The Gruesome Ballad Of Mr. Squincher

________________________________________________
_ "Ki-yi!" said Mr. Squincher,
As in contemplative pose,
He stood before the looking-glass
And burnished up his nose,
And brushed the dandruff from a span-
Spick-splinter suit of clothes,--
"Why, bless you, Mr. Squincher,
You're as handsome as a rose!"

"There are some," continued Squincher,
As he raised upon his toes
To catch his full reflection,
And the fascinating bows
That graced his legs,--"I reckon
There are some folks never knows
How beautiful is human legs
In pantaloons like those!"

"But ah!" sighed Mr. Squincher,
As a ghastly phantom 'rose
And leered above his shoulder
Like the deadliest of foes,--
With fleshless arms and fingers,
And a skull, with glistening rows
Of teeth that crunched and gritted,--
"It's my tailor, I suppose!"

* * * * *

They found him in the morning--
So the mystic legend goes--
With the placid face still smiling
In its statuesque repose;--
With a lily in his left hand,
And in his right a rose,
With their fragrance curling upward
Through a nimbus 'round his nose. _

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