THE REFORMED TIGRESS.

A lady on the lonely shore Of a dull watering place Once met a Tigress weeping sore, Tears streaming down her face. And knowing well that safety lay In not betraying fear, She asked in quite a friendly way, “What makes you weep, my dear?” The Tigress brushed a tear aside; “I want a man!” she wailed. “A man! they’re scarce!” the lady cried; “I fear the crop has failed! There is but one in miles, and oh, I fear that he is wed!” The Tigress smiled. “I am, you know, A man eater,” she said. “You eat them!” cried the maid, then ceased In horror and amaze, Then sat her down to show the beast The error of her ways. “Men are so scarce,” she urged, “I fear There are n’t enough to go Around—now is it right, my dear, That you should waste them so? I weep to think of all the men You’ve spoiled ere now,” said she. “And if you eat the rest, why, then What will be left for me?” The hours flew by; she took no rest Till twilight, when at last The contrite beast with sobs confessed Repentance for the past. “Go,” said the maid, “take my advice; I know what’s best for you; It’s cheap and filling at the price; Go seek the oyster stew!” The Tigress lies unto this day Upon an oyster bed. The Lady—so the gossips say— Is shortly to be wed.