An Old Idyl Of A Richmond Street-Car

All up the street at a stately pace The maiden passed with her April-face, And the roses I 'd paid for, on her breast Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest, While behind her--driver upon his stool-- Tinkled the bell of the street-car mule.

"Going to walk up the street?" I said; She graciously bowed her beautiful head. "Then I 'll walk, too; 't is a lovely day."-- Thus I opened the ball in my usual way. "Do you see the car anywhere?" inquired The April-face, "I 'm a trifle tired."

I urged a walk; 'twas a useless suit! She wildly waved her parachute; The stub-tailed mule stopped quick enow; I handed her in with a stately bow; And the bell rang out with a jangled quirk, As the stub-tailed mule went off with a jerk.

Three men as she entered solemnly rose, And quietly trampled their neighbors' toes; A dudish masher left his place, And edged near the girl with the April-face, Who sat on the side you 'd call "the lee," (With the same sweet smile she 'd sat on me).

The day it was lovely; mild the air; The sky, like the maiden's face, was fair; The car was full, and a trifle stale (Attached to the mule with the stubbly tail); Yet the maiden preferred the seat she hired, To the stroll with me; for I made her tired.

And now when the maiden walks the street With another's flowers, and smile so sweet, I wave to the driver upon his stool, And stop the stub-tailed street-car mule, While I purchase a seat with half my pelf; For it makes me a trifle tired myself.