From the New York Tribune, February 18, 1913. By W. J. Lampton. ’Twas on a January day When fair Toinette O’Keggs Fared forth to market for to buy A dozen new laid eggs. “I want them strictly fresh,” she said, “No other kind for me.” “Well, these are just out,” quoth the man, “You have our guarantee.” So guileless Toinette took the eggs Believing what he said, And when she opened up the box On one of them she read: “Whoever gets this egg please write To John Smith, Waterloo, N. J., and you can bet your life That he will write to you.” Now Toinette’s heart was all agog Her soul was filled with bliss For she had dreamed and dreamed and dreamed Of romance such as this. So when the shades of evening came And all her work was done She wrote a note which truly was A most romantic one. She waited for a month or more Then, when all hope had fled An answer came from John Smith, who In tones of anguish said: “Too late, too late; I’m married now, And I am full of woe; The words you read upon that egg I wrote two years ago.”
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