She vowed she'd nothing to declare,
Altho' some forty trunks were there,
And all were filled with objects rare.

The Customs men pried ope the trunks
As solemn as a tribe of monks,
And things came out in solid chunks.

Tiaras, necklaces, and crowns;
A baker's dozen Paris gowns
In lovely pinks, and blues, and browns.

Furs of all kinds from seals to cats;
Three solid hampers filled with hats,
All held in place by wooden slats.

She'd stockings by the dozens—silk,
And open-work, and of that ilk,
As lacy and as white as milk.

And gloves—of gloves I sadly fear
She had enough for forty year—
I know they covered half the pier.

And laces—my, what lace they found!
'Twas hardly half of it unwound
Before it covered all around.

And lingerie—well, I don't know
Just what she had, but this is so:
The pier seemed full of drifted snow!

And so it went, still more and more.
Those trunks revealed a wondrous store
Of lovely objects by the score.

And she as cool as she could be
Sat there and dimpled prettily
At the Inspectors and at me.

A picture of such virtue strong
That not a man in all that throng
Believed her capable of wrong.

“You call this NOTHING , Ma'am?” they said.
She smiled and bowed her pretty head,
As free as Innocence from dread.

“Of course I do,” she made reply.
“They're nothing”—here she winked her eye—
“Compared to what I didn't buy!”

And I'll be sworn, for it is true,
T HOSE DAZED INSPECTORS LET HER THROUGH !