Chapter XVIII: Epilogue

To just one girl I've turned my sad bazoo,
Stringing my pipe-dream off as it occurred,
And as I've tipped the straight talk every word,
If you don't like it you know what to do.
Perhaps you think I've handed out to you
An idle jest, a touch-me-not, absurd
As any sky-blue-pink canary bird,
Billed for a record season at the Zoo.

If that's your guess you'll have to guess again,
For thus I fizzled in a burst of glory,
And this rhythmatic side-show doth contain
The sum and substance of my hard-luck story,
Showing how Vanity is still on deck
And Humble Virtue gets it in the neck.

WALLACE IRWIN.

A SADDENED TRAMP.

"Now unto yonder wood-pile go,
Where toil till I return;
And feel how proud a thing it is
A livelihood to earn."
A saddened look came o'er the tramp;
He seemed like one bereft.
He stowed away the victuals cold,
He--saw the wood, and left.

ANONYMOUS.