Litchfield enquirer., 1872-02-15

y list of household accomplishments was 1 mostly enumerated in the two items of washing potatoes and amusing the baby.
 That was 8 weary, toilsome summer for 1 Maria. The work would have been L.srd enough had it been the work of all others she preferred; but to keep daily wearing out her life in drudgery, when her whole soul cried outfor higher and better things, was doubly toilsome She did write oc- casionally, for 1t seemed to her she must, so strong within her burned the fires of genius, but, writing at such 8 disadvan- tage, she could never feel satisfied with her work. Oh for the time to revise and polish as she wished, with mind free from care and at liberty to throw itself wholly into the subject in in hand. Hen ry praised her efforts, read her stories with more interest than he ever read any thing before, and always rejoiced with her when the paNcame in, for he liked the l sight of money. He made no objections to her spending it as she pleased, and many little ornament, which she would not have otherwise felt at liberty to buy, she thus added to the house-f furnishing, her table or wardrobe. She could treat ! herself to new book occasionally, and take some papers, both which were as mama in the desert to her mind.
 Winter came, and Henry talked often of selling his farm. T want 8 larger place, l where can keep forty or fifty COWS and raise more hay and grain. -.e..
 But the extra work of such place, said Maria. I should dread to under take 1t; 1t is hard enough here
 And wouldn't be bit harder there, I dare say, for you work here all the time, so what more could you do? The more work, the m0re help. As for writing, I've noticed that you do the best and the most when you work the hardest.
 1 When don't work the hardest, I won- der was the sharp retort, all tho bitter ness of her life seeming just then to rise | to her lips, T don't know how you can tell what I might write if I did mt work hard, for have always done it.
 And so have l, but I'm not always com plaining of it.
 O! reader, wish you might have look ed upon those two as they sat there, he bronzed and sinewy and rough-handed to be sure, from years of toil, yet still TO- bust and muscular, active and we'll; she pale and thin, the roses gone from her 1 cheeks, her form stopping, while the knot ted veins and outstanding cords of her 1 small hands told of constant overwork. "1oA JOu udfC 1OOhCu up- on them and have told which seemed the most overworked. Henry Mcintyre was always weary at night, but nights rest made him fresh and new again, while his wife always rose wearily to her work and had not for years known what it was to feel thouroughly rested. He did not intend to be cruel husband, but he was. And yet, cruelty to the body only is nothing to the cruelty 1 practiced on mind and soul. Maria felt enough of both.
 A fine opportunity offered for him to exchange his farm for one more to his | mind. Only mile from town, Maria, | so you can go to church and the sewing l society as often as you please, and hear from the post office every day.
 But such an old barn of house. said Maria, seemingly in no wise enchanted with the advantages he named,
 We can get along with it, this year, and build new another summer. You're such 6 master hand at fixing up every thing that I'll warrant you'll make place of it. l remember hoy this house looked when you came here.'
 So did she, and the many toilsome months she had spent in making it what 1t now was, exhausting strength and ener- gies which could never again be hers.
 That's why Stebbins sells his farm, you see the old house isn't fit to live in, and he's too Shiftless to build. I can make splendid trade with him.. What man IS proof against the temptations of a good bargain, whatever it involves? Hen- ry Mcintyre was not, and though Maria pleaded and protested, the bargain was made.
 She might have refused to sign the deed, suggests some one, Very. true, the law puts such power into woman's hands, but what woman uses it? No one, unless she wishes to live in perpetual quarrel, as she must if she does SO. But let those who claim that woman has her share of rights look at the thousand of similar cas- es constantly recurring, and then find for me one woman who sells the farm against her husbands wishes. Equal rights, I ask-not domineering on either side: what if women has thousand laws in her favor, if petty tyranny at home pre- vent her availing herself of them.
 With a heavy heart Maria left. the cot tage and went to her new home Home! A great, staring, paintless old shell of house set bleak and alone on top of hill; great desolate rooms innocent of paint and HAPCl: HAaA IhAAAOob O1 Suldll high windows-Mafia was in despair. Only her natural instinct ofneatness help ed her to put and keep the house in any order whatever, for she was to deathly homesick to feel any interest in it's ar rangement, and all the hopeful courage of the past had gone with the health and strength of those early times.
 Another summer of toll, with little of Ior.% or,1 1<.oc %oo oIo o1 most upbraided her at times because she so secluded herself at home,, when she was near enough to town to go into saeie- ty again, but she had no heart for it now, when from very shame she did not like to see company in the battered hulk they called home. The few who came to call on and visit her did so unsolicited by her, and went away to comment on her chang ed appearance. Who. ever would have thought that the gay Maria Starr would make such gloomy woman2 We'll it does beat allH Her writings, that sum- mer, on the few occasions when she tried to write at all, were like herself, sad and bitter, the pen diped in gall instead of honey. With the cold days of winter an- other baby came to them, a girl this time, little blue, scrawny thing, that walled and fretted as if it realized that it's ad- vent was into world of trouble indeed. Maria turned her face to the wall and wondered why another woman had been born, to do, and to suffer-such was wo- mans lot. What was there to make 1t desirable fsisl as f-
 | But the winter passed away and spring came with it's birds and buds and flowers. Time had been when summers work in prospect had seemed to Maria like the uncut leaves of romance; now her shat tered nerves regarded it more as we'll thummed, dog-eared spelling book, all it's freshness gone by repeated use. She took little interest in the building of the new house, and Henry sometimes reproached her with being cross and sullen and not caring how things went. sf
 You ought to feel an interest in these things, and help all you can with your advice and suggestions. . I want the house