Mashed

Upon a corner her I espied,

     A wailing for a trolley;

“I’ll steal across,” says I, “to give

     This little maid a jolly.”

“I’m looking for a mash,” said I,

     “Oh ho,” says she, “there take it;”

And on my nose her parasol

     Fell hard enough to break it.

Oct. 25, “96”

Camb. Times,

 Dec. 11, ‘98