Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1872-02-22

Last week n woman died OF whom we
wish to say word here. 1t does not
matter how or where she died She was
so obscure, belonged to so common and
poor a class, that no noSice of her death
found a place in even the cheapest paper,
and no one who knew her will read these
words. Only one Of those thousands Of
ordinary lives that, day by day, ended
no more missed by the world
than so many burned-out candles, This
woman had neither beauty, nor wit, nor
large culture ; she brought no gift with
her when she was born to make her
greatly welcome to the world; never
could sing a song, nor write poem ;
was not even fitted to reign in u draw
ing room, She was only a sweet voiced,
gentle lady, full of womanly affection and
eager tenderness, who had kept her pure
childish beliefs unchanged to middle
age; she was little, sickIy, shabbily
she lived in n tawdry house
with glOring paper on the walls, and torn,
dirty mating on the floor the air she
breathpd was that of want and vuigarity;
yeaI in and year out she worked at
a machine, sewing dresses for servants
and shop-girls who bullied her, not un
reasonably, for she was but poor scamp
stress, if the truth must be told. Her
husband, n coarse-grained gossiping fell
low, tried this trade and that, became q
ward politician, did what he could for
his family, but felt that his wife must do
her share, He had been used to raw
boned, stout Connecticut farm women,
beside whom she doubtless appeared i'll
efficient enough.
If others remembered how tenderly nur
tured she had been MS girl, and that the
fortune she brought him he had flung
away, he never did. Nor did she. They
were wretchedly poor, and it was just
and proper she should work. So she
worked, stopping now and then to give
birth to another child, to be nursed at
the tired breast, and watched and prayed
over with the blind, idolatrous devotion
she gave to the others. Certain logical
morallsts lay down as aXioms that there
can be no tragedy without crime, and
that no woman, with love, husband
and children, ought to ask for more.
This woman never did ask for more,
The loud Dragging politician remained
her hero to the last. If her life slowly
Dried and withered away,as tree might,
tapped of all its juices at the root, she
thought it was herself that was to blame.
This poor lady was cursed with as finely
wrought an organization as any fayorite
of fortune both body and mind re-
quired companions of her own caste, and
that nutiment which Nature and Art
give but to few, which that few must
have or die. Besides, not even the
strongest woman can furnish bread and
butter for a household of children,
make their clothes, keep their souls
pure and their manners refined, and add
to the number every year. She was not
strong in any sense; SO she stitched and
nursed and trained them, with the dirty
walls about her and the torn mating
under her foot, and the crowd n chil-
dren grew shabbier and coarser and more
vulgar day by day. One day an old nc
complishment OF her girlhood REQUIRED
to her: flower painting, moulding in
clay, designing-it does not matter what;
work, however, in which her real nature
would have found food and expression,
and the pay for which would have been
comparative atfiuence. She senta speci-
men of her work for trial, which was ap.
proved but-men were employed who
were trained to business. Only the
machine was lett, and work for her chill
dreu's bodies and souls that she could
not do. 1t grew and grew before her
sight until the day came when she drop
ped as under an intolerable burden. As
she lay on the bed day after day slowly
dying, husband and children were loud
in sorrow and establishment. Glow had
she como by such manifold diseases ?
Machine work and want of ar? 1t
was Incredible" She struggled with her
work, yet sewed as she laid on her back,
drew her children close to her with hun
CRY, unsatisfed love in her eyes that they
could not Understand. But as the hour
came for her to quit the world that had
been so niggardly of its comfort or boun-
ty to her, she was beset with restless
fancies, which to her husband seemed
scarcely sane. "She thinks il she could
see and smell thorny rose that used to
grow wild about the farms down there in
Maryland where she was born, she would
be well again. Now what good could
there be in a rose" He could not see
why she should make the children go out
OF the room, and turn out the gas that
she could not see the machine, and so
like looking up at the patch OF sky above
the brick walls When she was dead he
cried, 81 did what | could | am not to
blame" And it was true no man can
go beyond his nature.
What was to blame Not poverty
not the working for bread and butter
not the unequal marriage. Since the
world began, King Cophetuas have mar
ried beggar girls untitled, and clothed
them royalty in their own flames and
Titanias have rejoiced to worship an ass.
But if she had been taught practically
the one occupation for which her taste
and ability fitted her? If all women
were so thoroughly taught such occupa-
tions that employment would be open to
them as men? The answer matters
nothing to her now. A day or two age
the WORKOUT body was laid back into the
earth to which it has been drawn by such
strong and subtle kmship. To what
rest or recompense the soul Of the gen
tie lady passed. only He knows who tool
1t hence. Her work remains unfinished
But it is because there. are so many thous.
ands of over-worked women around us
on every side, staring blankly at uncon
querable work, and lives wasted at noon.
day, that we have told our story, and
reverently held back her memory, fol
this brief moment, out Of the eterna
silence. N Y. Paper.