His throat he strangled in a stock,
Bought beavers of the newest block,
And looked much bolder.
And so as years and fashions fled
He set the style until his head
Advertisement
With years was weighty.
That's he just pausing in his talk;
You would not think, to see him walk,
His age was eighty!
He'll tell you of his youthful flames,
His letters that began "Dear James"
And ended "Mary."
Hush! Do not smile. Since but a lad
In spite of beauty life was sad,
And fate was chary.
J. S. M.