The new dominion. [volume] (Morgantown, W. Va.) 1876-1904, 1883-05-19
A Poetic Widow.


" made NASH" 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 a shirt but
ton-hole, as it were. ''you have lived
and loved. The mellifluous profundity
| of your sympathetic soul has always
| required that you should
/" All, yes, Mrs. McWinsie, you bet,
"Call me Kitty, dear; my nam e is
Mehitable, and those most endeared to
me always call me Hitty."
IAN right; Hitty goes
Well, as | was about remarking,
my nature was aboriginally poetic;
away up among the embarrassed clouds
of Heavens sublimated artillery. My
| first husband was dear genial spirit,
attuned to poetic harmony, but nothing
could rhyme with his name. 1t was
Tulkington. | used to weave it into
poetic verse by abbreviatingit to Tulky,
but even then it never would make a
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."
j" Beautiful! beautiful" exclaimed
| Spykens, ''what rafting good obitu-
| airy you must have written for himns
"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 won
by Jason Babcock. My new married
| life was bright and hopeful until tried
! to merge it into poesy. The culmina-
lion came when | composed twenty
seven verses, each one rhyming his
| basin, face-on. Then he closed the
| doors of his heart, took his overcoat
| and valise, and babe me farewell for
| ever. | never saw or heard of him
| more.
what a miserable, narrow guage,
unarpreciative wretch he must have
| BEEN
The widow gave responsive roll OF
| her dark gray eyes toward the sympa-
thetc Spykens, and she continued:
"Yes, the rythmatic music of poetry
did not abound in bis worldly soul, and
my own longing heart almost persisted
| before | procured a divorce on the
ground of desertion. Then / married
my old friend and schoolmate, Timothy
| MeWinzie. He had soul full of SYM
| pathy, and when he realized how my
| poetic soul was crushed by the very
| idea of making rhymes of his name, or
| any part of it, he earnestly, yet rashly,
attempted it himself. For days and
weeks he wrote, and went about the
house muttering to himself binzle,
crinzle, dinzle, finzle, ginzle, hinzle,
and his last words as he died in the in
sane asylum, were minzle, pinzle, stin-
| zle, zinzle."
'sHow dramatically sad," moaned
Spykens, as he reflected upon the
rhyming possibilities and calamities OF
his own name.
"Did you ever read Thaddeus O
WashoeP' asked she, beaming her low
ing eyes, full of literary intelligence
full upon him as she gently laid hel
hand on his coat sleeve.
Spykens owned up that he hadn't
and tore himself away from her sweet
presence, pleading pressing business en-
gagements. The widow had money in
bank, and whole pile of stocks, and il
looked upon as desirable matrimonial
investment, but when Spykens reflects,
musingly, upon the sad fate of those
/ three husbands, two killed and ONT
driven away by her internal poetry, as
sisted materially, no doubt, by hel
large, cold, clammy feet, he concludes
to remain single. Virginia (NeU.J En-
terprise.