The Eaton Democrat. (Eaton, Ohio) 1875-1903, 1883-05-17
A Poetic Widow.

Our mutual friend Spykens has
+" made mash," to use the language
of the worldly. He incidentally became
acquainted with the Widow McWinzie
at 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
poetry, or, as she expresses it, "human
aesthetic rhyme; the sweet, responsive
echo of soul to SOUL"
"Dear Mr.. Spykens-" sighed the
widow the other evening. puckering her
mouth down to the size of shirt but
son-hole, as it were, ''you have lived
and loved. The mellifuous profundity
of your sympathetic soul has always
required that you should"
"A All, yes, Mrs. McWinzie, you bet,
T."
"Call me Hitty, dear; my name is
me always call me Hitty."
:" All right; Hitty goes"
Well, as I was about remarking,
my nature was aboriginally poetic;
away up among the embarrassed clouds
of Heavens sublimated artillery. My
first husband was dear r,enial spirit,
attuned to poetic harmony, but nothing
could rhyme with his name. 1t was
Tulkington. I used to weave it into
poetic verse by abbreviating it to Tulky,
but even then it never would make q
smooth rhyme with any other word.
Two short years he loved and Ian
guished, and then sank to eternal rest
as softly as though the springs of his
couch had been the Springs of Parnas-
sus'
" Beautiful! beautiful!'' exclaimed
Spykens, ''what a rattling good obitu'
lry you must have written for himP'
| "Ah, me,'' sighed the widow, 81
tried over year to write seven verses
suitable, and perhaps might have sue.
ceeded had / not been wooed and woI
by Jason Babcock. My new married
life was bright and hopeful until I tried
to merge it into poesy. The culmina
ton came when. composed twenty
| seven verses, each one rhyming hi!
name, the best of which were mason
basin, face-on. Then he closed the
| doors of his heart, took his overcoa
and valise, and bade me farewell for
| ever. I never saw or heard of hin
| more" . t''i -4' ~ 81 'al
-.What miserable, narrow guage
unappreciative wretch he must hay'
| BEEN"
The widow gave a responsive roll o
her dark gray eyes toward the sympa
thetic Spykens, and she continued: /
eyes, the rythmatic music Of poetr
did not abound in his worldly soul, ant
my own longing heart almost perishe'
before I procured divorce on tn
ground of desertion. Then 7 marie,
my old friend and schoolmate, Timoth
McWinzie. He had a soul full of sym
pathy, and when he realized how m
poetic soul was crushed by the yer.
idea of making rhymes of his name, o
any part of it, he earnestly, yet rashlS
attempted it himself. For days an
weeks he wrote, and went about th
house muttering to himself birlzle
crinzle, dinzle, fnzle, ginzle, hinzle
and his last words as he died in the in
sane asylum, were minzle, pinzle, stir
zle, zinzle."
..How dramatically sad," moane
Spykens, as he reflected upon tn
rhyming possibilities and calamities Q
his own name.
'.Did you ever read Thaddeus {
Washoep'' asked she, beaming her 10,
ing eyes, full of literary intelligence
full upon him as she gently laid he
hand on his coat sleeve.
Spykens owned up that he hadn't
and tore himself away from her swee
presence, pleading pressing business er
gagements. The widow had money
bank, and whole pile of stocks, and
looked upon as desirable matrimoni'
investment, but when Spykens reflects
: musingly, upon the sad fate of thos
three husbands, two killed and on
driven away by her Internal poetry, a
sisted materially, no doubt. by he
large, cold, clammy feet, he conclude
, to remain single.-Vfrginia (Nev.) E'
fergTise