The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1901-12-25

buaSsnSs,...y I said: Suppose your
in Il thai a lot go to his field, or work
in vour boHnsS.d suppose you do not live
the and ~ .Ta work in 1t that day, at
will ,oo,, n,ors,y whose field Of labor
nnwa.bod ,,nco3e 3eds unmade, children
and kettles everSSo oncookeo' oisnes
rags and tags, heie eiere ana anyWneres
and bowling Of hl' muus l,'.,!,n
dogs and cats, COWS, "'u o.,A,A .
moro like Bedlam let M 80" IN a.
domicile Of the sane an :, : 1 80. ~.
ne. 'nas ner WORK BAY prevented
this condition Of things. Vas sbe not
glad that she was able to- 81 u,,oh %
against her husbands 40 lity A. &c
of plowed work would not ~ e.,
advantage against the disad ,,cga 80
her undone work at night. ST. he-
work In the aggregate told more%owea
more In account. than his did.
I was speaking OF appearance. n
reality she was not doing more thaher
husband. but In appearance-the q
lected work of hers was more demora..
ing at the end of tho day than the ne,
lected work of her husband. She hn,
nothing to complain Of, he was making
living for the family outside, she was
preserving LIE in the family inside. &c.
with one greet thought, looking forward
to harvest was whistling after his plow.
she, with as many thoughts as there arc
threads In loom, was washing and
cleansing, cooking and baking. mending
and making, instrnc::nE and pray
Ing; the lanors OF both converging to one
point at the end of the dsy-the welfare
and comfort of the little united family.
Men do tho large things OF life, women
the small. men are like the hour hand on
the clock and wcr,sn the minute, and
some women like the second hand, in
rapidity, more constant activity, nervous
revolution run, run almost to death at
the end Of an hour, having gone no fur-
ther than the minute hand nor the hour
hand; NIL having arrived at the post at
the same exact moment, mono having
outrun the other nor bsen behind tho
other Ia usefulness.
Again, men might be likenod to the
trees and women to the leaves. The
leaves might say: swell, am just here
as an appendage, the trees supporting
me-" but wero the leaves to be cut off
the trees the trees would soon die; for
through the leaves they receive their in
SEPARATIONS Of life from the atmosphere.
Then look at the trees in winter, when
their leaves are dead! What barren,
!easiJ, shiveriug spectacle they makef
Enough perhaps has been said about
the housekeeper. Since we area house.
maker ourselves, we have great respect
for tho housemakers, and trust we have
given no offence when we say their
wives work is as important to the family
as their own. All good and just mon
acknowledge this and say that without
their wives they would be poor, wretch
ed, miserable creatures. Were the editor
not 80 opposed to poetry would like to
copy whole poem here for the solace of
the housekeeper aud of her husband,
who Is not one, but the editor thinks II
people write poetry they are apt to forget
the realities of life and seek to live on
dreams, and dreams without money
which seldom attends poetry-w.ll not
pay subscription to our paper; this
alone would make any editor sigh while
saying grace at meals. A few stsnzas
perhaps he will pardon, as they will fit
In with the pie receipts in the honse=
keepers sorapbook. The lines arc anony-
nous and entitled:
A HoUsEKEEPER's TRAGEDY.
o. life is q toll aud love is trouble,
And beauty will fade and riches will
Zee;
Aud pleasures they dwiudle and prices
they double,
And nothing 10 what could wish 1t to
bs.
There's too much Of worriment goes to
bonneti
There's too much Of ironing goes to
shirt;
There's nothing that pays for the time
you waste on It.;
There's nothing that lasts but trouble
and dirt.
It's sweeping at six aud busting at seven;
It's victuals at eight and dishes at nine;
It's potting and psnning from ten to
eleven;
We scarce break our fast ere we plan
how to dine.
With grease and with Crime from corneE'
to center,
Forever at war and .ever alert,
No rest Cor day lest the onemy enter&-S
l spend my whole life in a struggle
with dirt.
Last night in my dreams was stationed
forever
On bare little isle in the midst of the
sea;
Ny ons chance of life was a ceaseless ens
deavor
To sweep off the waves ere they swept
over me.
Alas, twas no dream, again behold II!
yield, am hopeless my fate to avert!"
She rolled down her sleeves, her apron
ol, foldoI