Port Tobacco times, and Charles County advertiser. (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1845-1898, 1874-01-23
Volume 80.
11oetru.
10 ~
From the Portland Transcript
MADGE MILLER.

Madge 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 country village maid,
Learning country milliner's trade.
Her hands were soft, her dress was clean,
And little she knew what care might mean.
She said "I'll work at my pretty trade,
And live happy and free old maid.
@Lovers may come and lovers may go,
I'll have none of them, no, no, no ~
But suiter came with tall silk hat;
He told her story worth two of that.
The same old story by lovers told
Since first the earth out of chaos rolled.
(Let us kindly hope who are old and wise,
He did not know he was telling lies.
';Marry me- darling, and you shall be
The happiest woman on land or sea
''No longer then will you have to go
To your daily labor through heat or SNOW.
'It shall be my pleasure my law, my life,
To make you a blest and happy wife.
'Marry me, and you never shall know
A sorrow or hardship, care or woer'
She heard the story of promised bliss
She waited, wavered, and answered, "Yesn'
Bright and big was the honey moon,
And clouded by worldly care too soon.
For housework led her its weary round,
Her feet were tethered, her hands were bound.
And children came with their small demands,
lettering closer her burdened hands.
Tn har huc 5ss ebo H.
A servant in all but salary.
All her days whether foul or fair,
Were endless circles of work and care;
And half her nights-as up and down
She walked the floor in her dressing gown,
flushing an ailing infants screams,
Lest it should break its fathers dreams
And wash the dishes and rub the knives
The lofty mission of duteous wives
Or coaxed and doctored sobbing child
By the pangs of earache driven Wild
Were seasons of wakeful, nervous dread
So if at last O er her aching head
The angel of slumber chanced to stoop
He brought her visions of mumps or Group;
And she rose unrested. and went once more
Through the dull 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 a recipe book.
And bathe the children and brush their locks,
bu1sou Co. f.o,s !: pm their froeks.
And patch old garments and darn and mend
o weary worry that has no end
She lost her airy and sportive wavs
The pretty charm of her girlish d4ys--
For how can playful fancy rove
When once tied up to a cooking stove?
Her face was old ere she reached her prime.
Faded and care-worn before its time.
Sometimes would her well-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 declare
l wonder ever thought her fair ~
Season by season, year by year,
Did she follow the round of ''woman sphere"
Not vexing her husbands days or nights
By any mention of woman's rights,
Till she died at last-too severely tried
Her life's one selfish deed-she died,
Proud and happy and quite content
With the slaviSh way her days were spent!
Feeling, of course, that her life was lost
Nobly in saving a servants cost!
All of all the sad thoughts of women or men
The saddest is this, at needn't have beenr'