THE ENGLISH WIFE.
[Max O'Rell says that the English wife sits opposite to her husband at the fireside in the evening with her curl-papers in her hair.]
Air—"She wore a Wreath of Roses."
She wore a wreath of roses,
The night when first we met;
Her hair, with careful oiling,
Looked shiny, black, and wet.
Her footsteps had the lightness
Of—say a mastodon;
And oh! she look exceeding smart,
Though high of hue—and bone.
I saw her but a moment,
Yet methinks I see her now
With the slimness, style and lightness
Of—say a Low Dutch Vrow!
A wreath of orange blossoms
When next we met she wore,
The spread of form and features
Was much greater than before.
And standing by her side was one
Who strove, and strove in vain,
To make believe that such a wife
Was a domestic gain.
I saw her but a moment,
Yet methinks I see her now,
With her big front teeth projecting,
A queer blend of horse and cow.
And once again I see that brow—
No bridal wreath is there—
A ring of curl-papers conceals
What's left of her scant hair.
She sits on one side of the hearth.
Her spouse, poor man, sits near,
And wonders how that scarecrow thing
Could once to him be dear!
I wondered, and departed,
Yet methinks I see her now,
That type of British wife-hood,
With the corkscrews round her brow!