"Work—work—work
Till the brain begins to swim;
Work—work—work
Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!"
Hood's Song of the Shirt.
NEEDLE-WORK, at best, yields but a small return. Yet how manythousands have no other resource in life, no other barrier thrown upbetween them and starvation! The manly stay upon which a woman hasleaned suddenly fails, and she finds self-support an imperativenecessity; yet she has no skill, no strength, no developedresources. In all probability she is a mother. In this case she mustnot only stand alone, but sustain her helpless children. Since herearliest recollection, others have ministered to her wants andpleasures. From a father's hand, childhood and youth received theircountless natural blessings; and brother or husband, in later years,has stood between her and the rough winds of a stormy world. All atonce, like a bird reared, from a fledgling, in its cage, and thenturned loose in dreary winter time, she f