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.