The American Girl

by Instant Noodle


[An American Correspondent of The Galignani Messenger is very severe on the manners of his fair countrywomen.]

The American girl.

She “guesses” and she “calculates,” she wears all sorts o’ collars,

Her yellow hair is not without suspicion of a dye;

Her “Pappa” is a dull old man who turned pork into dollars.

But everyone admits that she’s indubitably spry.

She did Rome in a swift two days, gave half the time to Venice,

But vows that she saw everything, although in awful haste;

She’s fond of dancing, but she seems to fight shy of lawn-tennis,

Because it might endanger the proportions of her waist.

Her manner might be well defined as elegantly skittish;

She loves a Lord as only a Republican can do;

And quite the best of titles she’s persuaded are the British,

And well she knows the Peerage, for she reads it through and through.

She’s bediamonded superbly, and shines like a constellation,

You scarce can see her fingers for the multitude of rings;

She’s just a shade too conscious, so it seems, of admiration,

With irritating tendencies to wriggle when she sings.

She owns she is “Amur’can,” and her accent is alarming;

Her birthplace has an awful name you pray you may forget;

Yet, after all, we own “La Belle Américaine” is charming,

So let us hope she’ll win at last her long-sought coronet.

(September 1890)