A SAINTLY WOMAN.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 172, 24 December 1874, Page 3

A SAINTLY WOMAN.

One of those sentimental philosophers, whose writings we delight in, says that there is “something soothing and delicious in the recollection of a pure-minded woman’s affections ; it is the oasis in the desert of a wordly-man’s life, to which his feelings turn for refreshment, when wearied with the unhallowed passions of this working day world.” That’s our feeling exactly. Had we written that sentence ourselves we could’t have more beautifully expressed our recollections of one pure-minded female. She was one of the sort that was a success in making a desert around her. This pureminded woman’s custom was to attend church twice every Sunday, and two evenings in the week. Her husband wasn’t one of the sort who hankered severely after the church. He would sooner have taken his pipe and flagon of .ale and sit on the backstorp and talked about politics and the drama, and old time sprees. But as soon as he would plant himself for an evening’s enjoyment, in would come that pure-minded woman, and nay : “ Henry, it’s near church time, and you haven’t got shaved yet. Hurry up, or we’ll be too late for the opening services.” Then Henry would say : “Look here, Julia, I’m about tired of this church-going, I want to enjoy myself. It isn’t much enjoyment to hear those old fools, that have about as much taste for music as a rabid oyster, howl and shriek for an hour. And I ain’t much interested in the preacher. You see. it seems to me that I am about through feeding on pap, and that’s the kind of mental food he sets before us. If you feel like going, go ; but excuse me. I’ll pass this once.” Then that pure-minded wife w mid sit down on a chair, and weep, and say she was rightly punished. She had disobeyed her parents in marrying him, and now he was irreligious, and defamed that good and holy man, the pastor, and spoke disrespectfully of those godly men who led in the hymn, singing. Would he kill her ? She would like it better if he would give her a dose of arsenic or cut her throat, than to kill her by inches. His ungodliness was destroying her. She could not live if she knew ho was ungodly. And then she would weep and sob, and bemoan her sad fate, until this wretch of a husband would say, “ Well, don’t take on so about the matter. I’ll go again and listen to those old blokes.” And then they’d go to church, and get home about eleven o’clock at night and go to bed, and in the morning he’d have to get up and make the fire and cook the breakfast. After communing with saints, the pure-minded woman did’nt feci like handling beefsteak and onions, and sausages, and stewed tomatoes. But after he went away she would sit down at the table and put away a quantity of those edibles that must have astonished the sweet little angel that sits up aloft. She died one day, and now that man is married to an ungodly woman, and she darns his stockings, and washes his shirts, and makes the fire, and cooks the breakfast, and he thinks on that pure-minded woman and is happy—because she is dead.