Read Little Masterpieces of American Wit and Humor, Volume II Page 28

  FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN

  A RHYME FOR PRISCILLA

  Dear Priscilla, quaint and very Like a modern Puritan, Is a modest, literary, Merry young American: Horace she has read, and Bion Is her favorite in Greek; Shakspeare is a mighty lion In whose den she dares but peek; Him she leaves to some sage Daniel, Since of lions she's afraid-- She prefers a playful spaniel, Such as Herrick or as Praed; And it's not a bit satiric To confess her fancy goes From the epic to a lyric On a rose.

  Wise Priscilla, dilettante, With a sentimental mind, Doesn't deign to dip in Dante, And to Milton isn't kind; L'Allegro, Il Penseroso Have some merits she will grant, All the rest is only so-so-- Enter Paradise she can't! She might make a charming angel (And she will if she is good), But it's doubtful if the change'll Make the Epic understood: Honeysuckling, like a bee she Goes and pillages his sweets, And it's plain enough to see she Worships Keats.

  Gay Priscilla--just the person For the Locker whom she loves; What a captivating verse on Her neat-fitting gowns or gloves He could write in catching measure, Setting all the heart astir! And to Aldrich what a pleasure It would be to sing of her-- He, whose perfect songs have won her Lips to quote them day by day. She repeats the rhymes of Bunner In a fascinating way, And you'll often find her lost in-- She has reveries at times-- Some delightful one of Austin Dobson's rhymes.

  O Priscilla, sweet Priscilla, Writing of you makes me think, As I burn my brown Manila And immortalize my ink, How well satisfied these poets Ought to be with what they do When, especially, they know it's Read by such a girl as you: I who sing of you would marry Just the kind of girl you are-- One who doesn't care to carry Her poetic taste too far-- One whose fancy is a bright one, Who is fond of poems fine, And appreciates a light one Such as mine.

  * * * * *

  As the car reached Westville, an old man with a long white beardrose feebly from a corner seat and tottered toward the door. He was,however, stopped by the conductor, who said:

  "Your fare, please."

  "I paid my fare."

  "When? I don't remember it."

  "Why, I paid you when I got on the car."

  "Where did you get on?"

  "At Fair Haven."

  "That won't do! When I left Fair Haven there was only a little boy onthe car."

  "Yes," answered the old man, "I know it. I was that little boy."

  AN EPITAPH

  Here lies the body of Susan Lowder Who burst while drinking Seidlitz powder. Called from this world to her heavenly rest, She should have waited till it effervesced.