup, and, notwithstanding, sweet, The gurgitation wasn't nice, I overlooked a tiny fault Like that with just a grain of salt.

And, sweetest maid in all New York, When all ungracefully you pierce The toothsome oyster with your fork I realize you're pretty fierce; But such a feat, be't understood, Nor Venus nor Diana could.

I've seen you hang, high in the air, A stalk of fresh asparagus, Guiding its succulence to where It ought to go. I did not cuss.

You had it hot and vinaigrette, Myrtilla, and I loved you yet.

Myrt, I have stood for a good deal, As one will in this Cupid game, But now I know I'll never feel Toward you, dear Tillie, quite the same Since I have seen you on the job Of eating corn--corn on the cob.

She Is Not Fair

"She is not fair to outward view"; No beauty hers of form or face She hath no witchery, 'tis true, No grace.

Nor pretty wit, nor well-stored mind, Nor azure eyes, nor golden hair Hath she. She is--I am not blind-- Not fair.

What makes me love her, then? say you, For such a maid is not my wont.

Love her! What makes you think I do?

I don't.

To Myrtilla Again

Myrtilla, when the thought of you Obstructs my cold, unbiased view, And keeps me from My hard though hum- Ble task, I do not murmur nor complain I do not ululate nor feign A love for _vin_ Or what is in A flask.

When, as I said in stanza first, My mind is thoroughly immersed With you until My pulses thrill And throb, I don't, in tones more picturesque Than journalistic, slam my desk, And in a fit Of frenzy quit My job.

When, as I may have said before, Your image I can not ignore, I do not tear My thinning hair Nor cuss;

I leave such sentimental show To bards like Sh.e.l.ley, Keats, and Poe I merely spill Some ink, Myrtil- La, thus.

Myrtilla's Third Degree

(With deep bows to Adelaide Anne Proctor's heirs, administrators and a.s.signs.)

Before I trust my Fate to thee, Or place my hand in thine-- (This is an easy parody, Without a change of line.) Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me.

Is there, within thy dimmest dreams, This dread ambition, Myrt?

Hast thou the ghost of a desire To wear a hobble[Footnote: "Harem," or whatever is to come in the future, may be subst.i.tuted here.] skirt?

If so, at any pain or cost, oh, tell me before all is lost.

Look deeper still. Dost underline Most words in writing letters?

Or "Local" write on envelopes?