WOMEN'S RIGHTS.

BY ARTEMUS WARD.

I PITCHT my tent in a small town in Injianny one day last seeson, & while I was standin at the dore takin morey, a deppytashun of ladies came up & sed they wos members of the Bunkumville

"A FEROSHUS LOOKIN' CRITTER."

Female Reformin & Wimin's Rite's Associashun, and thay axed me

if thay cood go in without payin.

"Not exactly," sez I, "but you can pay without goin in."

"Dew you know who we air?" said one of the wimin-a tall and feroshus lookin critter, with a blew kotton umbreller under her arm—“ do you know who we air, Sur?" "My impreshun is," sed I, "from a kersery view, that you air females."

"We air, Sur," said the feroshus woman"we belong to a Society whitch beleeves wimin has rites - whitch beleeves in razin her to her proper speer-whitch beleeves she is indowed with as much intelleck

as man is-whitch beleeves she is trampled on and aboozed-& who will resist hense4th & forever the incroachments of proud & domineering men."

Durin her discourse, the exsentric female grabed me by the coat-kollor & was swinging her umbreller wildly over my head.

I hope, marm," sez I, starting back, "that your intensions is honorable! I'm a lone man hear in a strange place. Besides, I've a wife to hum."

"Yes," cried the female, " & she's a slave ! Doth she never dream of freedom-doth she never think of throwin of the yoke of tyrrinny & thinkin & votin for herself?-Doth she never think of these here things?"

"Not bein a natral born fool," sed I, by this time a little riled, "I kin safely say that she dothunt."

"Oh, whot-whot!" screamed the female, swinging her umbreller in the air. "O, what is the price that woman pays for her expeeriunce!"

"I don't know," sez I; "the price of my show is 15 cents pur individooal."

" & can't our Sosiety go in free?" asked the female.

"Not if I know it," sed I.

"Crooil, crooil man!" she cried, & bust into teers.

"Won't you let my darter in?" sed anuther of the exsentric wimin, taken me afeckshunitely by the hand. "O, please let my darter in-shee's a sweet gushin child of natur."

"Let her gush!" roared I, as mad as I cood stick at their tarnal nonsense-"let her gush!" Where upon they all sprung back with the simultanious observashun that I was a Beest.

"My female friends," sed I, "be4 you leeve, I've a few remarks to remark; wa them well. The female woman is one of the greatest institooshuns of which this land can boste. It's onpossible to get along without her. Had there bin no female wimin in the world, I should scarcely be here with my unparaleld show on this very occashun. She is good in sickness-good in wellness-good all the time. O woman, woman!" I cried, my feelins worked up to a hi poetick pitch, "You air a angle when you behave yourself; but when you take off your proper appairel & (mettyforically speaken)-get into pantyloons-when you desert your firesides, & with you heds full of wimin's rites noshuns go round like roarin lions, seekin whom you may devour someboddy-in short, when you undertake to play the man, you play the devil and air an emphatic noosance. My female friends," I continued, as they were indignantly departin, "wa well what A. Ward has sed!"

NOTHING TO WEAR.

BY WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER.

WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER, born at Albany, N. Y., in 1825, is best known by his poem of "Nothing to Wear," which he published in 1857, and which attained at once the most extraordinary currency and celebrity. He was the author of other poems, and various humorous papers, which he threw off in such leisure as his profession of lawyer allowed him, but none are comparable to the satire which won him fame, and, with the exception of "Two Millions," would now hardly be remembered. He was a versatile and accomplished man, whose advantages and opportunities had been great.

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 shape,
Silk, muslin and lace, velvet, satin and ciape,
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-franc robes to twenty-sous frills;
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!

FLORA M'FLIMSEY.

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 those;
Then, wrapped in great shawls, like Circassian beauties,
Gave good by to the ship, and go by to the duties.
Her relations at home all marveled, 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, Which, in spite of Collector and Custom-House sentry, 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,
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;
But I do mean to say, I have heard her declare,