the lady hailed a passing 'bus,

and sat down with a jerk;

upon her heated face she wore

a most complacent smirk;

three parcels held she in her lap,

safe-guarded from the least mishap.

the 'bus it rattled, bumped, and shook—

she didn't seem to mind—

and every now and then she smiled,

as something crossed her mind:

she evidently longed to tell

the joke, that we might smile as well.

"these men!" she said, at last to one

who sat beside her. "it's absurd.

to hear them rave. they seem to think

that nobody—upon my word—

but men can do things in what they

are pleased to call the proper way.

"my husband now, he's like the rest,

and said, when i came out

to do some shopping, i'd forget

something, he had no doubt,

or else buy more than i desired,

or something which was not required.

"now, three things i set out to buy

at mr. whiteley's store;

three parcels here, i'm taking home,

three parcels, and no more.

my husband he must own ere long

himself entirely in the wrong."

she smiled,—a most triumphant smile.

"exactly like the men!"

she said, and i—she looked at me—

felt much embarrassed then.

her scorn for men was undisguised;

the other ladies sympathised.

but, presently, i noticed that

upon the lady's face

no smile was seen—a puzzled frown

had come there in its place;

she squirmed, and fidgeted about,

and turned her pockets inside out.

she counted over—several times—

her parcels—"one—two—three;"

clutched at her purse, her parasol;

then muttered, "h'm! dear me!

there's nothing that i haven't got.

what can i have forgotten? what?"

she tapped her foot impatiently;

stared out into the street;

she got up several times and searched

quite vaguely o'er the seat;

then gave a sigh and settled down,

still wearing that bewildered frown.

then, evidently lost in thought,

she sat as in a dream,

till—o'er her face a pallor spread,—

she sprang up, with a scream:

"oh, stop! pray stop, conductor! stop!

i've left the baby in the shop!"