Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton :: :: University of Virginia Library

My dear Mr. Smith, could you now for a minute
Lay aside, not your head, but the thoughts that are in it;
Forget all your saddles and bridles and straps,
And open your heart to a woman's mishaps.

'Tis about a poor damsel who lives in this city,
And a gentleman called a financial committee.
I mention no names; don't ask me the cause on't,
Hers might have been Bodge, my dear sir, but it wasn't.

Well, this poor little damsel had spent her young years,
Smiled heavens of smiles and wept oceans of tears,
In a certain brick school-house full three stories high,
Set under this very committee man's eye.
All the work she accomplished 'twould tire you to tell,
But considering all things, 'twas done very well,
Since teaching is not, Sir, a thing to delight in,
But a very odd compound of scolding and fighting.

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For although good old Moses at half a glance saw
'Twas a very hard thing to make bricks without straw,
Fond parents now give a—rhetorical—kick,
If every small boy does not turn out—“A brick!”

One day this committee man came to the maiden,
With a bursting big pocket-book heavily laden;
Now this unwonted sight made her feel very funny,
For she knew he was going to give her some money,
Though you see so uncommonly hard were the times,
There was very small traffic in dollars and dimes.
Every bank was as poor as were Peter and John,
And the cashiers said, “Silver and gold have I none.”
So the damsel aforesaid was only too glad
To take for her pay of the best that he had,
Though it must be confessed that her heart somewhat sank
When she saw they were bills on the Charter Oak Bank—
And she said to herself, “I would much rather hold
The Phoenix Bank bills if I cannot have gold,
For although that will surely go down in these crashes
Another as good will arise from its ashes.
But this Charter Oak—I have certainly heard—
But dear me, there's no use in my saying a word,
For he stands there so large and so stout and so tall
He could crush me as easy as nothing at all.”

Well, when he had paid her the money he said,
With a very confirmative shake of the head,

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“You would better get rid of that money, my friend,
For there's reason to fear that the bank will suspend.
I advise you to do it now—mind what I say—
In such times as these, we're not safe for a day.”
The girl was much pleased with this friendly advice,
And a part of her money went off in a trice;
She bought many things that she thought she should need,
And some that she shouldn't to wear and to read;
Sent beautiful gifts to the friends she loved best,
And then in an evil hour gave all the rest
To a friend of her own in her name to invest,
So you see she was left—'tis a crime in a court—
Without any visible means of support;
But I'm sure the committee man ought not to blame her,
For 'tis owing to him she's in such a dilemma.
Now ragged and tattered she walks through the street,
The scoff of each walker she chances to meet.
Through the rents in her gaiters peep forth her white hose,
To be followed, she fears every day, by her t-o-u-g-h-s!

She had long wished and hoped for a water-proof cloak,
But she fears that her wishes will vanish in smoke,
And then, too, she wears such a shocking old bonnet—
O the rains and the snows that have beaten upon it—

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And then by-and-by to her home she must go,
And though stocks in all railroads have fallen quite low,
I suppose a conductor won't carry her far
Unless she can pay for a seat in the car.

Now if I were that girl and if that man were you,
My dear Mr. Smith, tell me what would you do?
Turn a merciless ear to her pitiful cries,
Or come to her aid with the needful supplies?
Having shared in her fault, would you share in her pain?
Or turn away with “Don't be caught so again.”
A word to the wise is sufficient, they say—
That word being spoken, I hasten away—
With a wish that your shadow may never be less
(And that is a very great wish, you'll confess).
I beg your permission to bid you adieu,
Yours very respectfully,
Can't you guess who?