This section is from the book "Hill's Manual Of Social And Business Forms: A Guide To Correct Writing", by Thos. E. Hill. Also available from Amazon: Hill's Manual Of Social And Business Forms: The How-To-Do-Everything Book Of Victorian America.
BY W. W. STORY.
CHOU knowest her, the thing of laces, and silk, And ribbons, and gauzes, and crinoline, With her neck and shoulders as white as milk,
And her doll-like face and conscious mien.
A lay-figure fashioned to fit a dress, All stuffed within with straw and bran; Is that a woman to love, to caress? Is that a creature to charm a man?
Only listen! how charmingly she talks Of your dress and hers - of the Paris mode -
Of the coming ball - of the opera box -Of jupons, and flounces, and fashions abroad.
Not a bonnet in church but she knows it well, And Fashion she worships with downcast eyes;
A marchande de modes is her oracle, And Paris her earthly paradise.
She's perfect to whirl with in a waltz;
And her shoulders show well on a soft divan, As she lounges at night and spreads her silks,
And plays with her bracelets and flirts her fan,-
With a little laugh at whatever you say,
And rounding her "No" with a look of surprise,
And lisping her "Yes" with an air distrait, And a pair of aimless, wandering eyes.
Her duty this Christian never omits!
She makes her calls, and she leaves her cards, And enchants a circle of half-fledged wits,
And slim attaches and six-foot Guards.
Her talk is of people who're nasty or nice, And she likes little bon-bon compliments;
While she seasons their sweetness by way of spice, By some witless scandal she often invents.
Could love ever grow on such barren rocks? Is this the companion to take for a wife?
One might as well marry a musical box.
You exhaust in a day her full extent;
'Tis the same little tinkle of tunes always; You must wind her up with a compliment,
To be bored with the only airs she plays.