Elsie lisps so, she can’t say
Her own name, ist any way
She says ‘Elthy’—like they wuz
Feathers on her words, an’ they
Ist stuck on her tongue like fuzz.
How charming!—it affects the sensibilities like the ripple of a rill of buttermilk falling into a pig-trough. “Ist,” by the way, means (to an idiot) “just”—it is not easy to say why. Here followeth the other inspiring passage:
One time
Elsie start to say the rhyme
“Thing a thong o’ thixpenth”—whee!
I ist yell; an’ ma say I’m