Whig and tribune. [volume] (Jackson, Tenn.) 1870-1877, 1873-12-13
From the Baltimor5sn.l
SATURDAY NIGHT-A WOMAN.s
LEFE.


Children Of fortune, who draw the
cushioned chair near the glowing
CRATE and under the shaded gas-light.
wrapped i'm the plot Of the novelist.
we do not write of you. We write of
the toiling millions of women who
wake before the dawn. and whose
busy fingers are not idle until late at
night, their weary bodies sink TO the
sound, but hard repOse of over-wOrk
of women, delicate women, who do the
household drudgery for large fami-
Is, and who DO 1t without murmur or
complaint until some morning their
limbs are too stiff to move. and with
weary look aud scOrched lips they
turn to clamOrous children and inn
patient husband, and confess that
they cannot rise 10 minister To their
wants.
For wears such a woman has COM
menced early, washed and dressed a
house full Of children, prepared break
fast, cleaned mp the entire house.
patched, mcndcd and made, until
time to cook dinner; had that ready
at the appointed time; cleaned up
her dining-room and kitchen, mended
and made again until supper time.
prepared that, cleaned up again, and
then washed and undressed and put
to bed the same children; aud then
mended and made again until late in
the night without one single pleasure,
except that innate peace which results
from knowledge Of a discharge of
duty, all the time fading and wearing
away unperceiYed and unrelieyed by
him who is intent on gain, snd who
thinks her work is light, until the
morning comes, when her work is
done. She then confesses that she
has had pains in her breast for years.
She fingers in wearineas and utter
prostration for awhile, aud at last
goes out like a candle burnt to the
socket.
There is no coroner's inquest; this
is a natural DEATH Oh, selfish man
look at that glazed eye, that rigid
face; kiss the pale lips; once they
were warm and rosy, and thrilled you
with the tenderest love kiss them
again they are cold now; think on
hor life, and bring 70 tlo oorrt Of your
conscience the verdict Of the cOrOner's
jury. Was it a natural death2 Or
was the sweet and blooming young
girl of your wedding day, after the
little round of festivities were over.
taken by you To a home, with work
for two, and did you in your own care
less ease neglect to assist her, until
day by day the bloom Of beauty faded
from her cheek until day by day care
and toll dcepened the rough hard
marks upon her face; until her step,
once so elastic, dragged its leaden
shoes along, until worked to death she
suffers no more2 What is the ver-
dict? ? Was il natural death or did
you kill her? When you came home
from your Office, your shop, did you
look closely to find what ven could do
to assist her? and did you do it 4? or
did you hurry her for your supper, and
then sit down to read your paper or
leave her alone while you sought
companions at places OF amusement
and dissipation.
How is the verdict? She was a
kind wife to yOu. She knew your
daily wants and preferences and she
supplied them so unostentatiOusly
that you hardly Thought to thank her
with a kind word or caress. These
would have been light gifts for yOu
they would have been so sweet to her.
You remember that long sickness in
the dreary winter, whom with an acl-
ing body you tossed all night sleep
less. Who was il that night after
night stood by your bed2 Whose
haRds were those blistered with
wringing ont hot cloths, ever smooth
ing and adjusting your pillow? Who
was 1t that night after night and day
after day, bore your fretfulness, and
busted herself ever and at all times
for your comfort? Who was it that
kept noisy children quiet and away
from your sick room, and closed the
blinds, sitting quiet and still ali the
time weary and broken down, but
soothing you with gentle nursing into
healthful slumberl Who was IL?
1t was that pale, cold woman lying
there, with the sheet spread over her
lying there waiting, waiting until
the hammer yOnder in the cabinet
shop is silent; until her ngid form is
lifted into the coffin. You stand alone
by her side tO-night-her children
your ehildren-have sobbed them
selves to sleep; the house is quiet
the gloom Of death is upon it. You
are alone with your dead Are you
guilty or not guilty? What is the
verdict in the court OF your con-
science?
OH mau - brOther-man-you who
have her yet-when you go home this
Saturday night, look at your wife =
Look closely and apply the picture,
all too real we have drawn, and so
act, that when you kiss her cold lips,
your conscience will clear you Of
guilt.