'I am alpha and omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. To him that thirsteth, I will give of the water of life freely.'
There dwelleth in sumptuous state and in Gotham A merchant of character surnamed Rabothem. His wife, once a letterless rustic in Needham, Now leadeth the circles of great Upper-Threedom.[12]
There's nothing surprising in such a transition; For many a creature, of humbler position In the scale of creation, can shift its condition. For instance, the wriggling, despised pollywog In time may become a respectable frog; Then, perched on a stump, he may croak his disdain At former companions, who never can gain His present distinguished, sublime elevation, So greatly above their inferior station. And so, too, a worm, though the meanest of things, Becomes a most beautiful creature with wings, That bear it for many a sunshiny hour Through redolent meadows, from flower to flower. And surely if changes like these may occur, Ye men who have reason, how could ye demur At change in superior orders of nature? And least in a species so sure to create your Felicity (if it is not the reverse: In such an event she is rather a curse). No one, that possesses a spark of the human, Would think of opposing the progress of woman; But all would be happy when one of her kind A sphere more refined and exalted should find-- Should gracefully 'merge from a chrysalis state, To bask in the light of a loftier fate. But (those hateful digressions, I heartily loathe 'em) I was telling you something of Mrs. Rabothem. She's a mouthpiece of Fashion. Whatever she wears, The closest and carefullest scrutiny bears; And, backed by her husband's munificent pile, Whatever she does is accomplished in style.
A wonderful party was given one season By this excellent dame, for the excellent reason That wonderful parties were greatly in vogue, And a man was accounted as worse than a rogue Whose wife did not follow the prevalent fashion, And make what is commonly known as 'a dash' in The choicest society found in the city. (That the choice is not better is more than a pity.)
The writer, who happened to be a relation To Mrs. Rabothem, though lower in station, Was blest in receiving a kind invitation-- A delicate note, with a delicate scent on, Whose accurate, well-chosen sentences went on, In gentlest of terms, to 'solicit the favor,' Et cetera, and so on. She couldn't, to save her, Have been any more condescending; and so I gratefully reached the decision to go. And yet my decision was quite a concession, As I'll have to explain by another digression, In which, at the cost of some time and chirography, I'll give you a taste of an autobiography.