Life — September 21, 1893 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HEY say she flirts ; sore news that she Should flirt at all and not with me. Sam Rogers—so the tale expands— Has gone for good to foreign lands, And left her free to go and live In whichsoever state will giv Release from matrimonial gyves With least display of jarring lives. The trouble? Oh, some say Sam beat her. But others claim that what's the matter Is that he didn’t. Some, again, Cite rumors about ** other men,”” And add, explaining all that’s hid— “She flirts ; you know she always did.” Flirt! Well, perhaps she did, and yet Tt seems too bad that Sam should let Such coquetry as hers advance ‘To such calamitous mischance. Her smiles on mankind to confer Came just as natural to her As to the sun in shining mood To warm the evil and the good. Are there not flowers that bloom and blush, THEY SAY SHE FLIRTS. Sweet-scented, on a thorny bush, Whose nature ‘tis, not thinking wrong, To every bee that comes along To give some honey? But for these ‘Twould be short commons for the bees. And other splendid blooms there are, Gorgeous to gaze on from afar, But scentless ; ravishing to see, But without sweets to tempt a bee. Getting a rose, Sam should have grown Sharp thorns enough to keep his own, Leaving the world some usufruct Of sweetness from his rose unplucked. Or else, if it were his desire ‘That everybody should admire, But none appreciate his prize, Save by the tribute of their eyes, *“Twere better if he had become The stalk of a chrysanthemum, ‘That needs no thorns and safely grows, Without alluring bee or nose. Poor Sam! What thorns he had the power ‘To grow, have pierced his own sweet flower, Till, of that gracious bloom bereft, His thorns are all that he has left, Oh, bootless conquest, to be bold And win a maid one cannot hold ! Oh, wrack to her, and woe and pain, To be once won, then lost again ! Oh, sharp aforesaid pang, to see Her flirt at all, and not with me! One cure for all, and only one— To get the whole black snarl undone — To call Odysseus back once more, Shoo all the suitors from the door, And trim the thorns if misplaced score, And spray the rose with hellebore, And gag the gossips who'ld deplore, Or carp at what had gone before ! Ah, those were services that would Befit a friend, if one but could. To stand compassioning her plight Avails no jot to set her right. Yet far more pleased were I to see Her flirt no more, than e’en with me. ELS. M. AN APPLICATION OF IT. Love laughs IM: at locksmiths, Tom: That's what your fiancée said when I was holding her hand, lock-t and acelet you put saw that on her arm. THE REAL THING. RS. NORRIS* I'm going to have some company this even- ing n you make the punch, Collins ? BUTLER (reproachfully): Can Of make a punch, Mrs. Norris? Mrs. Norris: Collins ? itto mz, mum. BUTLER: Lav. ]* the silver Senators keep on talking, we'll get free coinage about the 2gth of next February. But can you Oi'll make yez a punch that'll knock ‘em out in three rounds. Sophia (at back): HIM SURE! ONE OF THE SIGNS. WHEN A LOVER DROPS INTO POICKRY, YER'VE GOT “ comicbooks.com