The impkin is supposed to have all of a baby’s virtues and none of his faults. It requires more care, but doesn’t jeopard one’s place in Society.
An impkin, noble and refined,
Complained, “No doubt you see,
Of course, I do not have to mind
My mistress—she minds me.”
“A Pomeranian canine, I,—
She’s but a common woman;
She’s really quite insulting—why,
She seems to think I’m human!”
I´o-bink, n. 1. An unplaceable resemblance; an uncertain similarity. 2. An inaccessible memory. 3. An unexplainable sound.
A flash of mysterious semi-recognition confuses you for a moment. “Where—when—have I done just that thing before?” No use to search your memory or puzzle your wits; you can never catch up with the elusive thought: It’s an iobink.
That strangely familiar face you pass in the street—the figure you dimly recognize in the restaurant.
The iobink, like a will-o’-the-wisp, leads you on in fond pursuit. It was probably some clerk in a dry-goods store, or the assistant in the grocery. (See Oofle.)
So the iobink subtly tortures you. You hear its human voice in sounds of running water, or the moan of the wind. And, as you lie in bed, terrified, an unexplainable noise keeps you awake. But, it’s nothing—only an iobink.
What is that word, that you cannot quite remember? It circles above your head, just out of reach. The iobink will not come, except uncalled. The tune you strive to bring back haunts you like a ghost. You cannot give it audible form. It hovers beyond your consciousness in a world of iobinks. (See Rizgidget.)
Who was she? And what was her name?
Somehow, I couldn’t think.
Why was my memory so to blame?
It was an iobink.