An Old-Fashioned Type

For 'Mabel Brown' I never cared             (My rightful name by birth),     But when the name of Smith I shared,          I seemed to own the earth,     (I wrote it without 'y' or 'e' -     Plain 'Mrs. Jack Smith' suited me.)     My happiest hour, as I look back          On times of great content,     Was when folks called me 'Mrs. Jack,'          Though 'Mrs. Smith' was meant.     It was the pleasure of my life     To hear them say:    'That's Jack Smith's wife.'     One day I joined a club.    They said          That I must speak or write.     So I did both.    I wrote and read          A speech one fateful night.     It made a hit, but proved, alack,     A death blow to poor 'Mrs. Jack.'     As 'Mrs. Mabel Smith' I'm known          Throughout my town and State;     My heart feels widowed and alone;          The case is intricate.     Though darling Jack is mine, the same,     I am divorced somehow in name.     Just 'Mabel Smith' I can endure;          It leaves the world in doubt;     But 'Mrs.' makes the marriage sure,          Yet leaves the husband out.     It sounds like Reno, or the tomb,     And always fills me full of gloom.     They say the honours are all mine;          Well, I would trade the pack     For one sweet year in which to shine          Again as 'Mrs. Jack.'     That gave to life a core, a pith,     Not found by 'Mrs. Mabel Smith.'     For one suggests the chosen mate,          And all the joy love brings;     And one suggests a delegate          To federated things.     I'm built upon the old-time plan -     I like to supplement a man.     If on each point of glory's star          My name shone like a pearl,     I'd feel a pleasure greater far          In being 'Jack Smith's girl.'     It is ridiculous, I know,     But then, you see, I'm fashioned so.