  A Fugitive Kiss I I WAS on the carpet kneeling, And fondly, and with feeling, I pressed her metacarpus, To my osculating lip, When flexor, And extensor, Of stern Parental censor, Incontinent did greet me, And took me near the hip! I rolled into the fender, With broken silk suspender, And motive movement sharp, as Her Pater gave the tip! He didn't back the winner, For sport was not his grip. The above brief but touching confession of disastrous failure, recorded by Timothy Pipkins,—a sporting student of St. Jago's Hospital,—is indicative of the Nemesis from an offended fate, that frequently foils the improvident hunter of matrimonial adventure. |
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