the spirit of our race, Fresh from Honduras’ bowers.

“Poor disembodied nymph,” I thought It said; “Go, seek thy children, p. 64A true statistical report To bring us, though bewild’ring, Of what with every inch they’ve done, Each splintering and chipling; Then, backwards to Honduras flown, Thou’lt have another sapling.”

p. 64

I wing’d my way elate with hopes, To seek each cabinet maker— To Druse and Heal’s well furnish’d shops, And the Bazaar of Baker— Each piano manufactory, To Broadwood and to Collard— Where’er a portion of my tree, Was carried, there I follow’d:

And where’er a sofa or chair I saw, Or bedstead or wardrobe furnish’d, Or centre-table with spreading claw, With my wood all brightly burnish’d, Each knot, and knob, and scar, and split, And delicate grain appearing. Long was my search, made longer yet By the general use of veneering.

I’ve flitted through a mansion proud To watch a grand piano, The centre of a list’ning crowd High-bred in tone and manner: I’ve stood by many a shining board, Were dinners were demolish’d, And view’d the silver and glass encored—  Seen double in the polish.

p. 65And beside a stately bed I’ve stood, Where curtains of silken splendour O’er damask hangings and polish’d wood, Threw a lustre subdued and tender. A dainty cradle stood near its head, But no form was in it sleeping, For the couch of state held the baby dead, And the mother knelt near it weeping:

p. 65

I came beneath a gorgeous dome, With fretted arch and column, And stained glass windows through the gloom That made it very solemn. And by the pulpit stairs I stood The preacher’s words to follow— The sounding-board was my own wood—  (That, and the words were hollow):

And I’ve wandered to the library—  The bookshelves there were mine— Belonging to one of the Ministry; The whole was wondrous fine. (I thought the pay seem’d very high, The work of an easy nature, And wondered if that was the reason why They would not suffer women to try To sit in the Legislature):

And I’ve been up a dismal attic flight, Not knowing why there I hasten’d, And I found ’twas the sewing-table bright To which a machine was fasten’d; And a girl was working, so pale and drear, p. 66And in such a forlorn condition, That, ghost as I was, I had shed a tear, But I knew that that garret was woman’s sphere, And dressmaking her 

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