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| 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, to stand in, to 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 colour 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! | |
| 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, | 35 |
| 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 us— | |
| That she’s in a state of absolute nudity, | 40 |
| 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, | 45 |
| That she had not a thing in the wide world 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 | 50 |
| 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. | |
| In another large mansion, near the same place, | 55 |
| Was found a deplorable, heart-rending case | |
| Of entire destitution of Brussels point-lace. | |
| In a neighbouring block there was found, in three calls, | |
| Total want, long continued, of camel’s-hair shawls; | |
| And a suffering family, whose case exhibits | 60 |
| The most pressing need of real ermine tippets; | |
| One deserving lady almost unable | |
| To survive for the want of a new Russian sable; | |
| Still another, whose tortures have been most terrific | |
| Ever since the sad loss of the steamer Pacific, | 65 |
| 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 | |
| Ever sent out from Paris, worth thousands of dollars, | 70 |
| 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, | |
| For she touchingly says that this sort of grief | 75 |
| Cannot find in Religion the slightest relief, | |
| And Philosophy has not a maxim to spare | |
| For the victims of such overwhelming despair. | |
| Won’t some kind philanthropist, seeing that aid is | |
| So needed at once by these indigent ladies, | 80 |
| Take charge of the matter? Or won’t Peter Cooper | |
| 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 | 85 |
| Of these unhappy women with nothing to wear? | |
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