The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1873-10-24
MADGE MILLER.

hadse Miller, on a summer day,
Walked, as usual, her pleasant way.
Her dress was tidy, her apron white:
Her face was sweet as the morning light.
She was a country village maid
Learning country miiliner's trade.
Her hands were son, and her dress was clean
And little She knew what care might mean.
She said: an work at my pretty trade.
And live happy and free old maid.
Lovers may come, and lovers may 90.
Ill have none OF them, no, no, nol"
But suitor came with tall silk hat;
He told her story worth two OF that
The same Old story by lovers told
Since arst the earth out OF chaos rolled
let us kindly hope. who are old ana wise,
He did not know he was telling Hes,j
Marry me, darling, and You shall be
The happiesi woman on land or sea!
No longer then will yoa have TO go
10 your daily labor through heat or snow.
~
To make you blest and happy wife.
Marry me, and you never shall know
A sorrow or hardship, a care or woet
"Marry me, darling! you shall be
The happiest woman on land or seaHr
She heard the story Of promised bliss
she waited, wavered-and answered "Yest"
Bright and big was the honeymoon.
And elouded by worldly care too soon.
For housework led her its weary round
Her feet were iethered, her hands were bound
And children came with their small demands
lettering closer her bunlened hands.
In her husbands house she came 10 be
A servant In an but salary.
Al her days, whether foul or fair.
Were endless circles orworli and care:
And half her nights-as up and down
She walked the floor in her dressins-gown.
flushing an ailing Infants screams,
Lest it should break its fathers dreams;
And wash the dishes and rub the knives
-A-N tDltg AAA40,A0tl % tlutttils Mlkt~--
Or ooaxed and doctored a sobbing child.
By the pangs Of ear-ache driven wild
Were seasons Of wakeful, nervous dread
So il at last O'er her aching head
The angel OF slumber chanced 10 stoop,
He brought her visions OF mumps or Group:
And she rose uurested, and went once more
Through the duh routine Of the day before.
Week by week did she drudge and toll,
And stew and pickle, and roast and boil,
And scrub and iron, and sweep and cook,
Her only reading recipe-book.
And battle the children, and brush their locks,
Button their aprons and pin their froeks,
And patch old garments, and darn and mend
Oh weary worry thar has no end!
She lost her airy and sportive ways.
The pretty charms of her girlish days
For how can a playful fancy rove
When one is tied up TO a cooking stove?
Her face was old ere she reached her prime,
Faded and care-won before IFS time.
Sometimes would her wen-kept husband look
Up from the page Of his paper or book,
And note how the bloom had left her face,
And pallid thinness won its place
How gray had mixed with her locks of brown
And her forehead gained a growing frown.
And say,''She is ugly, 1 declare
wonder IL ever thought her fair"
Season by season, year by year,
Did she follow the round OF "woman's sphere, ,
Not vexing her husbands days or nights
BY any mention OF woman's rights,
TIL she died al last-too severely tried
Her LIES one selfish deed-she died.
Proud and happy, and quite content
With the slayish way her days were spent
Feeling, Of course, that her life was lost
Sobly in saving a servants cost!
An! OF all the sad thoughts OF women or men
The saddesi Is this. II needn't have beenr"