[figure description] Page 371.[end figure description]

“Poor Girls' Fair!” said Mrs. Partington, as she
spelled out the inscription upon a flag that swung across
Washington street, her eyes dimming with the vapors
that arose from her warm heart; “Poor girls' fare!
indeed they do, and fare hard, too, God help 'em, many
of 'em, — fare hard with them that should treat 'em
better, trying to rise till all their risible powers is gone,
and they are shipracked and cast away and driv to making
trowsis and shirts for a living, and die on it. I do
pity 'em.”

A melancholy tone pervaded her speech and thoughts
the rest of the day; her snuff, the choicest maccaboy,
bore a taint of wormwood and rue; her tea was salt, as
if tears were an ingredient in its composition; her specs
revealed red eyes in every visitor, and the faces of the
“poor girls” looked out at her from the teapot and the
sugar-bowl, the lamp, and the little scrap-box on the
work-table. Bless her kind heart!

There is a wide difference between the throes of an
expiring Titan and the throws of a straggling tight un.

p677-409

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