From “Libbie Marsh’s Three Eras,” _Howitt’s Journal_.
“Never say aught lightly of the wife’s lot whose husband is given to
drink!”
“Dear, what a preachment! I tell you what, Libbie, you’re as born an old
maid as ever I saw. You’ll never be married to either drunken or sober.”
Libbie’s face went rather red, but without losing its meek expression.
“I know that as well as you can tell me; and more reason, therefore, as
God has seen fit to keep me out of woman’s natural work, I should try
and find work for myself. I mean,” seeing Annie Dixon’s puzzled look,
“that, as I know I’m never likely to have a home of my own, or a husband
that would look to me to make all straight, or children to watch over and
care for, all which I take to be woman’s natural work, I must not lose
time in fretting and fidgeting after marriage, but just look about me for
somewhat else to do. I can see many a one misses it in this. They will
hanker after what is ne’er likely to be theirs, instead of facing it out,
and settling down to be old maids, and, as old maids, just looking round
for the odd jobs God leaves in the world for such as old maids to do.
There’s plenty of such work, and there’s the blessing of God on them as
does it.” Libbie was almost out of breath at this outpouring of what had
long been her inner thoughts.