AN OLD-FASHIONED TYPE

For‘ Mabel Brown’ I never cared

( My rightful name by birth ),

But when the name of Smith I shared,

I seemed to own the earth,

( I wrote it without‘ y’ or‘ e’ -

Plain‘ Mrs. Jack Smith’ suited me. )

My happiest hour, as I look back

On times of great content,

Was when folks called me‘ Mrs. Jack,’

Though‘ Mrs. Smith’ was meant.

It was the pleasure of my life

To hear them say:‘ That's Jack Smith's wife.’

One day I joined a club. They said

That I must speak or write.

So I did both. I wrote and read

A speech one fateful night.

It made a hit, but proved, alack,

A death blow to poor‘ Mrs. Jack.’

As‘ Mrs. Mabel Smith’ I'm known

Throughout my town and State;

My heart feels widowed and alone;

The case is intricate.

Though darling Jack is mine, the same,

I am divorced somehow in name.

Just‘ Mabel Smith’ I can endure;

It leaves the world in doubt;

But‘ Mrs.’ makes the marriage sure,

Yet leaves the husband out.

It sounds like Reno, or the tomb,

And always fills me full of gloom.

They say the honours are all mine;

Well, I would trade the pack

For one sweet year in which to shine

Again as‘ Mrs. Jack.’

That gave to life a core, a pith,

Not found by‘ Mrs. Mabel Smith.’

For one suggests the chosen mate,

And all the joy love brings;

And one suggests a delegate

To federated things.

I'm built upon the old-time plan -

I like to supplement a man.

If on each point of glory's star

My name shone like a pearl,

I'd feel a pleasure greater far

In being‘ Jack Smith's girl.’

It is ridiculous, I know,

But then, you see, I'm fashioned so.