“Wanted—By a bard, in wedlock, some young interesting woman:
Looks are not so much an object, if the shiners be forthcoming!
“Hymen’s chains the advertiser vows shall be but silken fetters;
Please address to A. T., Chelsea. N.B.—You must pay the letters.”
That’s the sort of thing to do it. Now I’ll go and taste the balmy,—
Rest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted Cousin Amy!
My Wife’s Cousin.
Decked with shoes of blackest polish,
And with shirt as white as snow,
After early morning breakfast
To my daily desk I go;
First a fond salute bestowing
On my Mary’s ruby lips,
Which, perchance, may be rewarded
With a pair of playful nips.
All day long across the ledger
Still my patient pen I drive,
Thinking what a feast awaits me
In my happy home at five;
In my small one-storeyed Eden,
Where my wife awaits my coming,
And our solitary handmaid
Mutton-chops with care is crumbing.