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Otago Witness, Issue 2164, 15 August 1895, Page 47

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t trail of the crawling engine — here all ( around are weary mothers who toil ,en with tired feet, stumbling in the jleep ruts ot life. The farm perhaps Jls prosperous, for it is a good bit of, land kept in good heart by judicious rotation ; the trees ,tbat have been watched and tended with such loving care are springing up to heaven green wad beautif al— yet life is lonely. It Beemed easier in the old days when the children were tiny oreatures, all nested under the shingle roof; when their shouts and their laughter rang in through the open lattice windows, and mother stood afc the door, shading her ' eyes with her hand as she watched to make 'sure they were not too close to the tiny trees, each enclosed in its bit of rabbit netting. Yes, it was easier then ; for in those days she ,was no weary woman, but young and strong 'and full of energy. Now there is all the old routine of farm and household cares to be gone through:, the poultry, the buttermaking, the jams and jellies, the froifc to bottle, the bacon to cure; if she does not actually do it herself she must " see to " the proper carrying out of each process. She has not the strength or activity of the old days ; the work drags incredibly 1

John gets away at intervals. There is the tarn and ewe fair, the society's shows, perhaps the horse parade : it is all °in 'the way of business, and he grumbles at going, making believe he is a martyr; but all the same it is a change, and change is rest. When he is away in town he sees the children, he takes them to the theatre, to the circus, an I afterwards they have exquisite feobemian suppers of hot pies and coffee. He leaves them each with a " tip." Their letters borne are full of the "grand time we had when father was down." John himself comes home full of new ideas; fresh expatiences. He h«ard Foil sing, he saw " Paul Jones " by the opera company, he went to that new play about which there is each a talk, be heard a noted preacher or a world-renowned lecturer. The wife, let her be ever so loyal, cannot help wi*hing that she, too, might get away sometimes — just upon business — and renew her long-lost communion with the world of friends, of social pleasures, amusements, the pleasant stimulating of intelligence by books, pictures, conversation, and shop windows. Her friends ar^ faraway — their homes may be in the sunny north, in busy Marvellous Melbourne, in gay little Tasmania, or in the dear, distant " Home " land, be it Bogland, Scotland, or Ireland. About the friends and the home of her youth cluster all the associations of youth, the memories of the time when she, this weary woman, had a life of her own ; when she was young and fair — fairer perhaps than any of her daughters; when she danced and sang and led the gay measure of life, a centre of attraction to loverß and friends. All this pleasant land of memories, sweet in itself, is yet sad. In this period of middle age it is too near to be looked at yat with the placid composure of old age, too near to be spoken of and deeoribed with the pretty staid egotism of old «ge— Wait 1 v

Bound about us in the busy town are weary women in every street and terrace, high and low, rich and poor, recrnits from every class troop into the great army of weary women. There are the women who plan and contrive, who toil and tramp week in, week out, to fulfil their social obligations, to keep their hold npon the world of hospitality secure, not for their own sake, but " for the young people." Cheerfully, unselfishly, they sacrifice themselves at the altar of afternoon teas, musicals, balls, and euohre parties — uncomplainingly their tired feet go hither and thither ; or they sit, spectacles on nose, in ! the shabby " workroom," mending Janie'a ' gloves and darning Maud's stockings, because " the girla have really no time ; they are always out somewhere." Weary women, all of them. Underneath the calm, courteous manner, the well-trained smile and well-, learnt air of prosperous contentment, the "woman's soul is weary within her. Where is that time of peace and rest which she promised herself when the girls were " grown

Bonnet about as in the busy town are vreary women.' Yes, here are the mothers wboße girlß work in shops and factories, whose sons toil in this or that foundry or manufactory or warehouse. Th6y are no help at home : they aleep there, they eat their meals there, they may perhaps spend their evenings at home sometimes, but that is all. Mother does all the housework, makes the beds, cooks the meals, is "on her feet " all day long. True, the young people help with the housekeeping expenses, .but the pleasant working together, the " company " that the mother had looked for, where is it? So here again are weary women. And now to all of you dear sisters of mine — weary, -worried, desponding— let me counsel comfort and hope in a single word — ■wait.

Ton are at the hardest part of your lives. Be patient a little longer ; the peace of old age has many a charm of rest and comfort that you do not realise. The children will be coming home to the lonely Btatlon home, and with their presence will come help and assistance. On the wide plains neighbours will settle down, there will be a church, the boys will be growing up to help and cheer their father ; they will marry, and presently there will be little grandchildren trotting about the old house, and grandmother will be waited on by willing little feet and hands. Wait and have patience. As old age comes on we look with complacence on vanished youth. We are content to believe that others can manage this and that, and happy to sit in the sunshine, idle at last.

Ton who have striven for others, and borne the heat and burden of the day, believe me, your time of greater content, of rest, of loving recognition is coming. Only wait 1