Nothing to Say A Slight Slap at Mobocratic Snobbery, Which Has 'Nothing to Do' with 'Nothing to Wear' — Story, Setting & Ideas

She was costumed, no doubt, with the greatest propriety, In the very extreme of the reigning fashion. Well! she stopped to listen, a minute or more, To the fellow's mischievous harangue, before She resolved what to do; then she stepped to the door Of an Astor Place car, and beckoned to him, And he followed at once, while his audience scattered; To tell the truth, he felt quite flattered, And he smiled a smile most heavy and grim, For he thought he'd awakened a tender passion In the heart of a belle, a lady of fashion. And they sat side by side, this curious pair, While they rode up to Eighth street--and she paid the fare.

They stepped from the car, and stood before, The "COOPER INSTITUTE'S" new-painted door--

"Who hath done this?" asked Charity then; "Who hath done this for his fellow-men? Hath builded this house, that all may come-- The poor most welcome--to Learning's treasure, And drink their fill without stint or measure? Who hath so nobly used his thrift, And bestowed on the world this priceless gift, Free to all, whoever may come? Was this noble work built up by the 'masses,' Or by one of the 'miserly, upper classes'?"

To the Spirit, this speech was quite unexpected, And he stood in a sort of stupid dismay; And before his few scattered thoughts were collected, She rightly concluded--he'd Nothing to Say. Then she lifted her skirts with a masterly hand, And out of the puddles and ruts kept them well up,-- Thus showed that she had the most perfect command Of the crinoline mysteries of her envelope, 'Twas done with the daintiest grace all the while, And discovered the daintiest possible gaiter,-- Then she turned to her friend with a nod and a smile, And told him to follow--he straightway obeyed her. As they hurried along, she kept ever before him, And he kept his eye on the tempting prunella, Secretly hoping there'd come such a shower As would make a new Flood in half-an-hour-- That she, with a womanly care for her bonnet, Which would "spot," with the least drop of water upon it,

Might become condescending, and humbly implore him To come along-side with his cotton umbrella. But the shower didn't come, and without a disaster, They reached the huge Library--christened of Astor. Then she shook down her skirts to their natural latitude-- Ahem'd once or twice--struck _out_ a nice attitude-- And then she struck _into_ this little oration, Though I'm sure _I_ don't know where she learned declamation.

"Spirit, behold! these bending shelves Are groaning 'neath the gathered store Of every nation's varied lore. Most welcome are the poor themselves To freely turn these countless pages, And gather from the words of sages All the light of former ages. Whoever wills is here a guest, The _poorest_ are the welcomest. Who hath done this? your virtuous mob, Or a 'cold-hearted miser,' a 'pampered snob?'"

Here her Companion began to perceive That her feminine tongue would have its own way; That the cleverest thing _he_ could do was to leave The talking to her, and have Nothing to Say. The lady had now been chattering so long, She felt that her voice was beginning to fail her; A punch would, she felt, be a blessing and boon, The "dientical" thing with which to regale her, So they pushed their way through the gathering throng, And hurried away to Taylor's Saloon.

They seated themselves at the table together,-- The customers "staring their eyes out," to see Who this queer-looking couple could possibly be,-- Asking each other in whispers, whether, It wasn't the likeliest thing that she, Was a Western Actress, and he an Editor; And some were terribly frightened, because They couldn't help thinking there certainly was, The Old Nick to pay, and that he was their creditor.

But the strangers composedly sat, never heeding These stupid remarks, or taking offence, And they quietly kept on their drinking and feeding, Without the slightest regard to expense. If an appetite sharp is a thing so delightful, Charity had no occasion to sigh at hers; Boarding-house keepers would say it was frightful, And ruinous too, to the hotel proprietors.

They were sated at last, and turned from the door; He, wondering whither she now would go-- And well he might--in an instant more He was over shoes in the frozen snow; While she coolly remarked, with a Camille cough, That the North Pole was only a half a mile off.

How it was they got to their present location, I'm sure I don't know, and it's not my vocation To give the details of their quick locomotion. Electricity may have done it, or steam;