| MISS Flora M'Flimsey, of Madison Square, | |
| Has made three separate journeys to Paris, | |
| And her father assures me, each time she was there, | |
| That she and her friend Mrs. Harris | |
| (Not the lady whose name is so famous in history, | 5 |
| But plain Mrs. H., without romance or mystery) | |
| Spent six consecutive weeks, without stopping, | |
| In one continuous round of shopping— | |
| Shopping alone, and shopping together, | |
| At all hours of the day, and in all sorts of weather, | 10 |
| For all manner of things that a woman can put | |
| On the crown of her head, or the sole of her foot, | |
| Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist, | |
| Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced, | |
| Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow, | 15 |
| In front or behind, above or below; | |
| For bonnets, mantillas, capes, collars, and shawls; | |
| Dresses for breakfasts, and dinners, and balls; | |
| Dresses to sit in, and stand in, and walk in; | |
| Dresses to dance in, and flirt in, and talk in; | 20 |
| Dresses in which to do nothing at all; | |
| Dresses for Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall— | |
| All of them different in color and shape, | |
| Silk, muslin, and lace, velvet, satin, and crape, | |
| Brocade and broadcloth, and other material, | 25 |
| Quite as expensive and much more ethereal; | |
| In short, for all things that could ever be thought of, | |
| Or milliner, modiste, or tradesman be bought of, | |
| From ten-thousand-franc robes to twenty-sous frills; | |
| In all quarters of Paris, and to every store, | 30 |
| While M'Flimsey in vain stormed, scolded, and swore, | |
| They footed the streets, and he footed the bills! | |
| |
| The last trip, their goods shipped by the steamer Arägo | |
| Formed, M'Flimsey declares, the bulk of her cargo, | |
| Not to mention a quantity kept from the rest, | 35 |
| Sufficient to fill the largest sized chest, | |
| Which did not appear on the ship's manifest, | |
| But for which the ladies themselves manifested | |
| Such particular interest, that they invested | |
| Their own proper persons in layers and rows | 40 |
| Of muslins, embroideries, worked under-clothes, | |
| Gloves, handkerchiefs, scarfs, and such trifles as those; | |
| Then, wrapped in great shawls, like Circassian beauties, | |
| Gave good-bye to the ship, and go by to the duties. | |
| Her relations at home all marvelled, no doubt, | 45 |
| Miss Flora had grown so enormously stout | |
| For an actual belle and a possible bride; | |
| But the miracle ceased when she turned inside out, | |
| And the truth came to light, and the dry-goods beside, | |
| Which, in spite of Collector and Custom-House sentry, | 50 |
| Had entered the port without any entry. | |
| |
| And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the day | |
| This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broadway, | |
| This same Miss M'Flimsey, of Madison Square, | |
| The last time we met was in utter despair, | 55 |
| Because she had nothing whatever to wear! | |
| |
| NOTHING TO WEAR! Now, as this is a true ditty, | |
| I do not assert—this, you know, is between us— | |
| That she 's in a state of absolute nudity, | |
| Like Powers' Greek Slave or the Medici Venus; | 60 |
| But I do mean to say, I have heard her declare, | |
| When at the same moment she had on a dress | |
| Which cost five hundred dollars, and not a cent less, | |
| And jewelry worth ten times more, I should guess, | |
| That she had not a thing in the wide world to wear! | 65 |
| |
| I should mention just here, that out of Miss Flora's | |
| Two hundred and fifty or sixty adorers, | |
| I had just been selected as he who should throw all | |
| The rest in the shade, by the gracious bestowal | |
| On myself, after twenty or thirty rejections, | 70 |
| Of those fossil remains which she called her "affections," | |
| And that rather decayed, but well-known work of art, | |
| Which Miss Flora persisted in styling her "heart." | |
| So we were engaged. Our troth had been plighted, | |
| Not by moonbeam or starbeam, by fountain or grove, | 75 |
| But in a front parlor, most brilliantly lighted, | |
| Beneath the gas-fixtures, we whispered our love. | |
| Without any romance, or raptures, or sighs, | |
| Without any tears in Miss Flora's blue eyes, | |
| Or blushes, or transports, or such silly actions, | 80 |
| It was one of the quietest business transactions, | |
| With a very small sprinkling of sentiment, if any, | |
| And a very large diamond imported by Tiffany. | |
| On her virginal lips while I printed a kiss, | |
| She exclaimed, as a sort of parenthesis, | 85 |
| And by way of putting me quite at my ease, | |
| "You know I 'm to polka as much as I please, | |
| And flirt when I like—now, stop, don't you speak— | |
| And you must not come here more than twice in the week, | |
| Or talk to me either at party or ball, | 90 |
| But always be ready to come when I call; | |
| So don't prose to me about duty and stuff, | |
| If we don't break this off, there will be time enough | |
| For that sort of thing; but the bargain must be | |
| That, as long as I choose, I am perfectly free— | 95 |
| For this is a kind of engagement, you see, | |
| Which is binding on you, but not binding on me." | |
| |
| Well, having thus wooed Miss M'Flimsey and gained her, | |
| With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained her, | |
| I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder | 100 |
| At least in the property, and the best right | |
| To appear as its escort by day and by night; | |
| And it being the week of the Stuckup's grand ball— | |
| Their cards had been out for a fortnight or so, | |
| And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe— | 105 |
| I considered it only my duty to call, | |
| And see if Miss Flora intended to go. | |
| I found her—as ladies are apt to be found, | |
| When the time intervening between the first sound | |
| Of the bell and the visitor's entry is shorter | 110 |
| Than usual—I found; I won't say I caught her— | |
| Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning | |
| To see if perhaps it did n't need cleaning. | |
| She turned as I entered—"Why, Harry, you sinner, | |
| I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dinner!" | 115 |
| "So I did," I replied, "but the dinner is swallowed, | |
| And digested, I trust, for 't is now nine and more, | |
| So, being relieved from that duty, I followed | |
| Inclination, which led me, you see, to your door; | |
| And now will your ladyship so condescend | 120 |
| As just to inform me if you intend | |
| Your beauty, and graces, and presence to lend | |
| (All of 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, | 125 |
| 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, | 130 |
| 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 terrible battery | |
| Of scorn and amazement. She made no reply, | 135 |
| 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!" | 140 |
| 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"— | 145 |
| "I have n'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 plaguy dressmaker | |
| Has had it a week." "Then that exquisite lilac, | |
| In which you would melt the heart of a Shylock"— | 150 |
| (Here the nose took again the same elevation)— | |
| "I would n'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, | 155 |
| 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 tarletan, that rich grenadine"— | |
| "Not one of all which is fit to be seen," | 160 |
| 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, | 165 |
| 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, | 170 |
| And that and 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. | 175 |
| "Fiddlesticks, is it, sir? I wonder the ceiling | |
| Does n't fall down and crush you—you men have no feeling; | |
| You selfish, unnatural, illiberal creatures, | |
| Who set yourselves up as patterns and preachers, | |
| Your silly pretence—why, what a mere guess it is! | 180 |
| 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. | 185 |
| 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; | 190 |
| But this only proved as a 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 | 195 |
| Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears, | |
| And my last faint, despairing attempt at an obs- | |
| Ervation was lost in a tempest of sobs. | |
| |
| Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat, too, | |
| Improvised on the crown of the latter a tattoo, | 200 |
| In lieu of expressing the feelings which lay | |
| Quite too deep for words, as Wordsworth would say; | |
| Then, without going through the form of a bow, | |
| Found myself in the entry—I hardly knew how, | |
| On door-step and sidewalk, past lamp-post and square, | 205 |
| At home and up-stairs, 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 the Czar | |
| Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days, | 210 |
| On the whole, do you think he would have much to spare, | |
| If he married a woman with nothing to wear?" | |
| |
| Since that night, taking pains that it should not be bruited | |
| Abroad in society, I 've instituted | |
| A course of inquiry, extensive and thorough, | 215 |
| On this vital subject, and find, to my horror, | |
| That the fair Flora's case is by no means surprising, | |
| But that there exists the greatest distress | |
| In our female community, solely arising | |
| From this unsupplied destitution of dress, | 220 |
| Whose unfortunate victims are filling the air | |
| With the pitiful wail of "Nothing to wear." | |
| |
| Researches in some of the "Upper Ten" districts | |
| Reveal the most painful and startling statistics, | |
| Of which let me mention only a few: | 225 |
| In one single house, on the Fifth Avenue, | |
| Three young ladies were found, all below twenty-two, | |
| Who have been three whole weeks without anything new | |
| In the way of flounced silks, and thus left in the lurch | |
| Are unable to go to ball, concert, or church. | 230 |
| In another large mansion, near the same place, | |
| Was found a deplorable, heart-rending case | |
| Of entire destitution of Brussels point-lace. | |
| In a neighboring block there was found, in three calls, | |
| Total want, long continued, of camel's-hair shawls; | 235 |
| And a suffering family, whose case exhibits | |
| The most pressing need of real ermine tippets; | |
| One deserving young lady almost unable | |
| To survive for the want of a new Russian sable; | |
| Still another, whose tortures have been most terrific | 240 |
| Ever since the sad loss of the steamer Pacific, | |
| In which were engulfed, 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 | 245 |
| 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, | |
| And renders her life so drear and dyspeptic | |
| That she 's quite a recluse, and almost a sceptic, | 250 |
| For she touchingly says that this sort of grief | |
| Cannot find in Religion the slightest relief, | |
| And Philosophy has not a maxim to spare | |
| For victims of such overwhelming despair. | |
| But the saddest, by far, of all these sad features | 255 |
| Is the cruelty practised 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, | 260 |
| 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! 't was too true, | |
| Whose husband refused, as savage as Charon, | 265 |
| To permit her to take more than ten trunks to Sharon. | |
| The consequence was, that when she got there, | |
| At the end of three weeks she had nothing to wear, | |
| And when she proposed to finish the season | |
| At Newport, the monster refused, out and out, | 270 |
| For his infamous conduct alleging no reason, | |
| Except that the waters were good for his gout; | |
| Such treatment as this was too shocking, of course, | |
| And proceedings are now going on for divorce. | |
| |
| But why harrow the feelings by lifting the curtain | 275 |
| From these scenes of woe? Enough, it is certain, | |
| Has here been disposed to stir up the pity | |
| Of every benevolent heart in the city, | |
| And spur up Humanity into a canter | |
| To rush and relieve these sad cases instanter. | 280 |
| Won't somebody, moved by this touching description, | |
| Come forward to-morrow and head a subscription? | |
| Won't some kind philanthropist, seeing that aid is | |
| So needed at once by these indigent ladies, | |
| Take charge of the matter? Or won't Peter Cooper | 285 |
| The corner-stone lay of some new splendid super- | |
| Structure, like that which to-day links his name | |
| In the Union unending of Honor and Fame, | |
| And found a new charity just for the care | |
| Of these unhappy women with nothing to wear, | 290 |
| Which, in view of the cash which would daily be claimed, | |
| The Laying-out Hospital well might be named? | |
| Won't Stewart, or some of our dry-goods importers, | |
| Take a contract for clothing our wives and our daughters? | |
| Or, to furnish the cash we supply these distresses, | 295 |
| And life's pathway strew with shawls, collars, and dresses, | |
| For poor womankind, won't some venturesome lover | |
| A new California somewhere discover? | |
| |
| O ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day | |
| Please trundle your hoops just out of Broadway, | 300 |
| From its whirl and its bustle, its fashion and pride, | |
| And the temples of Trade which tower on each side, | |
| To the alleys and lanes, where Misfortune and Guilt | |
| Their children have gathered, their city have built; | |
| Where Hunger and Vice, like twin beasts of prey, | 305 |
| 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, | 310 |
| 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; | 315 |
| 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 O, if perchance there should be a sphere | 320 |
| Where all is made right which 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 pretence, | 325 |
| Must be clothed for the life and the service above, | |
| With purity, truth, faith, meekness, and love, | |
| O daughters of Earth! foolish virgins, beware! | |
| Lest in that upper realm you have nothing to wear! | |
