And digested, I trust, for 'tis now nine and more, Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door Your beauty, and graces, and presence to lend, (All which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow) To the STUCKUP's, whose party, you know, is to-morrow?" The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air, And answered quite promptly, "Why Harry, mon cher, "Nothing to wear! go just as you are; Wear the dress you have on, and you'll be by far, On the Stuckup horizon"-I stopped, for her eye, 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;" "Your pink"-"That's too light." "Wear tulle over satin"-"I can't endure white." "Your rose-colored, then, the best of the batch" "I haven't a thread of point lace to match." "Your brown moire antique"—"Yes, and look like a Quaker;" "The pearl-colored"-"I would, but that plaguey dress-maker (Here the nose took again the same elevation) "I wouldn't wear that for the whole of creation." "Why not? It's my fancy, there's nothing could strike it As more comme il faut-" "Yes, but dear me, that lean Sophronia Stuckup has got one just like it, And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen." Said the lady, becoming excited and flushed. "Then wear," I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crushed Opposition, "that gorgeous toilette which you sported In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation, When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation; And by all the grand court were so very much courted." The end of the nose was portentously tipped up, And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation, As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation, "I have worn it three times at the least calculation, And that and the most of my dresses are 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. Fiddlesticks, is it, Sir? I wonder the ceiling Doesn't fall down and crush you-oh, you men have no feeling, Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers. And it's 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 you would 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." Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat, too, Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze, Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days, On the whole, do you think he would have much to spare Since that night, taking pains that it should not be bruited. A course of inquiry, extensive and thorough, On this vital subject, and find, to my horror, That the fair Flora's case is by no means surprising, From this unsupplied destitution of dress, In one single house, on the Fifth Avenue, Three young ladies were found, all below twenty-two, Who have been three whole weeks without any thing new In another large mansion near the same place Of entire destitution of Brussels point lace. In a neighboring block there was found, in three calls, To survive for the want of a new Russian sable; Still another, whose tortures have been most terrific In which were ingulfed, not friend or relation, (For whose fate she perhaps might have found consolation, Or borne it, at least, with serene resignation), But the choicest assortment of French sleeves and collars Ever sent out from Paris, worth thousands of dollars, And all as to style most recherché and rare, The want of which leaves her with nothing to wear, Is the cruelty practiced upon the poor creatures By husbands and fathers, real Bluebeards and Timons, Who resist the most touching appeals made for diamonds By their wives and their daughters, and leave them for days. Unsupplied with new jewelry, fans, or bouquets, Even laugh at their miseries whenever they have a chance, And deride their demands as useless extravagance; One case of a bride was brought to my view, Too sad for belief, but, alas! 'twas too true, Whose husband refused, as savage as Charon, To permit her to take more than ten trunks to Sharon. At the end of three weeks she had nothing to wear, And when she proposed to finish the season But why harrow the feelings by lifting the curtain To rush and relieve these sad cases instanter. Take charge of the matter? or won't PETER COOPER And found a new charity just for the care Of these unhappy women with nothing to wear, Oh ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day Please trundle your hoops just out of Broadway, Have hunted their victims to gloom and despair; Grope through the dark dens, climb the rickety stair Hear the sharp cry of childhood, the deep groans that swell From the poor dying creature who writhes 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 dareSpoiled children of Fashion-you've nothing to wear ! And oh, if perchance there should be a sphere, |