The Wit of Women. Sanborn Kate
threescore;
With finest muslins that fair India boasts,
And the choice herbage from Chinesian coasts;
Add feathers, furs, rich satin, and ducapes,
And head-dresses in pyramidal shapes;
Sideboards of plate and porcelain profuse,
With fifty dittoes that the ladies use.
So weak Lamira and her wants so few
Who can refuse? they're but the sex's due."
Mrs. Sigourney, voluminous and mediocre, is amusing because so absolutely destitute of humor, and her style, a feminine Johnsonese, is absurdly hifalutin and strained.
This is the way in which she alludes to green apples:
"From the time of their first taking on orbicular shape, and when it might be supposed their hardness and acidity would repulse all save elephantine tusks and ostrich stomachs, they were the prey of roaming children."
And in her poem "To a Shred of Linen":
"Methinks I scan
Some idiosyncrasy that marks thee out
A defunct pillow-case."
She preserved, however, a long list of the various solicitations sent her to furnish poems for special occasions, and I think this shows that she possessed a sense of humor. Let me quote a few:
"Some verses were desired as an elegy on a pet canary accidentally drowned in a barrel of swine's food.
"A poem requested on the dog-star Sirius.
"To write an ode for the wedding of people in Maine, of whom I had never heard.
"To punctuate a three-volume novel for an author who complained that the work of punctuating always brought on a pain in the small of his back.
"Asked to assist a servant-man not very well able to read in getting his Sunday-school lessons, and to write out all the answers for him clear through the book – to save his time.
"A lady whose husband expects to be absent on a journey for a month or two wishes I would write a poem to testify her joy at his return.
"An elegy on a young man, one of the nine children of a judge of probate."
Miss Sedgwick, in her letters, occasionally showed a keen sense of humor, as, when speaking of a certain novel, she said:
"There is too much force for the subject. It is as if a railroad should be built and a locomotive started to transport skeletons, specimens, and one bird of Paradise."
Mrs. Caroline Gilman, born in 1794, and still living, author of "Recollections of a Southern Matron," etc., will be represented by one playful poem, which has a veritable New England flavor:
JOSHUA'S COURTSHIP
Stout Joshua was a farmer's son,
And a pondering he sat
One night when the fagots crackling burned,
And purred the tabby cat.
Joshua was a well-grown youth,
As one might plainly see
By the sleeves that vainly tried to reach
His hands upon his knee.
His splay-feet stood all parrot-toed
In cowhide shoes arrayed,
And his hair seemed cut across his brow
By rule and plummet laid.
And what was Joshua pondering on,
With his widely staring eyes,
And his nostrils opening sensibly
To ease his frequent sighs?
Not often will a lover's lips
The tender secret tell,
But out he spoke before he thought,
"My gracious! Nancy Bell!"
His mother at her spinning-wheel,
Good woman, stood and spun,
"And what," says she, "is come o'er you,
Is't airnest or is't fun?"
Then Joshua gave a cunning look,
Half bashful and half sporting,
"Now what did father do," says he,
"When first he came a courting?"
"Why, Josh, the first thing that he did,"
With a knowing wink, said she,
"He dressed up of a Sunday night,
And cast sheep's eyes at me."
Josh said no more, but straight went out
And sought a butcher's pen,
Where twelve fat sheep, for market bound,
Had lately slaughtered been.
He bargained with a lover's zeal,
Obtained the wished-for prize,
And filled his pockets fore and aft
With twice twelve bloody eyes.
The next night was the happy time
When all New England sparks,
Drest in their best, go out to court,
As spruce and gay as larks.
When floors are nicely sanded o'er,
When tins and pewter shine,
And milk-pans by the kitchen wall
Display their dainty line;
While the new ribbon decks the waist
Of many a waiting lass,
Who steals a conscious look of pride
Toward her answering glass.
In pensive mood sat Nancy Bell;
Of Joshua thought not she,
But of a hearty sailor lad
Across the distant sea.
Her arm upon the table rests,
Her hand supports her head,
When Joshua enters with a scrape,
And somewhat bashful tread.
No word he spake, but down he sat,
And heaved a doleful sigh,
Then at the table took his aim
And rolled a glassy eye.
Another and another flew,
With quick and strong rebound,
They tumbled in poor Nancy's lap,
They fell upon the ground.
While Joshua smirked, and sighed, and smiled
Between each tender aim,
And still the cold and bloody balls
In frightful quickness came.
Until poor Nancy flew with screams,
To shun the amorous sport,
And Joshua found to cast sheep's eyes
Was not the way to court.
"Fanny Forrester" and "Fanny Fern" both delighted the public with individual styles of writing, vastly successful when a new thing.
When wanting a new dress and bonnet, as every woman will in the spring (or any time), Fanny Forrester wrote to Willis, of the New Mirror, an appeal which he called "very clever, adroit, and