By Hattie I. Brainard
May 17, 1865. Vol. 1. No. 32. Page 4
I sit in my lonely chamber,
And think of the days long ago,
Of days when I struggled and labored;
So hard, to catch me a beau.
But my efforts were all unavailing.
I am doomed to live a lone life;
Oh! Why were the men all so foolish,
As not one to want me for wife?
One day as I sat at my window,
I saw a young man on the street;
He looked up; his smile was so winning,
And his whiskers, oh! Wasn’t he sweet?
I thought sure I had an admirer.
So daily past his office I walked,
With my false curls oiled up so nicely,
And my freckled face splendidly chalked.
Burt my bright dream of bliss soon was over,
The nice man ne’er sought for my love;
I found that he came that way seeking
The face in the window above.
Now the long summer days pass so sadly,
And my sorrows I fear will not end;
Disappointment tugs hard at my heart-strings,
And puss is my only true friend.
I’ve only been forty for twelve years,
And not a day older I’ll be,
Till I find a young or old fellow
Who will step to the altar with me,
What fools men are to wed young girls,
When old ones are steady and staid:
Oh dear, if I only was younger;
I would not now be an old maid.
Night’s shadows are fast closing round me,
Lonely and desolate’s my home:
I’ve a good loving heart for somebody,
Oh, why don’t that somebody come?
Is it because my face is so homely.
That all mankind treats me so?
There’s puss after a mouse ‘mong the dishes,
Scat!—a crash, --what shall I do?