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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, August 04, 1914, LAST EDITION, Image 13

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1914-08-04/ed-1/seq-13/

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THE CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
A LEAF FROM AUNT MARY'S BOOK
(Copyright, 1914, by the Newspaper Enterprise Association.)
Do you know, little book, that there
must be great compensations in age,
especially to a woman. Yes. I know
that women are expected to lose all
when they get old, but that is what
man thinks about it. Aunt Mary and
Mrs. Selwin have taught me that
when a woman has reached the point
where she can look back .on all her
life and understand it was good she
has reached a point of her existence
where she can rest a while and give
herself the wonderful pleasure of be
ing "a looker on."
When Mrs. Selwin told me the oth
er day that nothing in this world was
worth .a tear I looked at her serene
face, and, oh, how I pitied her. I
thought of the terrible experiences a
woman must pass through to reach
that conclusion. I thought of the bit
ter tears she must have shed before
she came to understand that they
were useless either as a method of
reaching her desires or as a manner
of working off surplus emotional
stres.
Mrs. Selwin has certainly had some
history that she does not tell to the
world for no woman could be as abso
lutely a law unto herself and a col
umn of strength to those about her
as she is, without passing through
more than the joys and rose-lined
paths of life. These experiences have
left her cold. Her sympathy is of
that aloof kind which tells you "never
mind, you'll feel better by and by or
rather you will cease to feel."
I think when I grow old I'd rather
be like Aunt Mary, who can still feol
either joy or sorrow for herself or
others.
I had a great illustration of this
when we arrived at her old home. I
could see she wanted to' be alone and
I went up to my room with the con
ventional lie of a headache. It was
my heart that was aching as I
.thought of Dick coming home and not
finding me. I wondered what ha
would think. My loving heart kept
saying let's go back, but my pride
whispered you are only treating him
as he treated you.
'I looked out my window and saw
Aunt Mary going over to the ceme
tery, her, arms full of old-fashioned
flowers. Her face was as radiant as
though she was keeping a tryst. Her
husband, though dead, was nearer to
her than mine was to me this minute.
I slipped down to meet her as she
came back and said, impulsively:
"Aunt Mary, I have come to the con
clusion that, instead of multiplying
happiness into ecstasy and dividing
unhappiness into infinitesimal fac
tions, marriage is a sort of compul
sory education for ripening character
and inculcating wisdom."
She looked at me uncomprehend
ingly and said: "Margie, look what I
fdund this afternoon in an unused
drawer in John's desk."
It was a picture postcard and bore
this inscription: x
"All to myself, I think of you;
Think of the things we used to do;
Think of the things we used to say;
Think of each happy yesterday;
Sometimes I sigh, sometimes I smile,
But I keep each olden golden while
All to myself."
As I finished I looked up at Aunt
Mary through a mist of tears, but she
was smiling.
Do you suppose, little book, that
Dick will come after me tomorrow?
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.)
o o
ALL TO HIS CREDIT
"My dear," he said, "you are sup
erb! To any man a credit You'll be
the reigning belle tonight." And kiss
ed her as he said it.
"My love, I'm glad you like my
clothes," with beating heart she said
it "Because this party gown and
wrap are also to your credit!"
. - -.. .-.--,r!,..Jv. -J--.-wc.

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