"(You have) not received. How. Safety."
One cannot help smiling at this circuitous and unromantic method of
touching the hearts of ladies who take one's fancy; at the same time, it
testifies to a resourceful vitality, striving to break through the
barriers of Hispano-Arabic convention which surround the fair sex in
this country. They are nothing if not poetic, these love-sick swains.
Arrow murmurs: "My soul lies on your pillow, caressing you softly";
Strawberry laments that "as bird outside nest, I am alone and lost.
What sadness," and Star finds the "Days eternal, till Thursday." And
yet they often choose rather prosaic pseudonyms. Here is Sahara who
"suffers from your silence," while Asthma is "anticipating one endless
kiss," and Old England observing, more ir sorrow than in anger, that
he "waited vainly one whole hour."
But the sagacious Cooked Lobster desires, before commiting himself
further, "a personal interview." He has perhaps been cooked once before.
Letters and numbers are best, after all. So thinks F. N. 13, who is
utterly disgusted with his flame -
"Your silence speaks. Useless saying anything. Ca ira." And likewise
7776 - B, a designing rogue and plainly a spendthrift, who wastes
ninepence in making it clear that he "wishes to marry rich young lady,
forgiving youthful errors." If I were the girl, I would prefer to take
my chances with "Cooked Lobster."
"Will much-admired young-lady cherries-in-black-hat indicate method
possible correspondence 10211, Post-Office?"
How many of these arrows, I wonder, reach their mark?
