Jack told her one night that he loved her like mad;
And she felt
For her belt
At the back.
She didn't look sorry, she didn't look glad—
She looked like she thought, "Well, that wasn't so bad."
And she felt
For her belt
At the back.
But—well, I don't think 'twas a great deal of harm,
For what should the maiden have found but an arm
When she felt
For her belt
At the back?
Los Angeles Herald.
REGRETS.
By Carolyn Wells.
I cannot wear the old gowns
I wore a year ago,
The styles are so eccentric,
And fashion changes so;
These bygone gowns are out of date;
(There must be nine or ten!)
I cannot wear the old gowns,
Nor don those frocks again.
I cannot wear the old gowns,
The skirts are far too tight;
They do not flare correctly, and
The trimming isn't right.
The Spanish flounce is fagoted,
The plaits are box, not knife;
I cannot wear the old gowns—
I'd look like Noah's wife.
I cannot wear the old gowns,
The sleeves are so absurd;
They're tightly fitted at the top,
And at the wrist they're shirred!
The shoulder seams are far too long,
The collars too high-necked;
I cannot wear my old gowns
And keep my self-respect!
Saturday Evening Post.
MY AUNT.
By Oliver Wendell Holmes.