HOW IT'S DONE!
DEAREST MADGE,
You have asked me to tell you some scandal!
You seem to forget how I hate such a theme—
How I loathe and detest every girl who's a Vandal,
Destroying that fine work of Art, Nature's Scheme.
Why, I never talk scandal, you goose, and you know it;
It's no fascination whatever to me.
I could tell some, of course, for we county folk grow it
Like so many apples and pears on a tree.
I repeat, I detest such a thing beyond measure.
I'm not like dear MAUD, who my husband declares
Was invented and made to exist on the pleasure
Of dragging to light other people's affairs.
She would forward you scandalous tales by the dozen—
There's no one like her if you want any news.
I declare she's as bad as her wretch of a cousin,
Who's bolted with Major FITZ-DASH, of the Blues.
Now, for instance, she told me (in confidence, mind you)
That Captain BLANK CARTRIDGE, when playing at Nap,
Has an odious habit of getting behind you,
And calling according to what's on your lap.
(By the way, we have only just heard that the Major,
Who gave Lady B. such a beautiful horse,
Is a perfect Don Juan, and quite an old stager
At playing a prominent part in divorce.)
More than that, she assures me (although I don't doubt it)
That D., though apparently sober and staid,
Is a flirt, and that people are talking about it
Indignantly here. And it's true, I'm afraid;
For I heard Mrs. PARSONS, the wife of the Vicar,
Inform Countess C. (who's forgiven, you know)
That each day she appears to get thicker and thicker
With N., though engaged to be married to O.
MAUD has written to mother, and said in her letter
(Marked "private ") that T., who has taken to drink,
And been sent to a sort of a home, is no better,
And quenches his thirst, when he can, with the ink.
And the Dowager Duchess of M. (the old sinner!)
Has dropped all the money she had backing gees;
While the Colonel, who's said to have spotted the winner,
Owns most of the horses that lost, if you please!
But dear MAUD is the one for the news that's exciting.
You've wasted your paper in sending to me.
I would just as soon think, love, of flying as writing
One word of the scandal of afternoon tea.
Give my love to your mother, and kisses to DORA—
(She's doing the season with you, I presume?)
And believe me your ever affectionate, FLORA.
P.S. Mrs. K. has eloped with her groom!
Scandal Hall, Torking.