The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1860-01-26
For The National Era.
For The National Era.
A CHAPTER WHEREIN A COUNTRY
WOMAN GOES TO TOWN.

4
ago, before the prairie railroad was dreamed of,
you ratified along in the big wagon. How
snugly your husband packed you in the sweet
hay bed on the bottom OF that old bone. break
ing institution. Your first boy was baby
then, and you we're taking your tender bundle
to town to be daguerreotyped. You was so
happy. How the birds shrieked in the groves
how the face of Nature smiled upon you, as you
babe it good morning, in the glistening dew
how you loved-how you enjoyed. Life was
before you as a distant landscape sunlit. How
beautiful it was
But now, how different The sunlight has
faded into dull, hard reality. The baby of that
ride .hax grown into his FIRST grsat-eoat, and,
though your love has grown apace, it is no
longer the sporting, bounding love of early
days, but is marked with the struggle of hard
times, while the light step has grown weary be-
meath the burden of other soft bundles that have
crept into your arms
You have stayed at home, amid gathering
cares, till you have lost sight of the world. Its
hum never reaches your ear-you have grown
old in your twenties.
Yonr husband, at last awakened to the idea
that you are becoming fossilized, takes the law
into his own hands, and now--you need not
struggle-he is going to put you in the cars,
and send you to your kin, in Cincinnati. They
don't want me-" you plead. ooh, don't send
me among cold city faces. / shall DIE" but
he is inexorable-"you are dying here, shut up
within the four walls of your home; SO fix
up and be off with you."
And now comes the getting ready--it is like
breaking up the great deep in your mind. You
have long ago laid aside the fashion of the
world, as inconvenient and cumbersome; well
content if your ever-busy needle has kept your
husband and all the little ones clothed, without
vexing yourself about modern innovations. AS
for hoops and fashionable bonnets, you have
held them among the things in Leviticus that
were denominations in the sight of the Lord and
you have maintained your integrity by stanch
adherence to the fashion of your bridal ward
robe. But now, says your husband, my dear
Mrs. Rip Van Wrinkle, you must purchase
hoops, and take off that horrid white muslin
cap, and hang up that dismal brown gingham
gown, and just go to work, and make yoursel
over again, that you may look like one of your
own species and you stand obedient. Like a
sparrow on hay-stack, you look down upon
your inflated skirts, and blush for the folly Of
Your generation.
The whole neighborhood is put under requi
sition for you. Mrs. Simpkins good soul
who prides herself on her knowledge of the
fashions, sends over the new fall bonnet, anC
begs you will just wear that, instead of buying
new one, for the few days you are to be gone
Dear, kind Mrs. Simpkins you say, through
a falling tear, how copsiderate but so is every
one. Each one in the little circle sends OF
docs something ta save You trouble or expense
Surely, you think, a countrywoman's life i.
full of pleasantness, and all her paths are
peace. How you dread the stiff city cousins
and how they aredreading you
You have gone through your little house
hold, and put all things in order, from the ba
king of extra pies and bread, to the sewing on
of the last sbirt-button. You have labelled all
the odds and ends of summer clothing, and
laid them away with solemn caution thinking
how they will have to search for this or that
if not marked, and your sensitive frame shivers
perceptibly as the thought of railway accidents
passes through your mind. And here you arc
seized with presentiment that you will never
return How strange, that your husband
should go whistling about his work, just as il
nothing had happened, or was ever going tc
happen, to his miserable little wife But you
have mercy on him, you do not confide your
terror; moreover, he would laugh at you, and
you are in no mood to stand that.
At last you are dressed for the Journey
Gracious powers! What do you look like in Mrs
Simpkinss bonnet, with all those bits of lace
and flowers Haunting around your faded cheeks
Truly you are an object for angels to pity
Bnt your husband tries his best to encourage
you, and declares it looks just like other towns
folks bonnets, and that you will get used to
it-while the little ones laugh, and clap their
hands, at your abortlve attempts to hide your
poor head somewhere beneath that baseless
fabric of vision"
And now comes the silent farewell. How
hard you try to talk about things Indifferent
on your way to the station. Why will the big
sob come choking up from your heart? Why
will the voice grow SO weak and husky? Give
it up, little woman, you can no longer speak.
Presently your husband, dear soul, peeps I'M
der your veil, and, seeing your poor swollen
eyes, wipes away your tears with his red silk
handkerchief and tells you in his kindest tone
to cheer up, though his own tone is anything
but cheering.
This caps the climax of your wretchedness,
and your pent-up agony bursts forth as though
it would rend soul from body. 1t seems as
if every fibre of your nature had grown fast to
your rustic home. You are as utterly crushed, in
tearing away from it, as the poor mutlated ivy
torn from its old stone wall. As you pass along
the road, dozen cottage windows fly up,
and pleasant faces peep out to say how glad
| they are that you are really off. Mrs. Simp-
kins especially, with a child's head each side of
hers, cries out, "What a fine time you will
have, and how the bonnet becomes you; you
look ten years younger" Good creature, you
forgive the pious fraud, but she can't deceive
you. You know too well how that weeping
face looks in that barefaced bonnet Oh, 1t is
cruel to make you wear it They might have
let You wear your dear old brown hood. You
long to tell your husband he is killing you, but
you are past expostulation, and submit like a
dumb lamb. No one but the Lord in heaven
knows what you are suffering, and yet this is
all inflicted by the tender loving hand of your
husband. He knows that your keen suscept
bilities of enjoyment will be gratifed on every
hand as soon as the tearing asunder is once
over, and he is resolved not to be baffled By
any amount Of fareyell misery. This Intense
concentration of the aHecti0ns-this heart and
soul absorption of copptrywomans life--zis
terrible in its strength and holiness. And this
poor dropping creature, oh most refined and
exquisite city relations, Is the outlandish hob
goblin Of your aristocratic sensibilties. Very
| convenient is it for you to turn your pack Of
tired school-children upon the wide fields and
barry yard freedom of their good aunts in the
country but it is very different matter when
this poor fainting morsel of humanity asks
little sympathy, little civiity, from you. How
can she have the face to intrude herself, with
her bushes and blunders, upon ears and eyes
polite2 It's astonishing hgy little ssass IF