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.