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NOTHING TO WEAR.
I engage, 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 ;” “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 Has had it a week "_" Then that exquisite lilac, In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock.” (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,
Opposition, “ that gorgeous toilette which you sported
And by all the grand court were so very much courted."
NOTHING TO WEAR.
The end of tie nose was portentously tipped up,
And that and the most of my dresses are ripped up;”
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, You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures, Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers. Your silly pretence-why, what a a mere guess it is ! Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities? I have told you and shown you I've nothing to wear, 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.” I mildly suggested the words--Hottentot, Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief, As gentle expletives which might give relief; But this only proyed 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, And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obsErvation was lost in a tempest of sobs.
Well, I felt for the lady and felt for my hat, too,
NOTHING TO WEAR.
Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,
Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days,
Oh, ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day,
Have haunted their victims to gloom and despair ;
Grope through the dark dens, climb the rickety stair
From the poor dying creature who writhes on the floor,
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,
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.-H. K. WHITE.
The glittering host bestud the sky,
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
From every host, from every gem;
It is the star of Bethlehem.
Once on the raging seas I rode;
The storm was loud, the night was dark,
The wind that tossed my foundering bark.
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
It was the star of Bethlehem.
It was my guide, my light, my all;
It bade my dark forebodings cease,
It led me to the port of peace.
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
The star, the star of Bethlehem!