February 22, 1873: “The Maiden of Twenty-Eight”, by A. M. Thomson, published in the Milwaukee Daily Sentinel.
Thomson’s “The Maid of Twenty-Eight” describes an unattached woman, who apparently isn’t courted. Soon after, Columbia’s “The Maid of Twenty-Nine,” explains that she is up to her ears with work and doesn’t appreciate his errant description of young women.
Why does no lover stop at the gate,
To court this maiden of twenty-eight?
Her eyes are soft and her soul is chaste,
With plump, round limbs and a slender waist,
A cultured mind and a critic’s taste,
A wealth of affection going to waste;
Yet over her hangs some fiat of fate,
That keeps her a maiden at twenty-eight.
She lacks not beauty, she lacks not wit,
Her heart is true, and not counterfeit;
And the soul in her eye is forever lit
With the lustre of virtue back of it;
Her lips are ripe as a cherry in June,
And her voice has caught the winsome tune
Of the birds that sing in the summer air,
And the gold of the sun rests down on her hair;
And yet, as things go, it is getting late
For my friend, the maiden of twenty-eight.
And the seasons come and go apace,
But on this virgin they leave no trace,
Not a furrow on her handsome face,
Nor yet take from her a single grace,
But she seems to ripen in the race
With Time’s swift feet’s relentless pace,
Never more fair than at the present,
But somehow neither prince nor peasant
Stops his horse at her cottage gate,
To woo this maiden of twenty-eight.
And the fields and woods are all aglow
With the breath of spring that makes them so;
The blossoms of summer come and go,
And the wintry sky is filled with snow;
And the hopes of mortals rise and fall,
’Tis the wish of Him who made us all;
But disappointment seems to wait
On this maiden fair of twenty-eight.
She sings her songs, but no lover hears,
No heart is touched by her girlish tears;
Patiently waits through the lapse of years,
And gives no voice to her brooding fears.
What spirit of evil comes to spoil
And break the thread of life’s tangled coil?
Is there no one in want of a mate,
Who will seek this maiden of twenty-eight?
What hast thou in store, O dull-eared Fate,
For this maiden fair who must watch and wait?
Will she find some time the other part
Of herself, in a manly, loving heart?
Are the matches made in Heaven above,
And are angels directing the course of love?
Does the vulgar hind who woos his mate,
As well as my lordship of high estate,
Follow the beck of some unseen fate
That puzzles us all with its strange debate?
March 8, 1873: “The Matron of Twenty-Nine”, by anon, published in the Milwaukee Daily Sentinel.
Columbia In reply to “The Maiden of Twenty-eight”
Musing, she sits by the fireside alone,
While to the village her husband had gone;
The children in bed, the house quiet at last,
And she wearily thinking o'er days that are past.
Eyes, once soft and bright, are now sadly dim;
The plumpness has vanished from each weary
limb.
For culture of mind she no longer finds leisure,
Dull care is her portion, and of this a full measure;
Yet her husband is true, and usually kind
To this poor, worn-out matron of twenty-nine.
He is fat and good-natured; unmindful of care,
And oft marks the change in the face once so fair;
Little knowing the trials of every-day life
That harrass and worry the soul of his wife.
She must keep the house tidy, and mend up the
clothes,
There's no end to the mopping and sweeping she
does;
The children must not be neglected, you know,
And so to poor mamma they run with each woe;
She must bind up their bruises, and never repine
At the cares of a matron of twenty-nine.
The yeast is to brew, the bread must be baked;
The cream to be churned, and three beds to make;
Little faces to wash fifty times in a day,
Till she fretfully wishes herself far away
From this scene of endless and wearing toil,
From which soul and body and heart must recoil;
And she sighs to herself, as she nurses the baby,
"I wish I’d been born to be a fine lady!
If there's one that I envy, both early and late,
It's that fortunate ‘maiden of twenty-eight.’ "
Yet her heart warmly beats with the truest affec-
tion
For husband and children—in spite of vexation;
And though (not unfrequently) wearing a frown,
Because "Jennie has torn her very best gown,"
And though sometimes given to serious scolding,
Because her nice bread was spoiled in the mould-
ing,
She yet has her virtues, and wishes to state
(For the comfort of maidens of twenty-eight)
That the sunlight of love does not always shine
O’er the pathway of matrons of twenty-nine.