O come all you good fellows, take warning from me
If ever a handsome young widow you'll see:
Take warning by one who was caught in the snare,
And of all young war widows I pray you beware.

As I went a walking one fine afternoon,
Down Tremont, by Briggan's past Coatman's Saloon,
I rounded a corner and happened to meet
A lady a-coming down Hanover Street.

She was dressed all in black costing hundreds or more;
I knew by her face I had seen her before.
And as she drew near me, in true Boston style,
I tipped her my hat and I gave her a smile.

She said: "Kind sir, you're a stranger to me,"
Says I, "My dear madam, offended don't be.
Although quite a stranger to you I may seem,
Won't you step into Coatman's and have an ice cream?"

She paused for a while and then gave her consent
And straight forward to Coatman's together we went.
She said she'd been walking and felt very weak,
And instead of an ice cream she'd have a beefsteak.

I sat down beside her, we chatted together
About this thing and that thing and changeable weather.
She told me her husband had gone to the war;
He was formerly conductor on the Chelsea horse-car.

She told me she lived on his bounty alone,
And over in Chelsea she had a swell home.
Thinks I to myself, "You are dressed mighty gay;
He must be a captain and draw extra pay."

She swallowed her steak at a two forty rate
And said she must go, it was growing quite late.
I offered her my arm, she soon gave her consent.
And down to the ferry together we went.

O the boat had just gone and we stood arm in arm
Waiting for the next one and thinking no harm,
When up stepped a ruffian and threatened my life,
And asked me what business I had with his wife.

"Your wife, kind sir?" It was all that I said,
He drew a revolver and aimed at my head,
Saying: "Prepare now for war for as soon as you speak"--
The story will be continued in the "Guardian" next week.