Faithful to husband, she should have instead Broken her marriage vows upon his head.

No wonder she was tempted: if she fell 'Twas circ.u.mstantial, else she wouldn't tell.

BELLES-LETTRES

Hear the perfume of the belles, Social belles!

What a loud auroma, a monopoly in smells!

How they stinkle, stinkle, stinkle, When the corsage bursts in sight!

While the powder in each wrinkle And the gewgaw gems that twinkle Make them ugly in the light; Reeking scent, scent, scent, When they're upright, p.r.o.ne or bent While the sachet begs for freedom, and the musk, revolting, yells On the belles, belles, belles, belles, Belles, belles, belles, On the weary, bleary, smeary Social Belles.

Hear the monstrous Schoolhouse bells, Direful bells!

What a dirge of irony their ting-a-ling expels!

Like the chanticleer at morn, How they torture us, and warn We must hurry or be canned At call of roll.

How they peel their tunics and Whoop 'er up, with tireless tongues, to beat the band; What a toll!

O, you blatant, brazen sh.e.l.ls!

You ringers for Mephisto, from superheated h.e.l.ls, With your knells!

Truth compels That we voice our joy with yells 'Cause you're hung and bound in cells While we're swearing and despairing, O, you bells, bells, bells, Wicked bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells, O, you rocking, mocking, shocking Schoolhouse bells!

SANDY, THE PIPER

Do ye know me mon Sandy,--Sandy the Piper?

'E's 'ome on a leave, with 'is chin shot away!

They wouldn't a 'armed 'im, but some blooming sniper Just slipped 'im a slug from a roof in Bombay.

'Ow did it all 'appen? Well, just one battalion Was left in the Barracks: the rest 'ad been sent To guard the new Viceroy, with Major MacCallion: It was dubbed the "'Ot Scotch," this 12th Regiment.

The Colonel was sick with a Jungle disorder, And 'arf of the time was well out of 'is 'ead; And when the Sepoys, from the 'Yderbad Border Revolted and rushed us, the Colonel was dead.

So Sandy and men were besieged and near choking, And most the battalion was killed or 'ad fell, While the fiends in the street, like devils a stoking, Were firing this 'ell 'ole with bullet and sh.e.l.l.

'Twas 'ere that me Sandy broke out thru a window, Disguised as a Rajah, with turban and sword; And so, quite unnoticed (they thought him a Indoo!) 'E soon joined the ranks of the mutinous 'orde.

And then 'e 'arrangued 'em ('e knew all their jargon!) And urged 'em to scatter and uphold the law; But 'ere 'e was thru 'e was sick of 'is bargain When a b.l.o.o.d.y bomb-bullet 'alf shattered 'is jaw.

So Sandy's back 'ome, but his features are altered: What a close shave 'e 'ad! 'is face is a sight!

But when duty called 'e was there and ne'er faltered: With toot, shoot or Hoot, Mon! 'e mixed in the fight.

'Is goatee is gone, with the chin where 'e grew it: 'E was once very bonnie when 'e was a lad; And 'is bagpipe would charm me: my, 'ow 'e blew it!

When 'e marched with 'is squad, a playing like mad.

And I makes o'er 'im still, tho Sandy's not pretty, But a 'ero 'e is in Northlands and South: A gude wife I've been, tho I think it a pity That Sandy was given to _shoot off 'is mouth_.

"BEN BOLT"

Ben Franklin was a Jester of the sort That fused, with wit, rare wisdom in retort; And, on his mettle, tempered by a smile His irony could hold them _all_ awhile.

King Louis' Court to impotence made plea Before the onslaughts of his repartee.

His well-aimed jibes were quite as hard to dodge As meteors agleam with persiflage.

His oily tongue worked on a swinging swivel, For he _spat out_ his thoughts and didn't drivel.

The Quakers, in his absence, had attacks Of blues, because they missed his almanacs; And Frenchmen soon began to understand And praise his jokes (in England contraband).

He said to Louis, "Sire, the skies are down; I wouldn't give a Fillip for your crown."

And added, "Nay, I wouldn't give a sou!

There's just one Philip, but sixteen of you!"

He had no fear, you see, of raining Kings, And, with umbrella raised, enjoyed his flings.

Such pointed puns _disfavor_ oft beget, But Louis laughed and so did Lafayette.

Tho galley slave, like creatures of his type, He broke his chains, when Freedom's plans were ripe, And put the U. S. A. upon the chart, Allied to France, thru diplomatic art.

To-day Ben Bolt, who clipped the lion's claws, For lightning work gets thunderous applause.

The thunderbolts obeyed at his command, And currents, insubordinate, were canned.

He kept the Upper Regions on the string And shocked the Lower World like everything.

All praise to Franklin, Diplomatic Star!

He went where he was sent, but not _too far_: And tho he flew his mortal kite so high, Poor Richard's name illuminates the sky.

EXCELSIOR

The bale consigned to O. U. Crook, Upholsterer--marked, USE NO HOOK, Was not curled hair or even moss, Nor yet a mixture or a cross, Excelsior!

"This Davenport was made to wear; Fine leather and best camel hair!"

Said Crook (a patent skin all right, But all the "hair" was out of sight).

Excelsior!

And so Crook sold the lounge or couch To some poor b.o.o.b with gold-filled pouch; And also sold an easy chair (The Easy Mark was stuffed for fair.) Excelsior!

And thus he plied his artful trade (A better Craftsman ne'er was made) Until the shavings, dyed and curled, Resembled hair for all the world.

Excelsior!

O, baleful occupation his!

The way he made his mattresses Would make a lounging layman sick.

He sold for cash and gave no tick tick-- Excelsior!

A mark-down sale Crook staged in time-- "Such bed-rock prices are a crime,"

"I get my hair by camel-train": But all his "hair" was cut in Maine-- Excelsior!

And then a fire occurred at length To bolster Crook's financial strength: The _glue_ that mocked the incensed air Mistaken was for burning hair; Excelsior!