The figure before you is Miss Patty Proud:
Her feelings are lowery, her frown like a cloud;
Because proud Miss Patty can hardly endure
To come near the lowly abode of the poor.
She fears the plain floor of the humble will spoil
Her silk shoes and hose, and her skirt-bottom soil;
And so she goes winching; and holds up her dress
So high, it were well if her heels would show less.
But when she walks through the fine streets of the town,
She puts on fine airs, and displays her rich gown;
Till some, whom she passes, will think of the bird
Renowned for gay feathers, whose name you have heard.
In thought she is trifling—in manner as vain
As that silly fowl, taking pride in his train;
And none, who have marked her, will need to be told
That she has a heart hard, and haughty, and cold.
I saw, when she met some poor children one day,
Who asked her for alms, she turned frowning away;
And told them, "Poor people must work, to be fed,
And not trouble ladies, to help them to bread."
And just as the sad little mendicants said,
Their mother was dying, their father was dead,
She entered a store, with a smooth, smiling face,
To lay out her purse in gay ribbons and lace.
I saw her curl up her sour lip in disdain,
Because Ellen Pitiful picked up the cane,
A feeble old man had let fall in the sand,
And placed it again in his tremulous hand.
But little does haughty Miss Patty suppose,
Of all, whom she visits, that any one knows
How stern she can look, when she 's out of their sight,
And fret at the servants, if all is not right.
At home, she 's unyielding, and sullen, and cross:
Her friends, when she 's absent, esteem it no loss;
And some, where she visits, in secret confess,
That they love her no more, though they dread her much less.
The truth is, Miss Patty, when young, never tried
To govern her temper, or conquer her pride.
The passions, unchecked in the heart of the child,
Like weeds in a garden neglected, ran wild.
They grew with her growth, with her strength became strong:
Her head, not then righted, has ever been wrong;
And so she would never submit to be told
Of faults, by long habit made stubborn and bold.
And now, among all my young friends, is there one,—
A fair little girl is there under the sun,
Who 'd rise to a woman, and have it allowed
That she is a likeness of Miss PATTY PROUD?