And now, will your ladyship so condescend
As just to inform me if you intend,
Your beauty, and grace, and presence to lend,
To the Stuckup's grand party to-morrow?"
The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air,
And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, my dear,
I should love above all things to go with you there,
But really, and truly, I've nothing to wear."
Nothing to wear? Go just as you are,
Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far,
I am sure, the most bright and particular star,
On the Stuckup horizon." I stopped, for her eye,
Notwithstanding this delicate onset of flattery,
Opened on me at once a most terrible battery
Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply,
But gave a slight turn to the end of her nose--
That pure Grecian feature—as much as to say,
"How absurd that any sane man should suppose
That a lady would go to a ball in the clothes,
No matter how fine, that she wears every day."
So I ventured again, "Wear your crimson brocade."
Second turn
up of nose- "That's too dark by a shade."
"Your blue silk." "That's too heavy."
"That's too light."
"Wear tulle over satin." "Oh, Harry, I can't endure white."
"Your rose-color then, the best of the batch." “But I haven't a thread of point-lace to match." "Your brown moire antique." "Yes, and look like a Quaker."
"Your pearl-colored." "I would, but that plaguy dressmaker
Has had it a week." "Then that exquisite lilac,
In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock."
Here the nose took again that same elevation--
I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation!"
Why not? Tis lovely as can be."
"Yes, but dear me, that lean Sophronia Stuckup
Has one just like it, and I won't appear
Dressed like a chit of sixteen."
"Then that splendid purple, that sweet mazarin.” "Which most of all isn't fit to be seen,"
Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed.
"Then wear," I exclaimed in a tone which quite crushed
Opposition, "that gorgeous toilet which you sported
In Paris last spring at the grand presentation
When you quite turned the heads of the nation."
"I have worn it three times at the least calculation,
And that with the rest of my dresses is ripped up.'
Here I ripped out something, perhaps rather rash,
Quite innocent though, but to use an expression
More striking than classic,—It settled my hash,
And proved very soon the last act of our session.
"I wonder the ceiling doesn't fall down
And crush you, oh, you men have no feeling;
You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures,
Who set yourselves up for patterns and preachers.
I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear,
And its perfectly plain, you not only don't care
But you do not believe me,-here the nose went still
higher.
I suppose if you dared, sir, you'd call me a liar.
Our engagement is ended, sir, yes, on the spot,
You're a brute and a monster, and-I don't know
what."
I mildly suggested the words, Hottentot,
Pickpocket and cannibal-Tartar and thief,
As gentle expletives that might bring relief.
But this only proved as spark to the powder,
And the storm I had raised came faster and louder.
It blew and it rained, thundered, lightened and hailed.
Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till language quite
failed
To express the abusive, and then its arrears,
Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears.
Well, I felt for the lady, and I felt for my hat,
And without going through the form of a bow,
Found myself in the entry I scarcely know how,
On doorstep and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square,
At home and upstairs in my own easy-chair,
Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,
And said to myself as I lit my cigar,
Supposing a man had the wealth of a czar
Of the Russias to boot, could he ever be happy
Or have much to spare,
If he married a woman with nothing to wear?"
Oh, ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day,
Just trundle your hoops out of Broadway,
From its whirl and its bustle, its fashion and pride,
Its temples of trade towering high on each side,
To the alleys and lanes where misfortune and guilt,
Their children have gathered, their hovels have built;
Where hunger and vice like twin beasts of prey,
Have hunted their victims to gloom and despair.
Raise the rich dainty dress and the fine, broidered skirt
Pick your delicate way through dampness and dirt,
Grope through the dark dens, climb the rickety stair
To the garret, where wretches, the young and the old,
Half-starved and half-naked lie crouched from the cold.
See those poor pinched limbs, those frost-bitten feet,
All bleeding and bruised from the stones of the street.
Hear the sharp cry of childhood--the deep groans
that swell
From the poor dying creatures that writhe on the floor,
Hear the curses that sound like the echoes of hell,
As you sicken and shudder and fly from the door.
Then home to your wardrobes, and say, if you dare,
Spoiled children of fashion, you've nothing to wear.
And oh, if perchance there should be a sphere,
Where all is made right that so puzzles us here,
Where the glare and the glitter and tinsel of time
Fade and die in the light of that region sublime.
Where the soul, disenchanted of flesh and of sense,
Unscreened by its trappings and shows and pretense,
Must be clothed for the life and the service above
With purity, truth, faith, meekness, and love,
Oh, daughters of earth, foolish virgins, beware
Lest in that upper realm, you've nothing to wear.
Butler.
I wantsh to tell you some stories!
Pull one of your ears down-so!
Don't smoke in befront of my face, pa,
I'll sit on this clicket-down low.
There once was a beautiful p'incess-
I'm too low enough; you can't hear.
I'll climb up a-top on your shoulder,
And whisper it into your ear.
This p'incess kept sleeping and sleeping
Till somebody gave her a kiss
That woke her; for she was enchanted!
She'd waited whole years just for this.
Let me see!-Oh-This beautiful p'incess-
She wasn't but 'bout big as me,--
This ain't the bess' p'ace to tell stories
Hop me down, and le's sit on your knee.
Ain't it fun? And it rides just as easy—
What's that?"Better stick to my text?"
"Tain't sermons!-it's stories! and papa,
I-kind of-can't think-what comes next!
"Don't believe I had any stories?" I had-suts a nice one! but now
I shall just let you tell your own stories!
Shan't tell you a single spec how
The p'incess grew up to a woman,-
I thought you'd be solly! don't cly!
Next time you'll be patient and listen-
My dollies are calling-Good-bye!
Though at last our tears are banished,
And our garners are replenished,
Sixteen years have come and vanished
Since the nation's long roll beat,
When from farm and town and village,
Leaving business, art and tillage,
Forth to scenes of strife and pillage
Trod our armies' fateful feet.
Four long years of fiercest fighting,
Only demons' eyes delighting,
And a bloody record writing,
Left us starved and sick and sore.
Four long years of wild disorder,
Spreading death from coast to border,
Brought at last the welcome order,
66 Peace! Stack arms! we war no more!"
Other years of dark suspicion,
While sweet Peace beheld her mission
Failing of its fair fruition,
And the land was cold and dead;
Years of jarring claims and races,
Hardened hearts and darkened faces,
Vacant hearths and desolate places,
Homes from which all hope had fled.
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