“She’ll get round me yet, Miss Allen, I feel it.” And as the dark shade deepened on his eye brow he said,
“Have you seen her verses in the last week’s Augur?”
“No,” says I “I haint.”
In a silent and hopeless way, he took the paper out of his pocket and handed it to me and I read as follers:—
A SONG.
Composed not for the strong minded females, who madly and indecently insist on rights, but for the retiring and delicate minded of the sex, who modestly murmer, “we will not have any rights, we scorn them.” Will some modest and bashful sisteh set it to music, that we may timidly, but loudly warble it; and oblige, hers ’till deth, in the glorious cause of wimmen’s only true speah.
BETSEY BOBBET.
Not for strong minded wimmen,
Do I now tune up my liah;
Oh, not for them would I kin-