The bravest of them also went away to other states; but myriads who could not go were condemned by circumstances to stay and earn their living by hard work without any prospect of happy marriage.

The difficulty which a girl of culture may experience in trying to live by the work of her hands in New England is something not easily imagined.

But it is getting to be the same in most Western countries.

Such a girl is watching a spider weaving in the corner of the same room where she herself is weaving; and she thinks, "Am I not like that spider, obliged to supply my every need by the work of my own hands, without sympathy, without friends?
The spider will spin and catch flies until the autumn comes; then she will die.

Perhaps I too must continue to spin until the autumn of my own life--until I become too old to work hard, and die of cold and of exhaustion." Poor sister of the spinster clan! I too from out my store within My daily life and living plan, My home, my rest, my pleasure spin.
I know thy heart when heartless hands Sweep all that hard-earned web away; Destroy its pearled and glittering bands, And leave thee homeless by the way.
I know thy peace when all is done.
Each anchored thread, each tiny knot, Soft shining in the autumn sun; A sheltered, silent, tranquil lot.
I know what thou hast never known,-- Sad presage to a soul allowed-- That not for life I spin, alone, But day by day I spin my shroud.
The reference to the sweeping away of the spider's web, of course, implies the pain often caused to such hardworking girls by the meanness of men who employ them only to cheat them--shopkeepers or manufacturers who take their work without justly paying for it, and who criticize it as bad in order to force the owner to accept less money than it is worth.