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WomWO
Entered at Second-Class Postage Rates.
A LITERARY AND DOMESTIC MAGAZINE.
PUBLISHED MONTHLY.
FIFTY CENTS I f FIVE CENTS
PER YEAR, j ( PER COPY.
Edited by KATE GARLAND.
ABBIBTED BY TH« BIBT TALENT.
I havehkard quite a n mbor of opin
ions expressed concerning the name of our
magazine—and in numbers there is vari
ety. I like to listen to the views of differ
ent persons in regard to a given subject.
There is something fascinating in the
bringing together of opposite opinions. I
believe if we can stand on what is termed
a middle ground, there receiving and ana
lyzing the extremes of thought which
come to us, that we will thus gain knowl
edge that we would never reach by
seeking extremes ourselves. If all persons
were of the same mind, we would have a
monotony through life that few would care
to endure. Go with friends to an eleva
tion, and look upon the world spread be
neath you; one exclaims on the beauty
of the mountains in the distance, while
another’s attention is riveted on the wind
ing stream near by. One looks up to the
tinted skies and forgets the scenes below;
another thinks not of things direct from
the hand of our Creator, but speculates on
the achievements of man as shown by the
city within your view. I once sat on a
shaded lawn and listened to music that
came from afar —I think the sweetest
sounds are those softened ones that float to
us from distant points. After awhile I
remarked to a friend beside me, on the
melody that charmed me so, and she re
plied : “I hadn’t noticed; I was listening
to the birds that are nearer by.” And
then I, too, listened to the birds ; perhaps
she forgot them, and thought only of that
music from the distance.
lam always sorry to find a person who
has no tolerance for the views of others. I
have no desire for others to fully agree
with my opinions. IT I can furnish a
modest leaf to peep out from amidst the
richly colored flowers, the bouquet of
thought will be more prized than if I, too,
had given a full blown rose.
• * *
“Why wasn’t our magazine called
something more poetic?” asksone; ‘Wom
an s Work’ sounds so unsentimental, so
practical; I want something to take me
out of the everyday affairs of life and give
me more of the imaginative.”
My dear, you have forgotten that the
matter-of-fact duties of our existence are
teeming with beauties beyond description;
that out of the homely threads of daily oc
cupation have been woven character-fab
rics of finest texture; that with its glimpse
of light and coloring have bean painted
pictures that would charm the eye of
a connoisseur. You lose sight of the
fact that the fields of romance have no
fruits that will compare with those which
blossom and grow and ripen about the
domestic abode. Here are self-denials
and sufferings which cannot fail to touch
the heart. Here are deeds of bravery
which have not been surpassed on battle
fields. Here are smiles of love which can
not ba dimmed by flashes of light from the
gaudy world without. Here are efforts
and arguments, dreams and disappoint
ments, hopes and fears, weakness and no
bility—such as no pen can ever fitly por
tray, and no mind ever fully comprehend.
If you would view the very depths of ago
ny and degradation, go to the workshop
of life and see those who have betrayed all
the laws of nature, defied all their better
instincts, despised and ignored the duty
which men and women owe to their God,
1 heir fellow creatures and themselves, to
bring happiness to those about them. If
you would see glimpses of heaven, go to
this same scene of everyday life, and find
those who are busy performing the duties
of living, as best they may—ministering
bread to hungry mouths, love to hungry
hearts, and letting the sunlight of happi
ness into their own souls while they are
carrying it toothers.
•
» •
“I have more woman’s work now than
I can manage; I get tired of it and want
something not quite so real.” She said it
laughingly, and I hope she did not mean
it. Whenever a woman is tired of the
work which God intended for her, I fear
that she has a poor conception of that
work, and is neglecting it. Os course, the
body will become fatigued, and the mind
will sometimes feel uncertain of its wis
dom in considering the responsibilities of
life; but a brave, true woman will not
shrink from an earnest consecration to her
duties, aud will feel a just pride in the
trusts which God has imposed upon her.
Many of us are too much inclined to shirk
the work which we have been called upon
to do, and wish for something different.
If we were perfect in one branch of labor,
it might be a commendable ambition for
us to aspire to other fields of knowledge
and usefulness; but have you ever known
a woman who had no more to learn in her
field of effort ? Many of us are tired of
what we are pleased to term the real, the
practical affairs of life, when we are far
from practical in the performance of these
duties. I fear that many domestic trou
bles are traceable to this incompetency of
housewives. Instead of bewailing the fate
which demands your attention to practical
affairs, I would appeal to my fellow-wom
en to be more systematic, more thorough,
more earnest in their performance, even of
the commonest duties which living im
poses.
*
* *
I do not believe that there are many
men who marry with any purpose or wil
lingness to enslave a woman—certainly, if
there are such men, women may avoid
them by the exercise of proper discretion
in selecting associates and consenting to
marriage. But I pity the man who dreams
of domestic happiness, of a home which,
when entered at ths cioss of a day’s work,
will be like unto a burst of sunshine on a
dreary day, refreshing as the evening
dews to the thirsty little violet—l pity
this man if he finds it all a dream, his wife
a fretful child of fashion, at the mercy of
servants, and unable to keep house with
credit to herself or with comfort to any
one. However many housekeepers, but
lers and assistants a woman may be able
to employ, if she is ignorant of the proper
methods for securing the comfort and hap
piness of her loved ones, she is not fitted
for the responsibilities of wifehood, and
had best take a course of training in home
affairs before she undertakes to keep a
home. The fairest picture of contentment,
to my mind, is the cottage abode, neat and
cosy and beautiful, where each member
helps to maintain order and comfort, and,
in every way possible, endeavors to pro
mote the happiness of others. This is easi
ly accomplished in a well managed house
hold which is governed by wisdom and
love, in which commands are made un
necessary because of an affectionate respect
which prompts young and old to love and
help each other.
***
That woman who frets and worries
over every little misfortune or disappoint
ment, who meets her duties with a re
pelling frown rather than a brightening
smile, thinks she is tired out by the prac
tical affairs of life. It is sadly true that
she is worn down and discouraged; but
my idea is that this condition comes, not
of a surfeit of practical affairs, but of en
tire ignorance of practical methods. I re
cently saw one of these unfortunate wom
en. When approached by one of her chil
dren, she said; “Oh, I wish you would go
WOMAN'S WORK.
away and let me alone; I am sick and
tired and worried to death.” My heart
went out in sympathy and regret for this
woman —sympathy because she was tired
and sick—regret that she should have
brought these very troubles on herself by
a mistaken idea of meeting her responsi
bilities. The cross retort is a friend to
many .ills; used repeatedly, it invites con
firmed invalidism, and is a sure road to
unhappiness for self and others. Resort
ed to by parents towards their children, it
fixes between them chilly barriers which
are serious obstacles to a happy home,
and imparts to those children a tartness of
disposition which precludes their occupy
ing the place in life which might other
wise be theirs. In the case mentioned
above, an innocent child received an ab
rupt and unkind answer from his mother
—the one person above all others to whom
he is expected to look for kind considera
tion and information. When she, after a
little while, addressed him, I was not sur
prised to hear a monosyllabic “No,” in a
voice that no child would use towards a
mother who had drawn him to her by
motherly affection.
For some time I observed that group—
a mother and four children; two boys who
will in a few years be men, and a boy and
girl younger, but of an age to receive last
ing impressions and appreciate a kindly
interest. Not a smile did I see on the lips
of one of that family. They appeared to
have their share of natural intelligence,
but I saw no gleam of happiness in their
eyes, and no ray of interest crossed their
faces. I pictured to myself the future,
when those children may have several
homes of their own—homes, not of cor
dial cheerfulness, from which generous
deeds will sow seeds of happiness, but
homes of desolate moroseness and selfish
ness.
*
* ♦
That person, whether man or woman,
parent or child, who cannot take the time
and command the civility to give courte
ous replies to polite questions, will sel
dom be seen surrounded by friends, and
happy in the enjoyment of this world’s fa
vors. It is a part of a practical life to be
cheerful, polite, and considerate of the
wishes of others. They who disre
gard these things are neither wise nor
practical. That woman who departs from
the conservative course of quiet modesty
and moderation in life or dress, to pay
homage to the indecent, or, to say the
least, ridiculous customs and decrees of
fashion, is falling far short of her duty as
a womanly woman in this so-called practi
cal age. I have already diverged too far
from my subject, and will not go into the
field of fashion—that deplorable field
which leads to the most conspicuous of
our follies—further than to mention a pic
ture of seasonable art (?) in dress, which
recently attracted my attention; per
haps many like ones have come to
your notice. This was a pretty young
woman whom nature endowed with a
liberal share of charms, which are
being blindly slaughtered as rapidly as
fashion may dictate. A few years ago
this young lady was a little school girl.
She wore shoes, the size and shape of
which acknowledged her ability to walk,
and did not seek to conceal in dress the
fact that she possessed a body of adequate
size, and well proportioned for the needs
of life. Then she wore a sun hat or bon
net which was some protection to the rosy
cheeks beneath, and brushed back from her
forehead were tresses which were threads
of beauty. Then she dressed for health
and comfort; now she dresses for—fashion
and hideous effect. When I saw her, she
had paid her dressmaker a fancy price to
mutilate a showy but handsome piece of
goods. Where her waist once was there
seemed to be a small arm encased in a
sleeve of glove-like tightness. Where her
arms once swung in healthy activity,
there seemed to be two waists, or wastes (?),
covered with flowing jackets. These were
abruptly closed at the end with draw-
strings, seemingly for the purpose of tying
a hand at the end of each waste, the hands
bsing attached, so far as I could judge, lor
the display of jewelry. On the head—or the
place where a woman should have a head
—there was a sharp-pointed piece which I
took to be a hat, but which was too small
for me to determine definitely unless 1
could see the milliner’s bill, where it would
doubtless look much larger. This sup-
Eosed hat sat back of a great mass of
leached frizzes, which had been manu
factured in her boudoir with the aid of hot
tongs, so that she might be presentable
on the streets, and avoid attracting too
much attention; the streets are unaccus
tomed to seeing a naturally dressed
woman. Just below the small connecting
link where the waist appeared when she
was a girl, there was an expanse of dress
material flaring to broader and broader
proportions as it approached the ground,
and having the appearance of being pasted
on a wooden curbing of some kind, such
as I have heard of being used in wells to
prevent caving. Strangely maintaining
their places beneath her, were what may
be termed see-saw shoes, extending almost
an equal distance back and front, with a
support under the centre; this I supposed
to be substituted for a shoe heel, but it
had a great deal more point to it than an
ordinary heel, looking as if it might have
been the victim of a pencil sharpener. Os
course this account is an exaggeration; and
sowas the outfit—an exaggeration of ugli
ness and bad taste in dress. But this
young lady would tell you that she wa»
comfortably dressed; her ideal of comfort
are not practical ones.
*
* *
I Like The name of Woman’s Work,
like it because I regard it as being simple,
strong, practical, expressive. I may be
pardoned for saying that I think there is
no word in our language more forcible
and grand than the word woman. It
carries with it, in its true sense, an idea of
modest purity, benevolent char.ty,
thoughtful unselfishness, and consecrated
strength, which is expressed by no other
word. Work represents the progress of
the world, and embraces all the interests
of mankind. Without it there is no ad
vancement; without work of some kind
there can be no true contentment for a
worthy man or woman.
“Why not make an addition and call it
‘Woman’s Work and Mission ’?” asked
a gentleman of me one day.
“Because,” I replied, "woman's work
are the two most expressive words in our
language. No addition could make them
stronger.”
The work of woman reaches round the
world, embraces all that is good, concerns
the material and spiritual welfare of every
human being, is boundless, endless, incon
ceivable. If woman never crosses be
yond the threshold of the home, the im
print of her character goes out on the
heart of every nun, and her influence, for
good or evil, reaches every undertaking
and every interest of the human race.
Sorry, indeed, is your conception of their
meaning, my dear woman, if you think
that the words womans work mean
drudgery, and no more. The common
affairs of home it does mean, and if well
performed,there is something grand in the
doing of small duties. 1 do not call them
drudgery; they should not be arranged
on that plan, nor carried to that extent.
Let us adopt systematic methods, learn to
do well,and always do our best, work un
complainingly, cheerfully, happily—how
this does lighten labor! There is music
in the churn dash if we’ll keep its time by
singing, and the pail of water will always
give us smiles if we but smile above it.
No drudgery here, if we but think that a
loving step will soon sound on the front
entrance, and a loving one look in to ad
mire the work that has been done for
love’s sweet sake. And when a voice
whispers words of kindly good cheer, a
woman’s heart will be happy.
Did one of you say you have tried all
this, and the coveted words were never
spoken? I hope not; but if so, there was
a wrong start somewhere. Ask yourself
if the fault can be yours; a part of it is
very apt to be. Get your husband to read
this—not because it is well written, but
because it will tell him what is on your
mind. When he has finished, have an
expression of mutual regret that your re
lations to each other have ever permitted
drudgery to enter your door. Then turn
your thoughts to the highest forms of
woman’s work. Ask yourself what they
are, and promise yourself a worthy fulfil
ment of your part. It need not be in
some exalted place, and the world at large
may not write your name on the page of
fame, but daily contact with the few per
sons about you affords an extensive field
which must yield good fruit or bad. ’Tis
not for name carved high on marble slab
that we are laboring, but even the humblest
of us all will be a crowned queen if it
shall be said of that one woman’s work
"She hath done what she could."