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Who Was That Poor Woman?
by
“Goot mornins.”
“How do you do?” responds the old lady.
“Pooty well, tank’ees. You have some breakest? No!”
“No, ma’am. I’ve had my breakfast three hours ago.”
“Yes? indeed! you rise up early, eh?–Well, it is goot for ze hels, eh?”
“So my doctor says,” responded the matron. “But I like to get up and be stirring around.”
“Ah! yes; you stir around, eh? What you stir around?”
“Well, Miss Lind, I’ll tell you what I stir around. I-stir-the-monsters (Miss Lind looks sharp) who-try-to-trample-on-the-universal-rights- of-woman! (The matron ‘up’ and gesticulating like the brakes of an engine–Miss Lind drops her eating tools–eyes of the two servants bulge out!) A-n-d I-stir-the-demagogues-who-assemble-in-Faneuil-Hall (down with the brakes!), to prevent-the-freedom-of-speech (rush upon the brakes!), a-a-n-d-put-me-down!”
It was evident that the appetite of the Nightingale was getting spoiled–she looked suspicious, and, just in time to prevent the female orator–who was no other personage, of course, than Aunt Nabby Folsom, from ripping into a regular caucus fanfaronade of gamboge and gas, a knock upon the door announced a “call” for Miss Lind, to dress and appear to a fresh lot of bores–yclept the Mayor and his suit of Deacons, soup, pork and bean-venders.
“Ah! yes; I will be ready in one min’t. Madame, you will please come again; once more, adieu–good mornins–adieu!”
And Aunt Nabby, in spite of her ancient teeth, found herself bowed–half way down stairs–into the hall, and clean out doors, before she caught her breath to say another word upon the interminable subject of the freedom of speech and woman’s rights!
But Aunt Nabby “blowed”–O! didn’t she blow to the various tea and toast coteries, scandal and slang express women–and the various knots of anxious crowds who stood about Bowdoin Square during the Lind mania! Aunt Nabby had had a genuine tete-a-tete with the Nightingale–and, ecod, an invitation to call again! But Jenny Lind, and her cordon of sentinels, secretaries and suckers, were “fly” for the old screech owl, when again and again she beset the clark and the stairways of the Revere. Though Aunt Nabby hung on and growled dreadfully, she finally caved in and kept away.
When Jenny Lind gave the proceeds of one concert to charitable purposes, among the items set down in the list was–“A poor woman– one hundred dollars! “
“Why, it’s you, of course,” said a quid-nunc, to Aunt Abby, as she held the Evening Transcript in her hands, in the store of Redding & Co., and observed the interesting item above alluded to.
“Well, so I think,” says Aunt Nabby. “If I ain’t a poor woman, and a var-tuous woman, and a good and true woman (down came her brakes on the book piles), I’d like to know where– where, on this univarsal yearth (down with the brakes), you’d find one! One hundred dollars to a poor woman,” she continued, reading the item. “I must be the person–yes, Abigail, thou art the man! ” she concluded in her favorite apothegm.
The quid gave Abby the residence of the Agent (!) who was to disburse the Lind charities, and away went Abby to the Agent, who happened to be an amateur joker; knowing Aunt Abby, and smelling a “sell,” he told the old ‘un that Mr. Somerby, of No. — Cornhill, the joker of the Post, was the Agent, and would shell out next morning, at nine o’clock. At that hour, S. had Aunt Nabby in his sanctum. He knew the ropes, so assured Abby that there was a mistake; Charles Davenport, of Cornhill, rear of Joy’s building, was the man. Charles D. informed Aunt Nabby, that he had declined to disburse for Miss Lind, but that Bro. Norris, of the Yankee Blade, had the pile, and was serving it out to an excited mob. Norris declared that she was in error. She was not, by a jug full, the only, poor woman in town, and didn’t begin to be the poor woman set forth in Miss Lind’s schedule! But Aunt Nabby wasn’t to be done! She besieged Miss Lind–followed her to the cars–mounted the platform–Jenny espied her, and to avoid a harangue on the freedom of speech and woman’s rights, hid her head in her cloak. The last exclamation the Nightingale heard from the screech owl, was–
“Miss Jane Lind–who was that poor wom-a-n?”