To Hasty Suzanne Pudding

Suzanne, O black-eyed picture of a dream,

From haunting thoughts I cannot seem to ban you;

I wonder if you're really what you seem,

You have the air of "chateaux en Espagne."

At Leavitt's, midst the Famous Cake Box Mixture,

And circled round with flasks to quench the thirst.

Among the pipes and mugs you seemed a fixture,

For there it was I gazed upon you first.

"There's none like thee, though other maids be fair,"

To this conclusion you have now reduced me;

I can't resist a maid's "Come hither" stare,

Your far-off Spanish smile has quite seduced me.

But what's this rumor vile? Oh, I'm afraid

And cannot laugh it off, howe'er I seek--

They whisper low that you are not a maid,

And some do swear you're often known to squeak.

I. C. U.

A new club just started in Claverly, called the Innocents Cooperative Union, comprises all those unfortunate souls whose goody persists in making her morning call while they are in the bath tub. Once in, nothing short of dynamite will dislodge her. Formerly, the best thing to do was to enter into the spirit of the pastime and laughingly take six or seven baths while she was reading the fashion page of last month's Vanity Fair. It would do no good to rush upon her in full undress: she was old and callous and stood her ground like a man. Neither would it avail to crawl out the window, or ring the fire alarm, or pretend to drown in the tub. But now, by a system of secret signals, the distressed Innocent calls another member of the club, who enters with a shot gun or a new Vanity Fair. If with the former, the goody is shot in her tracks. If with the latter, the Cooperating Innocent lures her to an open window to point out the latest thing in spats, and then heaves her out.

He Thinks He Does

The Youth no question makes of Ayes and Noes,

But This or That as says his Tutor does;

For He who has to supervise the Field,

He knows about it all--He knows--HE knows.

Another Presidential Ruffle

President Coolidge's fashion lecture before the National Cotton Manufacturer Association, treats a subject in which he is an undoubted authority. The President in his own quiet way has long been a critic of woman's dress. For hours he has stood on Pennsylvania Avenue watching the well-dressed ladies of Washington and remarking occasionally to the ever-present Dawes that style aren't what they used to be in the old days in Vermont an observation as subtle as it is clever.

Saturday evening in the White House finds the President, his mouth full of pins, poring over old Fashion Books "Just a touch of lace at the throat," he suggests to Mrs. Coolidge, "white fur wristlets to go with your hat, and a small cretonne bustle in the back would add distinction to the ensemble. But, oh Grace, where did you get that scrumptions scarl?"

The Rising Sap

"The time has come," the Yard Cop said,

"To tell of signs of Spring--

Of louder ties and smarter socks

And Rheinharts on a ding;

And why the Senior looks so 'shot'

And if he knows a thing."