The Osceola times., 1883-05-19
A POETIC WIDOW.
The Sweet, Responsive Echo of " Soul to
Soul,"

SOUL"
Virgins tNev) Enterprise.
Our mutual friend Spykens has made
a mash," to use the language of the
worldly. He incidentally became ac-
quainted with the Widow McWinzle at
a church social last fall. She has now
come to the conclusion that he is her
natural affinity, and wants him for her
fourth husband. Her strong suit is po-
etry, or, as she expresses il, "human es-
thetic rhyme the sweet, responsive echo
of soul to soul"
"Dear Mr.. Spykens," sighel | the widow
the other evening, puckering her mouth
down to the size of shirt button-hole,
as it were, "you have lived and loved.
The melliiiluous profundity of your sym
pathetic soul has required that you
should"
"Ah, yes, Mrs. McWinzle, you bet,
| /"
Call me Htty, dear; my name is Me-
hitable, and those most endeared to I e
always call me IIitty."
"All right; Hitty goes"
"Well, as ! was about remarking, my
nature was aboriginally poetic-away up
among the embarrassed clouds of heav-
ems sublimated artillery. My first hus-
band was dear genial spirit attuned to
poetic harmony, but nothing could rhyme
with his name. 1t was Tulkington.
used to weave il into poetic verse by alb
breviating it to Tulky, but even then it
never would make a smooth rhyme with
any other word. Two short years he
lived and languished and then sank to
eternal rest as softly as though the springs
of his couch had been the Springs of Par
nassus"
Beautiful beautiful exclaimed Spy
kens, what rattling good obituary you
must have written for himw
"Ah, me-" sighed the widow, 81 tried
over year to write seven verses suitable,
and perhaps might have succeeded, had
| not been wooed and won by Jason
Babcock My new married life was
bright and hopeful until tric TO merge
it into poesy. The culmina ion came
when / con posed twenty-seyen verses,
each one rhyming his name, the best of
which were mason, basin, face-on. Then
he closed the doors of his heart, took his
overcoat and valise, and bade me fare
well forever. | never saw or heard of
him more"
"What a miserable, narrow gauge, un-
appreiative wretch he must have been"
The widow gave a responsive roll of
her dark gray eyes towards the sympa-
thetic Spykens, as she continued:
"Yes, the rhymatic music of poetry did
not abound in his worldly soul, and my
own longing heart almost perished be-
fore | procured divorce on the ground of
desertion. Then | married my old friend
and school-mate, Timothy McWinzle.
He had soul full of sympathy, and
when he realized how my poetic nature
was crushed by the yery idea of making
rhymes of his name, or any part of it, he
earnestly, yet rashly, attempted it him
self For days and weeks he wrote and
went about the house muttering to him
self binzle, crinzle, dinzle, finzle, ginzle,
hinzle, and his last words as he died in
the insane asylum, were minzle, pinzle,
stinzle, zinzle."
"How dramatically sad" moaned Spy
kens, as he reflected on the rhyming
possibilities and calamities of his own
name.
"Did you ever read Thaddeus Of Wa
sh ,e ?" asked she, beaming her loving
eyes, full of literary intelligence full up
on him rs she gently laid her hand on
his coat sleeve.
Spykens owned up that he hadn't, and
tore himself away from her sweet pres
ence, pleading pressing business engage
ments. The widow had money in bank,
and a whole pile of stocks, and is looked
upon as desirable matrimonial invest
ment, but when Spykens reflects musing-
ly upon the sad fate of those three hus-
bands, two killed, and one driven away,
by her internal poetry, assisted material
ly, no doubt, by her large, cold, clammy
feet, he concludes to remain single.