The daughter of the Republic bit off a small piece of cough candy, and says she:
"It's down below, young man, where you bid fair to go."
"And will it never be put out?" says Private Jinks.
The deeply-affected crinoline shook her head until all her combs rattled, and says she:
"No, young man; it will burn, and burn, young man."
"Then I'm safe enough!" says Private Jinks, slapping his knee; "for I'm a member of Forty Hose, and if that air fire is to keep burning, they'll have to have a paid Fire Department down there, and shut us fellows out."
The daughter of the Republic instantly left him, my boy; and when next I saw her, she was arguing with one of the chaplains, who pretended to believe that firemen sometimes went to Heaven.
Woman, my boy, is an angel in disguise; and if she had wings what a rise there would be in bonnets!
Yours, for the next Philharmonic,
Orpheus C. Kerr.