THE WOMAN OF MIND.
My wife is a woman of mind,
And Deville, who examined her bumps,
Vow'd that never were found in a woman
Such large intellectual lumps.
"Ideality" big as an egg,
With "Causality"—great—was combined;
He charg'd me ten shillings, and said,
"Sir, your wife is a woman of mind."
She's too clever to care how she looks,
And will horrid blue spectacles wear,
Not because she supposes they give her
A fine intellectual air;
No! she pays no regard to appearance,
And combs all her front hair behind,
Not because she is proud of her forehead,
But because she's a woman of mind.
She makes me a bushel of verses,
But never a pudding or tart,
If I hint I should like one, she vows
I'm an animal merely at heart;
Though I've notic'd she spurns not the pastry,
Whene'er at a friend's we have din'd,
And has always had two plates of pudding,
Such plates! for a woman of mind.
Not a stitch does she do but a distich,
Mends her pen too instead of my clothes;
I haven't a shirt with a button,
Nor a stocking that's sound at the toes;
If I ask her to darn me a pair,
She replies she has work more refined:
Besides, to be seen darning stockings!
Is it fit for a woman of mind?
The children are squalling all day,
For they're left to the care of a maid;
My wife can't attend to "the units,"
"The millions" are wanting her aid.
And it's vulgar to care for one's offspring—
The mere brute has a love of its kind—
But she loves the whole human fam'ly,
For she is a woman of mind.
Every thing is an inch thick in dust,
And the servants do just as they please;
The ceilings are cover'd with cobwebs,
The beds are all swarming with fleas;
The windows have never been clean'd,
And as black as your hat is each blind;
But my wife's nobler things to attend to,
For she is a woman of mind.
The Nurse steals the tea and the sugar,
The Cook sells the candles as grease,
And gives all the cold meat away
To her lover, who's in the Police.
When I hint that the housekeeping's heavy,
And hard is the money to find,
"Money's vile filthy dross!" she declares,
And unworthy a woman of mind.
Whene'er she goes out to a dance,
She refuses to join in the measure,
For dancing she can't but regard
As an unintellectual pleasure:
So she gives herself up to enjoyments
Of a more philosophical kind,
And picks all the people to pieces,
Like a regular woman of mind.
She speaks of her favourite authors
In terms far from pleasant to hear;
"Charles Dickens," she vows, "is a darling,"
"And Bulwer," she says, "is a dear;"
"Douglas Jerrold," with her "is an angel,"
And I'm an "illiterate hind,"
Upon whom her fine intellect's wasted;
I'm not fit for a woman of mind.
She goes not to Church on a Sunday,
Church is all very well in its way,
But she is too highly inform'd
Not to know all the parson can say;
It does well enough for the servants,
And was for poor people design'd;
But bless you! it's no good to her,
For she is a woman of mind.
Old Father St. Swithin, the Gentleman who presides over the Cat and Dog Days.
A Grand Gala at Vauxhall, under the Patronage of St. Swithin