The evening succeeding the lady’s third visit to the grocery, a package, neatly done up in brown paper, was left at her residence by a youth who vanished upon the instant. The lady untied the bundle, and discovered an A. No. 1 salted codfish. The following lines, on pink initial note (slightly greased), were fastened to its tail by a blue ribbon:—
“My love is boundless as the ocean,
Deep as its waters my devotion.
This cod, sweet maid, is salt—
Salt is the ocean too;
By logical analogy, therefore, this fish will prove
Type of my love for you.”
Next evening, about the same time, another package arrived, with another poetic sentiment in the same handwriting:—
“I send a can of salmon soused,
’Tis sweetness in the sour;
O, would your smile the salmon was,
In my forlorn soused hour!”
The lady was somewhat puzzled, though gratified. Her father was somewhat puzzled, though not gratified. Their quandary was not lessened upon receiving a third delicate present the next evening.
“I offer my love two pounds of chipped beef,
’Twill be nice for her breakfast or sup;
O the love in my heart’s not at all like the beef—
For, sweet maid, that can never dry up!”
“Can’t never dry up, eh?” said the old man the following evening, as he pulled on his thickest boots, and took up a commanding position on the front-door step. “Can’t never dry up, eh?—we’ll see.”
But the mysterious messenger flanked him by ringing at the back gate.
“Sweet maid, sweet maid, O pray accept
This jar of pickled onions;
They’ll tell thee of the tears I’ve wept,
And sighs vent by the ton-ions.