REST.

Otago Witness, Issue 2151, 16 May 1895, Page 46

REST.

He does well who doe 3 his best ; Is lie weary ? let him rest. Brothera, 1 have done my best; 1 am weary, le.t me re^t. Afi er toiling oft in vain, B.iffled, yet to strugile fainAfter toilicg loDg to ptiin Little good with niuckle pain, Let me rest. 41 Rest," what a magic sound is In the word ( what a tantalising, unrealizable, longed-for charm breathes from those four letters 1 Is its unattainableness after all the chief charm ? Is it the illuwive paint and gilding of the " toy on the top shelf " ? No ; one has only to walk through any cemetery, readirg the inscriptions as you g >, to realise that what humanity most desires is " rest." Somehow, the word seems to be inseparably connected with death ; because, 1 suppose, of the fever and uartist of this world, the never-ending labour and travail of life. But so beautiful a word, co exquisite a thought, was never meant to be frozen into a cold attribute of death, else is all its charm, its warmth and beauty, gone so far as this life is concerned, and the vision of rest goes to swell the alreadj abundant glories of the hereafter, What we want is some rest here — now, while we can enjoy it ; now, while it would bring hope and brightness and fresh energy into life. All around us arc women daily laying down their lives for their loved ones, because they have not strength of mind enough to say, "I am weary, let me rest." " There are so many things to be done," says one, ami " Really, dear, there is so much in onr house to attend to," says another, and " It's useless to try and rest here," says yet a third in still sadder tones, for sbe has gone a step farther, and to herself she often says, " There's resting by-and-bye." Now what I want to try and make you feel is that though this utter self-abnegation may be beautiful in the abstract it is none tho less wrong. Wrong-to the husband, who every day, poor man, becomes more blindly selfish and callous ; wrong to tbe children, who, grieved and oppressed by your tired voice and worried face, find home dull and are glad to seize every opportunity for going out. Do I not know by the surest of all teaching— experience — that " woman's work is never done," and that if a woman is really Conscientious it seems as though there oould be no rest 1 Yes, I know it all, but I also know that for a certain space in the middle-class woman's life, while her children are, to use that comprebeuaive tsrm, "growing up," if sho worked all night as well as all day she would not have " finished." Dear, tired sisters of minel why try to " finwn " 1 Remember " he does well who does his best," and he has a right to say, " I am weary, let me refct." There is indeed a broader view, a wider horizon to life, and it is this: do all you honestly can, but when you are tired out, say so ; give yourself a rest, let your ohildren help you ; believe me, they will be all the happier for it. Why, now that we think of it, what sweet memories rise of a soft childish voice on the stairs calling in bushed tones, " Don't make a noise, Tom, mother is resting." What a pleasant vision of dainty little maids tip-toeing unsteadily past the balfclo3ed door, then speeding away to do this or that " for mother to reßt." Ah, yes 1 but that was only when you were ill — completely worn out, and the doctor had said with a grave face you must " have perfect reßt." -Why wait until rest is too imperative to be enjoyed, because it comes as the result of illness ? Rest is of chameleon-like aspects and hues — there are muny degrees of rest before we reach that " Bleep that knows no waking," for which so many women persist in reserving themselves. Reßt in its practical, everyday sense is cessation from our daily routine, whether that routine embodies straight, unsweetened duty, hard work of brain or hand, or the delights of society, pleasure, admiration, amusement. R«st is change, and change is rest. Even happiness and good fortnne becomes weariness unrelieved by change. What more pathetic story is there than that of Lysis, whose life was summed up in the brief words, ." Young, wealthy, and beautiful, he wearied of life and diad." Dy you remember the lines from " The Death of Lysis " ? My life has burdened me with many pleasures ; They haunt, as sorrow now, my fleeting peace. Shall death let me prize again my treasures? Shall death make eickness of the beart to cease? If Lysis had been fortunate enough to lose his wealth in some old Grecian " boom," and bad to earn his bread as a fisherman or a goatherd, he would probably have found the world far too pleasant to leave with the pessimistic moan : Turn my dead face to the melodious twilight. The world and I do very well to part. Let us then read " change " for " rest," and realise that in order to retain any charm of of brightness and attractiveness which may be hors, a woman must have a change sometimes. Honestly now, if women plainly and

frankly told their husbands when they needed a change instead of going on making martyrs oE themselves, would it not be much wiser 1 There are very few men who would be selfish or brutal enough to refuse— they would be ashamed to do so, for very few men are mean ; they are selfish because women conspire to make them so from their cradle up, but they are not mean. Moreover, there 13 nothing which wearies and palls upon a man so soon as the daily vision of a tired worried wife, and in most cases ho would gladly go to some personal sacrifice in order to realise once more the bright attractive oomradeship which was one of his wife's greatest charms in the long ago. But there is yet another word to be said : I assume that all women will agree with me that change is necessary to their well-being, physically and mentally. I hope they may believe that they have a perfect right to demand it from time to time, provided the demand is in. a form suitable to the partnership purse. But , . . most kernels lie in the " but," and the case is no exception. It too often happens that a woman who is happy enough to enjoy a qharga shines with all her old g«iety and $barm while she is away, yet directly she returns, the moment the hall door closes on her, the becomes once more a bundle of cares, worries, and anxieties. Her letters bad been so gay that everyone at home looked forward to her return, and lo ! here, before a week is over, all trace of the holiday is gone. Of course there are arrears of sewing, mending, housekeeping to be made up. (She rushes at them all pellmell, sho cannot too quickly expend all the store of energy and strength she has been laying up. This is simple folly ; that store ' of brightness and energy gathered in the storehouse of " rest " should be delicately drawn upon as areserve fund Having had a change, try to preserve its good effects by a { daily rest, even if it is only of half an hour's ! duration. Don't try to " finish " — there is no finishing here ; tbe threads are never neatly gathered up and knotted o£f;'D.=ath comes with bis shears and severs them at the appointed day and hour. All we have to do is our best. I know a sweet, reposeful woman whom we all love — all love to be near, because she is so tranquil. She has often told me that ever since she grew to womanhood she has made it a rule to take one hour in the day as her own, her very own, of which no one has a right to deprive her. In that hour of solitude and rest she disentangles hertelf from the web of life— she recuperates. The suggestion, dear, tired sisters, is worth your consideration.