The Milliners and Fishes

Commerce and enterprise should be applauded,And so the Paris milliners opineIt seems; for when their fashionable fabricsGrow obsolete, 'tis said they freight a vesselStraight for the Baltic, and the Northern bellesIn the quaint fragments of the realm of taste,Proudly array themselves. And yet 'twere sad,Methinks, to see, at polar fête or ball,Some shivering Nova-Zemblan lady flauntIn robe of lace, short-sleeved, the purple bustReveal'd most liberally.Once a storm,Hoarse from the Gulf of Finland, crossly wreck'dThe adventurous ship quite near her destined port,And strew'd her riches o'er the admiring deep.There perish'd many a hope of many a fairYoung sempstress, by such cruel loss condemn'dTo wear her cast-off dress another year,Vamp'd up as best she may.'Tis an ill windThat blows no good. The watery realm rejoiced,For all its finny aristocracyOf their oldfashioned suits had long complain'd.Next day a Salmon at the Neva's mouthWas taken, very delicately cladIn a white lutestring drapery, with veil

Of costly blonde: her wedding dress, no doubt.The bridemaid, Porpoise, wore a radiant zoneGirt rather tight around the slender waist,While her embroider'd mouchoir snugly hidA bottle of Cologne to cheer the brideDuring the service. Ogling, near the shoreA Sturgeon stole, her finery to display:A very stiff brocade, with bishop sleeves,Making such huge circumference 'twere wellShe had no neighbour near; while a smart hatEnvelop'd in its rich rotundityHer fairy brow.The Seal was taking snuff,And thrust his box in a bead reticule;The other rough paw held a parasolOf parti-colour'd silk, and ivory-staff'd:'Twas thought the Amphibia, one and all, would findThis fashion quite commodious, in their walksTo leave their cards beneath the summer sun.

—A Shark in a small boat's wake follow'd long;The sailors thought his purpose was to eat them,And spread all sail; but 'twas to be unlaced,For he a pair of corsets had rigg'd on,With busk and bones, just fashionably tight,But could not bear the torture; so with hastePanting and flouncing, sought to be released.Item: Would it not be the surest wayTo kill that hardy and voracious fish,Which ofttimes foils the harpoon?Mighty moundsOf artificial flowers did make the deep

Glow like a greenhouse. Full frisets and curlsLay unregarded, till a prudish Pike,Suspected to be somewhat in her wane,Assumed a wig, declaring it more cool,And vastly more delightful to the headThan was the natural hair.Such varied storesOf gay gauze robes on seaweed hedges hung,That the plebeians thought to have a ballIn the old Coral Palace. Thither cameThe Codlings, deck'd with drooping Ostrich-plumes,The purblind Lampreys, each with opera-glassUplifted pertly, and gay safety-chainThe gilded watch within their belts to guard;The Lobsters toiling their red arms to hide'Neath long kid gloves, and their strange nether limbsEnsconced in gaiter-boots; while countless shoalsOf Herrings flock'd, false brilliants in their headsIn gorgeous knots; and Crabs with widespread fans,Aping the elegant, but inly chafedTo find their retrograding step confoundTheir partners, figuring in the favourite waltz.

—A barge of Oysters reach'd St. Petersburgh:Extremely loth they were to be dissected,For those sly people in their cloister'd cells,Close-mouth'd as Achan with his wedge of gold,Lock'd hoards of jewelry, broaches and ringsProfuse as ancient Cannæ's battle spoil.

—Even thus it is. What bodeth loss to oneDoth prove another's gain. The adversity

Of those French milliners did benefitThe commonwealth of fishes. A few tears,Brief and soon dried, fill'd the broad sea with joyAnd merry pastime. One small spot of earthWas sad, but what a gorgeous holydayHeld Ocean's myriads!Sure the tuneful bardOf Twickenham hath not unjustly styled"All partial evil universal good."