In rich meadow-grasses
Spring flowers at the touch of her foot.
She loves best the roses-
A rose branch for sceptre she takes;
And where'er she reposes
Droop willows o'er crystalline lakes.
She is all that is fairest
In the world' and the welkin on high,— The grace that is rarest,
The glow that is homely and nigh;
She is Freedom and Duty, Frank Morn and the Veiling of Light,
The Passion of Beauty,
The Fragrance and Voices of Night.
Crowned Queen of the Quick and the Dead; She is more than thou dreamest,
O soul of desire and of dread!
She is Spring-time and Gladness,
And rapture all glory above;
She is Longing and Sadness;
She is Birth-she is Death-she is Love!
Butler was born in Albany in 1825. His father was the estimable and genial Benjamin F. Butler, a member of the Cabinet of Presidents Jackson and Van Buren. William completed his education at the University of the City of New York, and then passed a year or two in European travel. He has made some fine translations from the German of Uhland; is the author of "Out-ofthe-way Places in Europe," and has shown, in a series of biographical and critical sketches of the Old Masters, that he is an excellent judge in art. His "Nothing to Wear" shows that he is both a humorist and a poet. It is amusing without coarseness, and rises, at its close, into a strain of pathos as easy and unforced as it is beautiful and apt.
AN EPISODE OF CITY LIFE.
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,
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;
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,
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;
Dresses in which to do nothing at all;
Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall;
All of them different in color and pattern,
Silk, muslin, and lace, crape, velvet, and satin,
Brocade and broadcloth, and other material,
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-francs robes to twenty-sous
In all quarters of Paris, and to every store,
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
Arago
Formed, M'Flimsey declares, the bulk of her cargo,
Not to mention a quantity kept from the rest,
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
Of muslins, embroideries, worked under-clothes,
Gloves, handkerchiefs, scarfs, and such trifles as
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,
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,
[try,
Which, in spite of Collector and Custom-house sen-
Had entered the port without any entry.
And yet, though scarce three months have passed since the day [way, This merchandise went, on twelve carts, up Broad
This same Miss M'Flimsey, of Madison Square, The last time we met, was in utter despair, 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 usThat she's in a state of absolute nudity,
Like Powers' Greek Slave, or the Medici Venus; 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!
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,
Of those fossil remains which she called her "affec-
tions,"
[art,
And that rather decayed, but well-known work of
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,
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,
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,
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,
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,
For this is a sort of engagement, you see,
Which is binding on you, but not binding on me.”
Well, having thus wooed Miss M'Flimsey and gained her, [her, With the silks, crinolines, and hoops that contained I had, as I thought, a contingent remainder
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 graud
ball-
Their cards had been out a fortnight or so,
And set all the Avenue on the tiptoe-
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
Than usual-I found-I won't say-I caught her-
Intent on the pier-glass, undoubtedly meaning
To see if perhaps it didn't need cleaning.
She turned as I entered--" Why, Harry, you sinner,
I thought that you went to the Flashers' to dinner!"
"So I did," I replied, "but the dinner is swal
lowed,
And digested, I trust, for 'tis 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
As just to inform me if you intend
Your beauty, and graces, and presence to lend (All which, when I own, I hope no one will borrow) To the STUCKUPS, whose party, you know, is tomorrow ?"
The fair Flora looked up with a pitiful air,
And answered quite promptly, "Why, Harry, mon
I should like above all things to go with yon 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 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;"
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,
"The pearl-colored"-"I would, but that plaguey Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar, and thief,
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
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;
As gentle expletives which might give 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,
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,
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 know how-
On door-step and sidewalk, past lamp - post and
square,
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,
And by all the grand court were so very much Supposing a man had the wealth of the Czar courted."
The end of the nose was portentously tipped up,
And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation,
Of the Russias to boot, for the rest of his days, On the whole, do you think he would have much to spare
As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation, If he married a woman with nothing to wear? "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-ob, 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!
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.
Since that night, taking pains that it should not be bruited
Abroad in society, I've instituted
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,
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."
Researches in some of the "Upper Ten" districts
Reveal the most painful and startling statistics,
Of which let me mention only a few:
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
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