<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h3><SPAN name="page422"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>THE RUINED MAID</h3>
<p class="poetry">“O ’Melia, my dear, this does
everything crown!<br/>
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?<br/>
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?”—<br/>
“O didn’t you know I’d been ruined?” said
she.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page423"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
423</span>—“You left us in tatters, without shoes or
socks,<br/>
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;<br/>
And now you’ve gay bracelets and bright feathers
three!”—<br/>
“Yes: that’s how we dress when we’re
ruined,” said she.</p>
<p class="poetry">—“At home in the barton you said
‘thee’ and ‘thou,’<br/>
And ‘thik oon,’ and ‘theäs oon,’ and
‘t’other’; but now<br/>
Your talking quite fits ’ee for high
compa-ny!”—<br/>
“Some polish is gained with one’s ruin,” said
she.</p>
<p class="poetry">—“Your hands were like paws then,
your face blue and bleak,<br/>
But now I’m bewitched by your delicate cheek,<br/>
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!”—<br/>
“We never do work when we’re ruined,” said
she.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page424"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
424</span>—“You used to call home-life a hag-ridden
dream,<br/>
And you’d sigh, and you’d sock; but at present you
seem<br/>
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!”—<br/>
“True. There’s an advantage in ruin,”
said she.</p>
<p class="poetry">—“I wish I had feathers, a fine
sweeping gown,<br/>
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!”—<br/>
“My dear—a raw country girl, such as you be,<br/>
Isn’t equal to that. You ain’t ruined,”
said she.</p>
<p><span class="smcap">Westbourne Park Villas</span>, 1866.</p>
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