When hearts are trumps | Page 9

hapless plight.?Je vous aime--qui lovez-vous?
Je plink les strings de mon guitar.?Il fait bien froid; J'am nervous, too.?Dites-moi, dites-moi ce que vous are??Je vous aime; qui lovez-vous?
Tu es si belle, je veux vous wed.?Mon p��re est riche--comme riche est you??Bonne nuit, adieu; J'ai cold in head.?Je vous aime--qui lovez-vous.
When a Girl says "No."
When a girl says "Yes,"?There's a quick caress,?A kiss, a sigh,?A melting eye.?There's a vision of things?That hard cash brings,--?A winter at Nice?With a servant apiece,?A long yachting cruise,?Name in "personal news,"?Plenty of wine,?Two hours to dine;?But it's different quite when a girl says "No."
When a girl says "No,"?It's so different, oh!?No kiss, ten sighs,?Two tear-dimmed eyes.?There's a vision of things?That poverty brings,--?A winter complete?On Uneasy Street,?A temptation to rob,?A twelve-dollar job,?A boarding-house meal,?And you pray a new deal;?For it's different quite when a girl says "No."
Uncertainty.
Jenny has a laughing eye,?Yet she is most wondrous shy.
But why?
Jenny says she hates the men;?Still she'll marry. Artful Jen!
But when?
I've a rival who is rich;?With one of us sweet Jen will hitch.
But which?
Her Peculiarities.
The Question of the Learned Man.
How doth the little blushing maid?Employ each shining hour??Doth she, in sober thought arrayed,?Learn knowledge that is power?
Say, doth she mend her father's socks,?And cook his evening meal??And doth she make her own sweet frocks?With adolescent zeal?
The Reply of the Observant Youth.
Not much; not much. She knows it all;?She doth not need to learn.?She thinks of naught but rout or ball,?And which youth will be her'n.
She hustles for a diamond ring;?She cares not for her dad.?She does not make him anything,--?Except, she makes him mad.
Tying the Strings of her Shoe.
Tying the strings of her shoe,?With only the moon to see me.?Could I be quick? Could you??That is the time to woo?What would any one do??I tied no knot that would free me,?Tying the strings of her shoe,?With only the moon to see me.
When You are Rejected.
Don't say?"Good day,"?Then grab the door and slam it.?Be quite?Polite;?Go out, and then say, "---- it."
A Bachelor's Views.
A pipe, a book,?A cosy nook,?A fire,--at least its embers;
A dog, a glass;--?'T is thus we pass?Such hours as one remembers.
Who'd wish to wed??Poor Cupid's dead?These thousand years, I wager.?The modern maid?Is but a jade,?Not worth the time to cage her.
In silken gown?To "take" the town?Her first and last ambition.
What good is she?To you or me?Who have but a "position"?
So let us drink?To her,--but think?Of him who has to keep her;?And sans a wife?Let's spend our life?In bachelordom,--it's cheaper.
My Cigarette.
Ma pauvre petite,?My little sweet,?Why do you cry??Why this small tear,?So pure and clear,?In each blue eye?
'My cigarette--?I'm smoking yet?'?(I'll be discreet.)?I toss it, see,?Away from me?Into the street.
You see I do?All things for you.?Come, let us sup.?(But oh, what joy?To be that boy?Who picked it up.)
Discovered.
AN EPISODE ON BEACON HILL.
You are frowning;?I don't wonder.?Reading Browning;?Hard as thunder!
Oh, excuse me;?You adore it??You amuse me;?I abhor it.
Let me see it.?Who has taught you??Now to me it--?Ah, I've caught you.
It must be hard so?(Hence the frown?)?To read the bard so--?Upside down.
The Ice in the Punch.
The wail of the 'cello is soft, sweet, and low;?There are strains of romance in the thrumming banjo.?The violin's note--feel it float in your ear;?And the harp makes one fancy that angels are near.
The voice of a young girl can reach to the heart;?The song of the baritone--well, it is art.?The flute and the lute in gavotte--the guitar?In soft serenade--how entrancing they are!?But to all the mad millions?Who dance at cotillons?There's naught like the clink and the clank and the crunch Of the ice in the punch.
So here's to the recipe, ancient in Spain,?And here's to the basket of cobwebbed champagne.?Again to the genius who grows the sharp spice,?But ten times to King Winter who furnishes ice;?For to all the mad millions?Who dance at cotillons?There's naught like the clink and the clank and the crunch Of the ice in the punch.
The Tale of a Broken Heart.
She was a?Beautiful,?Dutiful,?Grand,?And rollicking queen of Bohemia,?With a cheek that was?Rosier,?Cosier,
And?As soft as a lily, and creamier.
She was always compelling?me,?Selling me,
I?Was her slave, but she treated me shamefully.?She went on the?Stage, was a?Rage, as a--
Why--?As a page, and they spoke of her blamefully.?And then in the?Papers her?Capers were
Writ.
I love her no longer,--I swear it;?But I oft spend a?Dollar and?Holler and
Sit?Through her antics. Oh, how can I bear it?
Where did you get it?
Pray, ladies, ye of wondrous clothes,?That draw admiring "ahs!" and "ohs!"?And "By Joves!" as men chat,?Permit me,--love the right bestows,--?Where did you get that hat?
The very hat, sweet maids, I mean,?So often now on Broadway seen,?That is so very flat;?Black as a rule, but sometimes green.?Where did you get that hat?
In shape an oyster-dish,--the crown,--?A ribbon bristles up and down,?Quite striking--yes, all that;?The sweetest, neatest thing in town!?Where did you get that hat?
No
"No!" The word?Fell upon my ears?Like the knell of a funeral bell.?I had