THE REIGN OF RINGLETS.
["It is announced that ringlets are to be worn again by ladies, and that side whiskers are coming in for fashionable men."—Daily News.]
Oh prospect Elysian! It called back a vision
Of youth, and those girls of John Leech's, John Leech's,
Of "corkscrews" that "doddle" all round a fair noddle,
Blue eyes and flushed cheeks like ripe peaches, ripe peaches.
I think of sweet Nelly, whose curls, like a jelly,
Shook soft as she "spooned" me at croquet, at croquet.
But then came lawn tennis old fashion to menace,
And croquet and curls were dubbed "pokey," dubbed "pokey."
But ringlets! O rapture! One spiral to capture
Of Nell's many hundreds and snip it, and snip it,
Was simply delightful. She'd swear she "looked frightful"
As into my bosom I'd slip it, I'd slip it.
But one among dozens, on heads like my cousin's,
Love-larceny was, and not robbery, robbery.
If now I dared sever from "tousle-mops" clever
One tress, there would be a rare bobbery, bobbery.
Ah me! how times alter! My scissors would falter
In trying a Rape of the Lock to-day, Lock to-day.
Nell's trim buxom body, with curls thick and "doddy,"
Would strike the æsthete with a shock to-day, shock to-day.
You only see ringlets on some "poor old thing." Let's
Be kind to the passé, but primness, but primness,
With "winkle" curls shaking, is not very taking,
When linked with old-spinster-like slimness,—like slimness.
I know an "old Biddy"—her name is Miss Twiddy—
Who revels in ringlets curled carefully, carefully.
Oh how they doddle around her old noddle!
She's "songful," a taste which I share fully, share fully.
But when she will warble of Halls—they're of Marble,—
Or Meetings by Moonlight, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
To see curls, and passion, so out of the fashion,
Made mock of by "Up-to-date" Florry, -date Florry.
But ringlets reviving? Miss Twiddy's long striving
For "Passion's Response" mayn't be hopeless, be hopeless.
In "Days of Pomatum" (for that's how I date 'em)
They used more Macassar, and soap less, and soap less!
Inopportune rain then put things out of train then,
Nell's mop, how a shower would spoil it, would spoil it!
Curl-papers, concealing—but there, I'm revealing
The mysteries dark of the toilet, the toilet.
But ringletted friskers, and mutton-chop whiskers,
For "buns" and blue gills closely shaven, -ly shaven!
'Tis sheer revolution! High Art's contribution
Will be first to croak à la raven, la raven.
Will girls then all giggle with ringlets a-wriggle,
As most of the maids of my youth did, my youth did?
Will male "mutton-chopper," scowl pompously proper,
Like Dombey—as our sires in sooth did, in sooth did?