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NOTAING TO WEAR
I found her—as ladies are apt to be found,
And digested, I trust, for 'tis now nine and more;
Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door. And now will your ladyship so condescend As just to inform me if you intend Your beauty, and grace, and presence to lend (All which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow) To the Stuckups', whose party, you know, is to-morrow?" The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air, And answered quite promptly, “Why Harry, mon cher, I should like, 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 engage, the most bright and particular star On the Stuckup horizon.” I stopped, for her eye, Notwithstanding this delicate onset of Aattery, 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!”
NOTHING TO WEAR.
“ Your brown moire antique.” “Yes, and look like a quaker." “The pearl-coloured." "I would, but that plaguy 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. And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen." “Then that splendid purple, that sweet mazarine, That superb point d'aiguille, that imperial green, That zephyr-like tarleton, that rich grenadine." “Not one of all which is fit to be seen," 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 sħot forth indignation : “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 ; You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures, Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers. Your silly pretence- why, a mere guess it is! Pray, what do you know of a woman's necessities? I have told you and shown you I have 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,
- NOTHING TO WEAR.
Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze,
Of the Russians to boot, for the rest of his days,
But that there exists the greatest distress In our female community, solely arising
From this unsupplied destitution of dress, Whose unfortunate victims are filling the air With the pitiful wail of “ Nothing to Wear."
Oh, ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day
THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.
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 the 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 skeleton limbs, those frost-bitten feet, All bleeding and bruised by the stones of the street; 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 dare-Spoiled children of Fashion--you've nothing to wear.
And oh! if perchance there should be a sphere
W. A. Butler.
THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.
STOP !--for thy tread is on an empire's dust!!!
And is this all the world has gained by thee,
THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.
And all went merry as a marriage bell ;-
Did ye not hear it ? No; 'twas but the wind
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before !
Within a window'd niche of that high hall
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell;
Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed,