A SAD CASE.

Miss Dorothea Dimpleton, whenever she went out, Held in her neatly mittened hand a silken reticule; When she went to shop, to market, or to visit all about, She carried it, as if upon her way to sewing-school. ’Twas always full, and yet her dearest friends had never heard What ’twas full of, so they all agreed her conduct was absurd. Miss Dorothea Dimpleton had early learned to sew; She could hem, and fell, and overseam, could gather and could gore; And she said, “This is an art that every woman ought to know, But, alas! my sex disdains to learn the useful any more! Yet I will not be discouraged; I will do my small endeavor, And perchance I may prevent the art from being lost forever!” So she filled with pretty “hussifs”[1] her ample reticule, Each stocked with thimble, needlecase, and scissors, all complete, And she stopped the little maidens on their way from morning school, And to each of them she kindly gave a “hussif” fresh and neat, And the little maids said, “Thank you, Ma’am!” and curtseyed to the ground, And then went and hid the “hussifs” where they seldom could be found. Miss Dorothea Dimpleton felt very sure, at last, That every little girl in town was sewing with a will; And it was not till at least a year of feeling sure was past, That she heard a truth so dreadful that it really made her ill: Of all those lovely “hussifs” she had given in the place, There had not been a needle in one single needle-case! But that, you know, was years ago, before it had been said, “Be sure you’re right, and” (please observe the “then”) “then go ahead!”