The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1872-04-26
An Everyday Story.

Last week n woman died, OF whom we
wish to say a word here. 1t does not
matter how or where she died. She
was so obscure, belonged to so common
and poor class, that no notice of her
death found place in even the cheap
est paper, and no one who knew her
will read these words. Only one of
those thousands of ordinary lives that,
day by day, end unnotieed, no more
missed by the world than so many
burned-out candles. This woman had
neither beauty nor wit, nor large cul-
ture; she brought no gift with her when
she was born to make her greatly well
come TO the world; never could sing a
song or write a poem; was not even
fitted to reign in a drawing room. She
was only a sweet-vOieed, gentle lady,
full of womanly affection and eager ten
derness, who had kept her childish
belief unchanged to middle age. She
was little, sickly, shabbily clothed; she
lived in tawdry house, with glaring
paper OH the walls, and torn, dirty mat
ting on the floor; the air she breathed
was that Of want and vulgarity; year in
and year out she worked at a machine,
sewing dresses for servants and shop
girls who bullied her, not unreasonably,
for she was but poor seamstreSs, if the
coarse-grained, gossiping fellow, tried
this trade and that, became ward poll
tician, did what he could for his family,
but felt that his wife must do her share.
He had been used to raw-boned Con-
necticut farm women, beside whom she
doubtless appeared inefficient enough.
If Others remembered how tenderly
nurtured she had been as a girl, and
that the fortune she had 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 moralists
lay down as axioms that there can he
no tragedy without crime, and that no
woman with love, husband and chill
dren, ought TO ask for more. The loud,
Dragging politician remained her hero
to the last. If her life slowly dried and
withered away, as a tree might, tapped
of all its juices at the root, she thought
il was herself TO blame. This poor lady
was cursed with as finely wrought an
organization as any favOrite of fortune;
both body and mind required cOmpan-
ions OF her own caste, and that nutri-
ment which Nature and Art give but
to few, but which that few must have or
die. Besides, not even the strongest
woman can furnish bread and butter for
a hOuscful of children, make their
clothes, keep their souls pure and their
manners refined, and add to the num-
Der 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
foot, and the crowd of children grew
sbabbier and coarser and more vulgar,
day by day. One day an old accom-
plishment of her girlhoOd REQUIRED to
her: Hover painting, mOlding i'm clay,
designing-it does not matter what;
work, however, in which her real ma
ture would have found food and eX-
preston, and the pay for which would
have been comparative affluence. She
sent specimen of her work for trial,
which was approved; but-men were
employed who were trained to the busi-
ness. Only the machine was left, and
the work for her children's bodies and
souls that she could not do. 1t grew
and grew before her sight until the day
came when she dropped as under an in
tolerable burden. As she lay on the
bed, day after day, slowly dying, hus-
|, band and children were loud in sorrow
: and astonishment "How had she come
by such manifold diseases? Machine
work and want of air? 1t was ineredi-
, BILE" She struggled with her work yet,
sewed as she lay on her back, drew hel
children close to her with a hungry, un-
satisfied love in her eyes that they
could not understand But as the houl
. came for her to quit the world that haC
been so niggardly of its comfort ol
: bounty to her, she was beset with rest
I less fancies, which to her husband
: seemed scarcely sane. "She thinks i
: : if she could see and smell thorny ros'
that used to grow wild about the farm
> down there in Maryland, where she wa
born, she would be well again. Now
!; what good could there be in n rOse?'
= He could not see why she would max
: them put the children out of the room
e and turn out the gas that she could no
!, see the machine, and so lie looking up q
Z the patch of sky, above the brick walls
; When she was dead he cried, 81 di
. what could; 1 am not to blame" An
q it was true; no man can go beyond hi
y nature.
Z What was to blame? Not poverty
u not the working for bread and butte
- not the unequal marriage. Since I'll
- world began King Cophetuas have ma
- ried beggar girls untitled and clothe
'e them royalty in their own flames; an
Titanias have rejoiced to worship a
ass. But if she had been taugl
~, practically the one occupation for whic
~ her taste and ability fitted her? If a
le women were so thoroughly taught sue
80 occupations that employment would
y open to them as much as to men? II
- answer brings little to her now. 4 da
u or two ago the worn-out body was lai
u back i'm the earth to which it had bee
Ie drawn by such subtle kinship. To VIII;
E rest or recompense the sOuf of the gel
sc tie lady passed only He knows wi
u took il thence. Her work remains III
III finished. But il is because there are
IN many thousands of over-worked wOme
IN arouud us on every side, staring blanl
:, ly at their uncOnquerable work, al
lg lives wasted at MONDAY, that we ha'
5, told her story and reyerently held baC
es her name for this one brief moment
re the eternal siIenee.-N y. Tribune.
- THE YEAR SEvENTY-Two.-The ye'
- 1872 contains fifty-two Sundays-Se
% tember and December each beginniI
% % on a sunday, January, April and Jul
~, on Monday. October is the only moni
i,55 beginning on Tuesday. February bega
:, and ended on Thursday-eonsequent
= = we have five Thursdays, which will n
.ei occur a,yaiu until the year 1900. In Il