Abbildungen der Seite
[ocr errors]

should have any true grace, or valuable vertue, that have so little wit, as to disfigure themselves with such exotick garbes, as not only dismantles their native lovely lustre, but transclouts them into gant bar-geese, ill-shapen-shotten-shell-fish, Egyptian hyeroglyphicks, or at the best into French flurts of the pastery, which a proper English-woman should scorne with her heels; it is no marvell they weare drailes on the hinder part of their heads, having nothing as it seems in the fore part, but a few Squirril's brains to help them frisk from one ill-favor'd fashion to another.

These whimm-Crown'd shees, these fashion-fansying wits,

Are empty thin-brain'd shells, and fiddling Kits. The very troublers and impoverishers of mankind, I can hardly forbear to commend to the world a saying of a Lady living sometime with the Queen of Bohemia. I know not where shee found it, but it is a pitty it should be lost.

The World is full of care, much like unto a bubble ;
Women and care, and care and women, and women and

care and trouble. The Verses are even enough for such odde pegma's. I can make myselfe sicke at any time, with comparing the dazling splender wherewith our Gentlewomen were embellished in some former habits, with the goosdom wherewith they are now surcingled and debauched. Wee have about five or six of them in our Colony; if I see any of them accidentally, I cannot cleanse my phansie of them for a moneth after. I have been a solitary widdower almost twelve yeares, purposed lately to make a step over to my Native Country for a yoke-fellow; but when I consider how women there have tripe-wifed themselves with their cladments, I have no heart to the voyage, least their nauseous shapes and the Sea, should work too sorely upon my stomach. I speak sadly; me thinkes it should breake the hearts of Englishmen to see so many goodly Englishwomen imprisoned in French

Cages, peering out of their hood-holes for some men of mercy to help them with a little wit, and no body relieves them.

It is a more common than convenient saying, that nine Taylors make a man; it were well if nineteene could make a woman to her minde; if Taylors were men indeed, well furnished, but with meer morall principles, they would disdain to be led about like Apes, by such mymick Marmosets. It is a most unworthy thing, for men that have bones in them, to spend their lives in making fidlecases for futilous women's phansies; which are the very pettitoes of infirmity, the gyblets of perquisquilian toyes. I am so charitable to think, that most of that mystery would worke the cheerfuller while they live, if they might bee well discharged of the tyring slavery of mis-trying women; it is no little labour to be continually putting up English-women into Out-landish caskes; who if they be not shifted anew, once in a few moneths, grow too sowre for their Husbands. What this Trade will answer for themselves when God shall take measure of Taylors' consciences is beyond my skill to imagine. There was a time when

The joyning of the Red-Rose with the White,
Did set our State into a Damask plight.

But now our Roses are turned to Flore de lices, our Carnations to Tulips, our Gilliflowers to Dayzes, out City Dames, to indenominable Quæmalry of overturcas'd things. Hee that makes Coates for the Moone had need take measure every noone; and he that makes for women, as often, to keepe them from Lunacy.

I have often heard divers Ladies vent loud feminine complaints of the wearisome varieties and chargeable changes of fashions! I marvell themselves preferre not a Bill of redresse. I would Essex Ladies would lead the Chore, for the honour of their County and persons; or rather the thrice honourable Ladies of the Court, whom it best beseemes; who

may wel presume of a Le Roy le Veult from our sober King, a Les Seigneurs ont Assentus from our prudent Peers, and the like Assentus from our considerate, I dare not say wife-worne Commons ! who I believe had much rather passe one such Bill, than pay so many Taylors' Bills as they are forced to doe.

Most deare and unparallel'd Ladies, be pleased to attempt it; as you have the precellency of the women of the world for beauty and feature; so assume the honour to give, and not take Law from any, in matter of attire; if ye can transact so faire a motion among yourselves unanimously I dare say, they that most renite, will least repent. What greater honour can your Honours desire, than to build a Promontory president to all foraigne Ladies, to deserve so eminently at the hands of all the English Gentry present and to come; and to confute the opinion of all the wise men in the world; who never thought it possible for women to doe so good a work?

If any man think I have spoken rather merrily than seriously, he is much mistaken. I have written what I write with all the indignation I can, and no more than I ought. I confesse I veer'd my tongue to this kinde of Language de industria though unwillingly, supposing those I speak to are uncapable of grave and rationall arguments.

I desire all Ladies and Gentlewomen to understand that all this while I intend not such as through necessary modesty to avoyd morose singularity, follow fashions slowly, a flight shot or two off, showing by their moderation that they rather draw countermont with their hearts, than put on by their examples.

I point my pen only against the light-heeld beagles that lead the chase so fast, that they run all civility out of breath, against these Ape-headed pullets, which invent Antique foole-fangles, meerly for fashion and novelty sake.

Nathaniel Ward.

[merged small][graphic][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]

“I S this the office of the National Pop-gun and Universal

Valve Trumpet ?” inquired Sapid in sepulchral tones. “Hey—what? Oh !—yes,” gruffly replied the clerk, as he scrutinised the applicant.

“It is, is it?” was the response.

“H-umpse;" heaving a porcine affirmative, much in use in the city of brotherly love.

"I am here to see the editor, on business of importance,” slowly and solemnly articulated Sapid. There must have been something professionally alarming in this announcement, if an opinion may be formed from the effect it produced.

“Editor's not come down yet, is he, Spry?” inquired the clerk, with a cautionary wink at the paste-boy.

“Guess he ain't more nor up yet,” said Spry; "the mails was late last night.”

“I'll take a seat till he does come,” observed Sapid, gloomily.

Spry and the clerk laid their heads together in the most distant corner of the little office.

“Has he got a stick ?” whispered one.
“No, and he isn't remarkable big, nuther."

Any bit of paper in his hand-does he look like State House and a libel suit ? It's aʼmost time--not had a new suit for a week."

“Not much; and, as we didn't have any scrouger in the Gun yesterday, perhaps he wants to have somebody tickled


himself. Send him in." St. Sebastian Sockdolager, Esq., the editor of The National Pop-gun and Universal Valve Trumpet, sat at a green table, elucidating an idea by the aid of a steel pen and whitybrown paper, and therefore St. Sebastian Sockdolager did not look up when Mr. Sapid entered the sanctum. The abstraction may, perhaps, have been a sample of literary stage effect; but it is certain that the pen pursued the idea with the speed and directness of a steeple-chase, straight across the paper, and direful was the scratching thereof. The luckless idea being at last fairly run down and its brush cut off, Mr. Sockdolager threw himself back into his chair with a smile of triumph.

“Tickletoby,” said he, rumpling his hair into heroic expansiveness.

“What?” exclaimed Sapid, rather nervously.

“My dear sir, I didn't see you—a thousand pardons ! Pray what can be done for you in our line?”

“Sir, there is a nuisance

“Glad of it, sir ; The Gun is death on a nuisance. We circulate ten thousand deaths to any sort of a nuisance every day, besides the weekly and the country edition. We

« ZurückWeiter »