Hath the treasure here given been paid by those

Whose ‘wrongs’ are so earnestly plead by you?

Or hath it been done by their ‘natural foes,’

The wealthy, the rich, the opulent few

Of Madison Square and the Fifth Avenue?”

During this lengthy interrogation

The Spirit had been pretending to doze,

But he waked himself up at the peroration,

And most ungallantly turned up his nose,

And turned on his heel, and turned him away,—

Sulkily saying, he’d Nothing to Say.

Dear Readers, I’ll ask one question of you—

Don’t you think it may possibly chance to be true,

That Charity, really, not merely in fables,

May apparel herself in satins and sables,

And costliest ribbons, and fragilest laces,

Like the daintiest beauties of Madison Square,

And may take up a home in the loftiest places,

With those who’ve, satirically, Nothing to Wear?

And in that blissful realm above,

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