The Wit and Humor of America Volume III Part 22

Though sweetness s.h.i.+nes in every look, Her laugh is never loud, nor often.

Though golden locks have won renown With bards, I never heed their raving; The girl I love hath locks of brown, Not tightly curled, but gently waving.

Her mouth?--Perhaps you'd term it large-- Is firmly molded, full and curving; Her quiet lips are Cupid's charge, But in the cause of truth unswerving.

Though little of her neck is seen, That little is both smooth and sightly; And fair as marble is its sheen Above her bodice gleaming whitely.

Her nose is just the proper size, Without a trace of upward turning.

Her sh.e.l.l-like ears are wee and wise, The tongue of scandal ever spurning.

In mirth and woe her voice is low, Her calm demeanor never fluttered; Her every accent seems to go Straight to one's heart as soon as uttered.

She ne'er coquets as others do; Her tender heart would never let her.

Where does she dwell? I would I knew; As yet, alas! I've never met her.

THE AUTO RUBAIYAT[5]

BY REGINALD WRIGHT KAUFFMAN

Move!--Or the Devil Red who puts to flight Whate'er's before him, to the Left or Right, Will toss you high as Heaven when he strikes Your poor clay carca.s.s with his master-might!

As the c.o.c.k crows the "Fiends" who stand before The Starting-Point, amid the Stream's wild roar, Shake hands, make wills, and duly are confess'd, Lest, once departed, they return no more.

For whether towards Madrid or Was.h.i.+ngton, Whether by steam or gasoline they run, Pedestrians keep getting in their way, Chauffeurs are being slaughtered one by one.

A new Fool's every minute born, you say; Yes, but where speeds the Fool of Yesterday?

Beneath the Road he sleeps, the Autos roar Close o'er his head, but can not thrill his clay.

Well, let him sleep! For what have ye to do With him, who this or Anything pursue So it take swiftness?--Let the Children scream, Or Constables shout after--heed not you.

Oh ye who anti-auto laws would make And still insist upon the silly brake, Get in, and try a spin, and then you'll see How many fines you will impose--and take!

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Tank that cheers, Nor heed the Law's rebuke, the Rabble's tears, Quick! For To-morrow you and I may be Ourselves with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

A pair of Goggles and a Cap, I trow, A Stench, a Roar, and my Machine and Thou Beside me, going ninety miles an hour-- Oh, Turnpike-road were Paradise enow!

Ah, Love, could we successfully conspire Against this sorry World for our desire, Would we not shatter it to bits without So much of damage as a busted tire?

With Gasoline my fading Life provide, And wash my Body in it when I've died, And lay me, shrouded in my Cap and Cape, By some not Autoless new Speedway's side.

Yon "Devil" that goes p.r.i.c.king o'er the Plain, How oft hereafter will she go again!

How oft hereafter will she seek her prey?

But seek, alas, for one of us in vain!

And when, like her, O Love, you come to take Your morning spin for Appet.i.te's sweet sake, And pa.s.s the spot where I lay buried, then, In memory of me, fling wide the Brake!

[Footnote 5: Lippincott's Magazine.]

THE TWO LADIES

BY CAROLYN WELLS

Once on a Time there were Two Ladies at a Shop where Gorgeous and Expensive Silks were temptingly displayed. "Only Six Dollars a Yard, Madam," said the Shopman to One of the Ladies, as he held up the l.u.s.trous Breadths in those Tempting Fan-shaped Folds peculiar to Shopmen.

The Lady hesitated, and looked Dubiously at the Silk, for she knew it was Beyond her Means.

The Shopman Continued: "Very Cheap at the Price, and I have Only this One Dress Pattern remaining. You will Take it? Yes? Certainly, I will Send it at Once."

The Lady went away filled with Deep Regret because she had squandered her Money so Foolishly, and wished she had been Firm in her Refusal to buy the Goods.

The Other Lady saw a similar Silk. She felt it Between her Fingers, Measured its Width with her Eye, and then said Impulsively, "Oh, That is just What I Want. I will Take Twenty Yards."

No Sooner was the Silk cut off than the Lady felt Sharp Twinges of Remorse, for she knew she must Pay for it with the Money she had Saved Up for a new Dining-Room Carpet.

MORALS:

This Fable teaches that the Woman Who Deliberates Is Lost, and That We Should Think Twice Before We Speak Once.

THE DIAMOND WEDDING

BY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN

O Love! Love! Love! What times were those, Long ere the age of belles and beaux, And Brussels lace and silken hose, When, in the green Arcadian close, You married Psyche under the rose, With only the gra.s.s for bedding!

Heart to heart, and hand to hand, You followed Nature's sweet command, Roaming lovingly through the land, Nor sighed for a Diamond Wedding.

So have we read in cla.s.sic Ovid, How Hero watched for her beloved, Impa.s.sioned youth, Leander.

She was the fairest of the fair, And wrapt him round with her golden hair, Whenever he landed cold and bare, With nothing to eat and nothing to wear, And wetter than any gander; For Love was Love, and better than money; The slyer the theft, the sweeter the honey; And kissing was clover, all the world over, Wherever Cupid might wander.

So thousands of years have come and gone, And still the moon is s.h.i.+ning on, Still Hymen's torch is lighted; And hitherto, in this land of the West, Most couples in love have thought it best To follow the ancient way of the rest, And quietly get united.

But now, True Love, you're growing old-- Bought and sold, with silver and gold, Like a house, or a horse and carriage!

Midnight talks, Moonlight walks, The glance of the eye and sweetheart sigh, The shadowy haunts, with no one by, I do not wish to disparage; But every kiss Has a price for its bliss, In the modern code of marriage;

And the compact sweet Is not complete Till the high contracting parties meet Before the altar of Mammon; And the bride must be led to a silver bower, Where pearls and rubies fall in a shower That would frighten Jupiter Ammon!

I need not tell How it befell, (Since Jenkins has told the story Over and over and over again In a style I can not hope to attain, And covered himself with glory!) How it befell, one summer's day, The king of the Cubans strolled this way-- King January's his name, they say-- And fell in love with the Princess May, The reigning belle of Manhattan; Nor how he began to smirk and sue, And dress as lovers who come to woo, Or as Max Maretzek and Julien do, When they sit full-bloomed in the ladies' view, And flourish the wondrous baton.

He wasn't one of your Polish n.o.bles, Whose presence their country somehow troubles, And so our cities receive them; Nor one of your make-believe Spanish grandees, Who ply our daughters with lies and candies Until the poor girls believe them.

No, he was no such charlatan-- Count de Hoboken Flash-in-the-pan, Full of gasconade and bravado-- But a regular, rich Don Rataplan, Santa Claus de la Muscovado, Senor Grandissimo Bastinado.