The Latest Convert
I’ve been in love some scores of times,
With Amy, Nellie, Katie, Mary—
To name them all would stretch my rhymes
From here as far as Demerary.
But each has wed some other man,—
Girls always do, I find, in real life,—
And I am left alone to scan
The horizon of my own ideal life.
I still survive. I was, I think,
Not born to run in double harness;
I did not shirk my food and drink
When Nellie married Harry Carnice.
But I am wedded to my pipe!
That faithful friend, nought can provoke it;
Should it grow cold, I gently wipe
Its mouth, then fill it, light, and smoke it.
But it is sweet to kiss; and I
Should love to kiss a wife and pet her—
She scolds? Straight to my pipe I fly;
Her scowls through fragrant smoke look better.
There’s merry Maud—with her I’d dare
To brave the matrimonial ocean;
She would not pout or fret, but wear
A constant smile of sweet devotion.
How know I that she will not change,
My wishes at defiance set? Oh!
(Pray this in smallest type arrange)
She smokes—at times—a cigareto.
F.W. LITTLETON HAY.