WOMAN'S WORLD.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIV, Issue 100, 18 October 1911, Page 6

WOMAN'S WORLD.

. I (Conducted by "Eileen"). '

DON'T MARRY SICKLY MEN. \

It is undoubtedly the maternal instinct in woman that so often inclines her heart to listen to the selfish plea of the delicate man. She is so sorry for him—and pity, in the case of anything feminine, assuredly is "akin to love." She wants to soothe the sufferer's fevered brow, to make up to him for all the manly joys and pastimes that he is debarred from. It is precisely the same feeling that prompts her to .pick up a wailing child, but the fact passes unrecognised, and by a soft-hearted lassie her sensations are mistaken for love —and alas! for all the misery that follows! It is quite a stage in an unformed girl's career whttb positive ill-health attracts her in the'opposite sex. A hectic flush renders any male person interesting, and a family history of consumption singles out an acquaintance for distinction.

For some strange reason, happy youth positively revels in gloom. Sweet seventeen vaguely dreams of ministering to some fascinating invalid's needs, of hearing his faltering tones proclaim her a very Florence Nightingale, of a ring slipped on her finger from an apparently dying bed. and then of marvellous recovery, all due to love and her! If a kind fate protects her footsteps and brings no interesting invalid across her path, the phase will be but a passing one, maybe, and healthy, vigorous manhood attain the chance of winning her affections. It is indeed the saddest of all fates—tlmt of a voung girl who ties herself in the springtime of her youth to a delicate husband. To begin with, he is almost of necessity always unworthy. No high-minded, conscientious man would for one moment dream of sacrificing a girl's life in such a fashion. And this even if he is in a position to provide for her future. For the monster of utter selfishness who can marry knowing his own precarious hold on a livelihood, as well as on life, no language can be too severe. A great love, it is true, brings compensation for almost everything in its train; but, as lias been said, the girl or woman who marries a delicate man as a rule feels merely a motherly pity and affection for him, and such a spurious feeling is not within miles of being •strong enough to outlive the daily, hourly trials of the delicate man's wife. Indeed, there are no compensations in her lot. The saintly sufferer of ker imagination of whom she dreamed has no existence in reality. 111-health is a cruel and ugly thing, more often than not rendering those who suffer it a burden to all with whom they come in contact. Cold, self-centred, absolutely selfish, the pathetic belief of young things that those near the shadow must be touched by some of the radiant glory of angel wings has little enough foundation in fact. And if an angelic invalid is sometimes discovered, never, never, is it a man! When a girl finds herself drifting towards matrimony with a man who her own observation, as well as the warninjp of her friends, tell her is hopelessly delicate, let her take herself to and sternly force herself to view the future as it will be—beyond the romantic present, wherein she plays sweet-heart-uuise. What of the years ahead, when employers get tired of constant pleas of sickness—as the kindest must sometime get tired? What fresh employer is likely to desire the services of a semi-invalid? What of the little home, whose sole support is that same invalid—of the little delicate children who, maybe, fill it to overflowing? Perhaps written down in cold black and white all this sounds a heartless invitation to leave a delicate lover to live out his life in loneliness, simply because, his sweetheart is too cowardly to face the future bv his side.

But it is no such thing. Both men and women doomed to serious invalidism know in their hearts that they have no right to marry. 11l doing so they betray not love, but deepest selfishness. If, therefore, a girl finds herself being wooed by a man troubled with chronic ill-health, or whose family consists almost entirely of invalids, she may know at once lie is unworthy of any nice woman's love, and she would do well to avoid him-—not because of his affliction altogether, but because his selfish desire is greater than his love. Such a man could make no girl really happy. Xo warning is more needed—none that should more constantly be sounded in the ears of romantic girldom—than: Oon t marry an invalid. Life, worth living is only possible with a healthy man!

MATILDA'S MORALISINGS

Anybody can be virtuous when they're ill prison. People who've got all they want ain't never 'appy. It's trying after the things lli.it we ain t got what makes us go on livin'. (Marriage is a contract lietween two 1 people to make the best of each other. I don't think it's bein' a sport to shoot rabbits, unless you let the rabbits 'ave a gun. too. 'lghway robbers is extinct, except those what <lrives taxis. \\ hen 1 look at some married people, f wonder if marriages is really made in caven, or if the wedding department is in the basement. I onipliments are like cigar bands; tliev don't mean nnvthink, an' you've got to pay for them. Men seem wiser than women because they smoke, ion can't talk much with a pipe in your mouth. All' if you can't talk, you ean't talk rot. N'ece.-sity U the mother of abstemption. ( ii'ver men ought not to be too comi"ilalile. Armchairs wasn't built for workiu' m. on can t buy good looks, but you can bribe (lie photographer. i oil owe your good fortune to skill; the other man owes his to luck. Lying ain't so easy as it looks. It's olten 'aider than tellin' the truth. A genera] election is a civil war, with all (he noise but mini! of the bloodshed.

Ill*' (';irnlii];ii<• wlhi didn't get in can't break is p!'Olllises.

THE HUNGARIAN WOMAN

Till' 11r";t 11 an- noted for their carelul ami elaborate cooking. No Hungarian girl escapes her apprenticeship in the kitchen, where the mysteries of blended paprika and sour cream are iinfolded to her. She must also become familiar with the .secrets of preserving fruits. With what pride will the house" keeper show you her preserve pantry! l.'ow upon row and .shelf upon shelf 'in precise order as to size and labelling. An entire shelf of cln r.-ies, one of pears, etc.. and yon will be indeed fortunate if yon are invited to paitake of their unexcelled flavor. It is considered an example of extreme shiftlessncss in a woman to serve pres. rves not put up by er Oivn hands. Can you calculate how inniiy afternoons were required to furnish such a pantry? Ask your hostens to show jou her jsjwk of "purer

all" aprons. Tliey will help you to solve the riddle, Hungary is a land of exposed closets. The built-in closet that is part of the American home is unknown. There is, instead, an article of furniture similar to the old-fashioned "wardrobe." They are usually huge affairs that open from the centre by two doors. Here, again, is an opportunity to appreciate how busy the long, quiet afternoons have been. Piles of snowy bed-linen, each piece embroidered with the initial. Sets upon sets of table linen, often scalloped by hand, and always embroidered with the initials, frequently of the maiden name of a wife for many years. Blankets and bed quilts are also embroidered with the initials or the first letter of the family name. These closets also should be silently eloquent explanations of how a Hungarian woman's afternoon is spent. If she has but one servant, she must spend much time in the supervision of the entire work of the house. If, however, she has sufficient means to employ several, she usually has what is called a "hazikisaasszony," which, translated into English, means housemaid, who takes much of the responsibility from her. Her children and her husband's interests naturally claim part of her time. She is a busy woman, although her life is quiet.

WHERE HAPPINESS IS FOUND.

In friendships. In good wishes. In helping others. In friendly letters. In pleasant words. In little courtesies. In little kindnesses. In unselfish service. In eocial intercourse. In a clean conscience. In work that we love. In mutual confidences. In healthful recreation. • In cultivating the mind. In doing duty cheerfully. In making others happy. In facing life with a smile. In achieving worthy ambitions. In the companionship of books. In doing one's best regardless of reward.

WOMEN OF TO-DAY.

You women of to-day who fear so much The women of the future, showing how The dangers of her course are such and such— What are you now? Mothers and wives and housekeepers, forsooth! Great names! you cry, full scope to rule and please! Room for wise age and energetic youth! But are you these? Housekeepers? Do you, then, like those of yore, Keep house with power and pride, with grace and ease? No; you keep servants only! What is more, You don't keep these! Wive, say you? Wives; Blessed indeed are they Who hold of love the everlasting keys, Keeping their husbands' hearts! Alas! the day [ You don't keep these! And mothers? Pitying Heaven! Hark the cry From cradle death-beds! Mothers on their knees! Why, half the children born—as children die! You don't keep these! And still the wailing babies come and go. And homes are waste, and husbands'hearts fly far, There is no hope until you dare to know The thing you are! And here is another little thing that seems to me to be very true and subtle: FALSE PLAY. "Do you love me ?" asked the mother of her child, And the baby answered, "No!" (Treat Love listened and sadly smiled; He knew the love in the heart of the child— That you would not wake it so. "Do not love me?" the foolish mother cried, And the baby answered, "No!" He knew the worth of the trick she tried— Clreat Love listened, and, grieving, sighed That the mother scorned him so. "Oh, poor mamma!" and she played her part Till the baby's strength gave way; He knew it was faJse in his inmost heart. But ho could not bear that her tears shoould start, So he joined in the lying play. "Then love mamma!" and the soft lips crept To the kiss that his love should show, Tho mouth to sleep while the spirit slept! Clreat Love listened, and blushed, and wept That they blasphemed him so. —Charlotte Hawkins Stetson.