Year: 1870

Poor Mrs. Grimes! she can't


live Out the day.


The words were sadly spoken


by more than one neighbor, cast


ing mournful glances toward that
upper window where the blinds


were shut.


Poor Mrs. Grimes! just as she


had got so comfortably settled in


her new house, too


Yes it was poor Mrs. Grimes


everywhere; withered woman,


old at forty. She was dying in the


pretty room where che had hoped


to enjoy SO much. Her husband


sat near her, silently battling with


his grief, for he had loved that pa


tient wife for twenty years.


The sharp. pinched features,
now gray with the shadow Of
death, had been beautiful once
the dull eyes had sparkled with
the. fire and joy of health. Chill
drcn had been carried in those


wasted arms, and from thence ta-
ken all to soon too the grave. Two
sons stood in the chamber with
solemn faces, unwilling to let
mother go. Old and faded. wrin-
kled and suffering though she was,
they held her heart by strong
cords of love.


Twenty years before, Mrs.
Grimes was installed by happy
husband, mistress Of his house
1t was not his own farm whose
broad acres he cultivated, conse-
quently he determined to work
hard, to be diligent, frugal and
saving, so that in time to come he
might have some place to call his
own.


In this pleasant scheme the
young wife entered with all her
heart; she was healthy and strong,
knew how to work and was not
afraid Of her labor. So she put
forth all her strength, and her
thrift and toll told. Every year
the farmer laid by money towards
his purchase. People wondered
why the Grimes's would go to
meeting in thai rickety old wagon,
and why Mrs. Grimes wore the
same faded muslin that she had
worn OF least ten years. But she
knew why, and though her form
began to bend, though her hands
had grown coarse, and misshapen,
and she had suffered pains and ills
she never felt before, it did not at
once occur to her that these were
the effects of hard and wearing
labor.


Time to read ! Why, the good
woman would almost have laughed
in the face of one who asked the
question. Look at her work and
then imagine, if you could, that
she had any time. She had not
even leisure to eat her meals pro-
perly what with cooking huge
messes Of pork and beef, cabbage
aud potatoes. filling tub after tub
with apple sauce, making all the
cheese and bread and butter for the
household, and the hired men,
how could she eat her meals as
she should !?


Strange to say, she never regret
ed all this outlay of strength, all
this waste Of human lie. Ever
before her was the prospects of
that pleasant farm, cleared, plant
ed and paid for, She wanted no
help only when her children were
born, and even then she gave the
wearied frame no time for repose,
but she stitched and mended,
propped up by pillows, before
nerve or muscle were able to per-
form their proper functions. Thus
it was she grew old and shrunken
before her time, grew into
machine Of flesh and blood that
never slackened in the huge toll it
had taken upon itself to bear
The husband become accustomed
to the pale face and SO often had
he listened to her of-repeated
declaration that she would cot
have help, that at last he give up
all thought of it. She never took
ASS III elS o"SCo Souhtiy Aoaoos
she had no time to tend aud love
lowers, she never visited, she had
always something to do


One day the farmer came in e-r-
ly in the afternoon. 1t was an un-
usual hour for him ana his wife
said so looking up from a huge
pile of mending.


Well, and he flushed and smiled,
rs he seated himself in one of the
kitchen chairs, I've
bought Jerrys place at last, and
paid for it every cent.


The faded eye kindled, the lips
parted with smile, but suddenly
bowed her head and burst into
tears.


Why, Sally,-why, wife-I
thought you'd be mighty pleased
cried the farmer, startled at this
Of feeling.


I am, dear, and Sally struggled
to overcome her grief, but such
a lonesome, drearisome. feeling
came over me then I only
thought of the dead babies in
their graves.


You're tired and sick Sally; fact
IS you are killing yourself with
work, and I've been a fool not
10 see it.


l AN t killing myself, John, and
I'd rather go on just the same
The boys are grown. and there
are no little ones to take care Of
Besides, am used to my own
ways, and shouldn't like any one