Why, no--the simple end and aim was this-- Reading a well-known proverb much amiss-- To wash and whiten 'em!

They look'd so ugly in their sable hides: So dark, so dingy, like a grubby lot Of sooty sweeps, or colliers, and besides, However the poor elves Might wash themselves, Nobody knew if they were clean or not-- On Nature's fairness they were quite a blot!

Not to forget more serious complaints That even while they join'd in pious hymn, So black they were and grim, In face and limb, They look'd like Devils, tho' they sang like Saints!

The thing was undeniable!

They wanted washing! not that slight ablution To which the skin of the White Man is liable, Merely removing transient pollution-- But good, hard, honest, energetic rubbing And scrubbing, Sousing each sooty frame from heels to head With stiff, strong, saponaceous lather, And pails of water--hottish rather, But not so boiling as to turn 'em red!

So spoke the philanthropic man Who laid, and hatch'd, and nursed the plan-- And oh! to view its glorious consummation!

The brooms and mops, The tubs and slops, The baths and brushes in full operation!

To see each Crow, or Jim or John, Go in a raven and come out a swan!

While fair as Cavendishes, Vanes, and Russels, Black Venus rises from the soapy surge, And all the little Niggerlings emerge As lily-white as mussels.

Sweet was the vision--but alas!

However in prospectus bright and sunny, To bring such visionary scenes to pass One thing was requisite, and that was--money!

Money, that pays the laundress and her bills, For socks and collars, shirts and frills, Cravats and kerchiefs--money, without which The negroes must remain as dark as pitch; A thing to make all Christians sad and shivery, To think of millions of immortal souls Dwelling in bodies black as coals, And living--so to speak--in Satan's livery!

Money--the root of evil,--dross, and stuff!

But oh! how happy ought the rich to feel, Whose means enable them to give enough To blanch an African from head to heel!

How blessed--yea, thrice blessed--to subscribe Enough to scour a tribe!

While he whose fortune was at best a brittle one, Although he gave but pence, how sweet to know He helped to bleach a Hottentot's great toe, Or little one!

Moved by this logic, or appall'd, To persons of a certain turn so proper, The money came when call'd, In silver, gold, and copper, Presents from "Friends to blacks," or foes to whites, "Trifles," and "offerings," and "widows' mites,"

Plump legacies, and yearly benefactions, With other gifts And charitable lifts, Printed in lists and quarterly transactions.

As thus--Elisha Brettel, An iron kettle.

The Dowager Lady Scannel, A piece of flannel.

Rebecca Pope, A bar of soap.

The Misses Howels, Half-a-dozen towels.

The Master Rush's, Two scrubbing-brushes.

Mr. T. Groom, A stable broom, And Mrs. Grubb, A tub.

Great were the sums collected!

And great results in consequence expected.

But somehow, in the teeth of all endeavor, According to reports At yearly courts, The blacks, confound them! were as black as ever!

Yes! spite of all the water sous'd aloft, Soap, plain and mottled, hard and soft, Soda and pearlash, huckaback and sand, Brooms, brushes, palm of hand, And scourers in the office strong and clever, In spite of all the tubbing, rubbing, scrubbing, The routing and the grubbing, The blacks, confound them! were as black as ever!

In fact in his perennial speech, The Chairman own'd the niggers did not bleach, As he had hoped.

From being washed and soaped, A circumstance he named with grief and pity; But still he had the happiness to say, For self and the Committee, By persevering in the present way And scrubbing at the Blacks from day to day, Although he could not promise perfect white, From certain symptoms that had come to light, He hoped in time to get them gray!

Lull'd by this vague assurance, The friends and patrons of the sable tribe Continued to subscribe, And waited, waited on with much endurance-- Many a frugal sister, thrifty daughter-- Many a stinted widow, pinching mother-- With income by the tax made somewhat shorter, Still paid implicitly her crown per quarter, Only to hear as ev'ry year came round, That Mr. Treasurer had spent her pound; And as she loved her sable brother, That Mr. Treasurer must have another!

But, spite of pounds or guineas, Instead of giving any hint Of turning to a neutral tint, The plaguy Negroes and their piccaninnies Were still the color of the bird that caws-- Only some very aged souls Showing a little gray upon their polls, Like daws!

However, nothing clashed By such repeated failures, or abashed, The Court still met;--the Chairman and Directors, The Secretary, good at pen and ink, The worthy Treasurer, who kept the chink, And all the cash Collectors; With hundreds of that class, so kindly credulous, Without whose help, no charlatan alive, Or Bubble Company could hope to thrive, Or busy Chevalier, however sedulous-- Those good and easy innocents in fact, Who willingly receiving chaff for corn, As pointed out by Butler's tact, Still find a secret pleasure in the act Of being pluck'd and shorn!

However, in long hundreds there they were, Thronging the hot, and close, and dusty court, To hear once more addresses from the Chair, And regular Report.

Alas! concluding in the usual strain, That what with everlasting wear and tear, The scrubbing-brushes hadn't got a hair-- The brooms--mere stumps--would never serve again-- The soap was gone, the flannels all in shreds, The towels worn to threads, The tubs and pails too shattered to be mended-- And what was added with a deal of pain, But as accounts correctly would explain, Tho' thirty thousand pounds had been expended-- The Blackamoors had still been wash'd in vain!

"In fact, the Negroes were as black as ink, Yet, still as the Committee dared to think, And hoped the proposition was not rash, A rather free expenditure of cash--"

But ere the prospect could be made more sunny-- Up jump'd a little, lemon-colored man, And with an eager stammer, thus began, In angry earnest, though it sounded funny: "What! More subscriptions! No--no--no,--not I!"

"You have had time--time--time enough to try!

They WON'T come white! then why--why--why--why, More money?"

"Why!" said the Chairman, with an accent bland, And gentle waving of his dexter hand, "Why must we have more dross, and dirt, and dust, More filthy lucre, in a word, more gold-- The why, sir, very easily is told, Because Humanity declares we must!

We've scrubb'd the negroes till we've nearly killed 'em, And finding that we cannot wash them white, But still their nigritude offends the sight, _We mean to gild 'em!_"

ETCHING MORALISED.

TO A NOBLE LADY.

"To point a moral."--JOHNSON.

Fairest Lady and Noble, for once on a time, Condescend to accept, in the humblest of rhyme, And a style more of Gay than of Milton, A few opportune verses design'd to impart Some didactical hints in a Needlework Art, Not described by the Countess of Wilton.

An Art not unknown to the delicate hand Of the fairest and first in this insular land, But in Patronage Royal delighting; And which now your own feminine fantasy wins, Tho' it scarce seems a lady-like work, that begins In a _scratching_ and ends in a _biting_!

Yet oh! that the dames of the Scandalous School Would but use the same acid, and sharp-pointed tool, That are plied in the said operations-- Oh! would that our Candours on copper would sketch!

For the first of all things in begining to etch Are--good _grounds_ for our representations.

Those protective and delicate coatings of wax, Which are meant to resist the corrosive attacks That would ruin the copper completely; Thin cerements which whoso remembers the Bee So applauded by Watts, the divine LL.D., Will be careful to spread very neatly.

For why? like some intricate deed of the law, Should the ground in the process be left with a flaw, Aqua-fortis is far from a joker; And attacking the part that no coating protects, Will turn out as distressing to all your _effects_ As a landlord who puts in a broker.

Then carefully spread the conservative stuff, Until all the bright metal is cover'd enough, To repel a destructive so active; For in Etching, as well as in Morals, pray note That a little raw spot, or a hole in a coat, Your ascetics find vastly attractive.

Thus the ground being laid, very even and flat, And then smoked with a taper, till black as a hat, Still from future disasters to screen it, Just allow me, by way of precaution, to state, You must hinder the footman from changing your _plate_, Nor yet suffer the butler to clean it.

Nay, the housemaid, perchance, in her passion to scrub, May suppose the dull metal in want of a rub, Like the Shield which Swift's readers remember-- Not to mention the chance of some other mishaps, Such as having your copper made up into caps To be worn on the First of September.

But aloof from all damage by Betty or John, You secure the veil'd surface, and trace thereupon The design you conceive the most proper: Yet gently, and not with a needle too keen, Lest it pierce to the wax through the paper between, And of course play Old Scratch with the copper.

So in worldly affairs, the sharp-practising man Is not always the one who succeeds in his plan, Witness Shylock's judicial exposure; Who, as keen as his knife, yet with agony found, That while urging his _point_ he was losing his _ground_, And incurring a fatal disclosure.

But, perhaps, without tracing at all, you may choose To indulge in some little extempore views, Like the older artistical people; For example, a Corydon playing his pipe, In a Low Country marsh, with a Cow, after Cuyp, And a Goat skipping over a steeple.

A wild Deer at a rivulet taking a sup, With a couple of Pillars put in to fill up, Like the columns of certain diurnals; Or a very brisk sea, in a very stiff gale, And a very Dutch boat, with a very big sail-- Or a bevy of Retzsch Infernals.

Architectural study--or rich Arabesque-- Allegorical dream--or a view picturesque, Near to Naples, or Venice, or Florence; Or "as harmless as lambs and as gentle as doves,"

A sweet family cluster of plump little Loves, Like the Children by Reynolds or Lawrence.

But whatever the subject, your exquisite taste Will ensure a design very charming and chaste, Like yourself, full of nature and beauty-- Yet besides the _good points_ you already reveal, You will need a few others--of well-temper'd steel, And especially form'd for the duty.

For suppose that the tool be imperfectly set, Over many _weak lengths in your line_ you will fret, Like a pupil of Walton and Cotton, Who remains by the brink of the water, agape, While the jack, trout, or barbel effects its escape Thro' the gut or silk line being rotten.

Therefore, let the steel point be set truly and round, That the finest of strokes may be even and sound, Flowing glibly where fancy would lead 'em.

But alas! for the needle that fetters the hand, And forbids even sketches of Liberty's land To be drawn with the requisite freedom!