g.
Her mouth?--Perhaps you'd term it large--
Is firmly molded, full and curving;
Her quiet lips are Cupid's charge,
But in the cause of truth unswerving.

Though little of her neck is seen,
That little is both smooth and sightly;
And fair as marble is its sheen
Above her bodice gleaming whitely.
Her nose is just the proper size,
Without a trace of upward turning.
Her shell-like ears are wee and wise,
The tongue of scandal ever spurning.

In mirth and woe her voice is low,
Her calm demeanor never fluttered;
Her every accent seems to go
Straight to one's heart as soon as uttered.
She ne'er coquets as others do;
Her tender heart would never let her.
Where does she dwell? I would I knew;
As yet, alas! I've never met her.

THE AUTO RUBAIYAT[5]

BY REGINALD WRIGHT KAUFFMAN

Move!--Or the Devil Red who puts to flight
Whate'er's before him, to the Left or Right,
Will toss you high as Heaven when he strikes
Your poor clay carcass with his master-might!

As the Cock crows the "Fiends" who stand before
The Starting-Point, amid the Stream's wild roar,
Shake hands, make wills, and duly are confess'd,
Lest, once departed, they return no more.

For whether towards Madrid or Washington,
Whether by steam or gasoline they run,
Pedestrians keep getting in their way,
Chauffeurs are being slaughtered one by one.

A new Fool's every minute born, you say;
Yes, but where speeds the Fool of Yesterday?
Beneath the Road he sleeps, the Autos roar
Close o'er his head, but can not thrill his clay.

Well, let him sleep! For what have ye to do
With him, who this or Anything pursue
So it take swiftness?--Let the Children scream,
Or Constables shout after--heed not you.

Oh ye who anti-auto laws would make
And still insist upon the silly brake,
Get in, and try a spin, and then you'll see
How many fines you will impose--and take!

Ah, my Beloved, fill the Tank that cheers,
Nor heed the Law's rebuke, the Rabble's tears,
Quick! For To-morrow you and I may be
Ourselves with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

A pair of Goggles and a Cap, I trow,
A Stench, a Roar, and my Machine and Thou
Beside me, going ninety miles an hour--
Oh, Turnpike-road were Paradise enow!

Ah, Love, co