Which Loves Best, a Man or a Woman.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXII, Issue XII, 19 March 1904, Page 62

Which Loves Best, a Man or a Woman.

BY HELEN OLDFIELD. There be some subjects of never ending discussion, all the more so, it would seem, because they are such as can by no possibility be definitely decided one way or anolhei. Among these unprolit able questions few are more thoroughly and constantly thrashed out than that: “Which loves best, a man or a woman?” To this there would appear to be but one answer. Feelings cannot be measured excepting by results, and even this measure is but partial. “We live together years and years, ami leave unsounded still Each other’s springs of hopes and fears, Each other’s depth of will.” There are men and men, there are women and women, and, as Mulvaney says, “Love is like fighting; it takes people differently.” Some men love more deeply than other men, more devotedly than some women, and vice versa. It seems the fashion of late to insisi t upon analyzing feelings and emotions, to strive to grasp the impalpable, to discuss men and women as though they were of different species instead of one flesh, members, all, of the same family. Humanity is much the same, male and female. If: “The colonel’s lady and Judy O’Grady Are sisters under the skin,” So, also, the colonel and Patrick are brothers, and closely akin to their womankind. Love is. above all else, the “one touch of nature” which makes the whole world kin.” Scout it, scorn it, deny it, as any man and some women may, nevertheless, it lies in wait for every one. and may. at any moment, arise to claim its own. Like the lightning it may fail to strike, but when it does there is no force upon earth equal to it. few which can resist its power. It is the passion which most entirely sways human nature, gives its colour Io existence, dominates thought inspiring and controlling moods of mind. It aspects are so many and diverse, its changes so numerous, its influence so subtle and strong: so absolutely does it interpenetrate life, so vital is its (dlect upon humanity that preachers and teachers, poets and moralists have to this day failed to exhaust the subject. Its contradictions might well a Hord material for a volume of commonplaces. At one time so wholly selfish that it thinks only of its own gratification. of its own trials. vexations, and suffering; al another it will welcome the greatest sacrifices with the spirit of a martyr, will yield everything and endure anything for the sake of the beloved. It is trustful, yet suspicious; timid, yet bold; humble, yet arrogant. One moment it is reproachful and complaining, at another it pours forth praises and tender protestations. Weeping one hour and smiling or singing the next, no one knows what to (‘Xpert of it nor what phas*‘ it may assume. All this applies as well to men as to women, and none can determine upon which side the balance sways lowest. One might till a volume with apt (plot at ions from noted authors in favour and disfavour of each. If Shakspeare wrote that “men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love.” none the less he drew Borneo; if he pronounces woman “a very weathercock.” hr also declares men to be “deceivers ever.” Byron in one place calls the love of a woman “a fearful thing,” and in another defines it as her whole existence, and so, praise and dispraise might be multiplied indeiinitelv. Mrs Browning and Miss Proctor may well be classed as poet laureates of woman’s love and constancy. While one wrote from the depths of a heart happy in lhe fuliie s of the one love of a lifetime, the other was jilted by her lover ami is said to have died by slow degrees of a broken heart. In Washington Irving's exquisite sketch. “The Broken Heart.” he says:

“I believe in broken hearts and in the possibility of dying of disappointed love. I do not, however, consider it a

malady often fatal to my own sex. but 1 firmly believe that it withers down many a lovely woman into an early grave.” The balance of proof of strong and irresistible affection, as evidenced by desperate deeds, such, as murder and suicide, is largely upon the masculine side of the ledger. But against this fact may be charged another—namely: that a man may, if he be so disposed, shout his love from the housetops. People may’ consider him a fool and suspect him of lunacy, but since love is not infrequently accounted madness, he will have no such measure of scorn and contumely meted out to him as is the portion of the woman who openly parades an unrequited attachment. Tradition and custom are inflexible in demanding that she shall be silent in such case and hide her wound, however painful. It is as instinctive with a woman, as with a wounded deer, to creep to cover when hurt through the heart. No one can dispute the fact that men often love devoutedly and suffer cruelty’ from the inconstancy’ or heartlessness of women, but fate, here as in many other things, is on their side, and against lhe woman a man has many resources, chief among which is his business, for hard work is a sovereign antidote for mental troubles. He can get away from the familiar places which speak constantly’ of his sorrow, can make himself a new lifep and create a new atmosphere; while the woman, poor soul, must usually ‘“stay’ put,” with no chance of escape from her ghosts nor ability to seek “fresh fields and pastures new.” Woman’s faith and unfaith, man’s unshaken truth, and man’s contemptible treach'ery’, these <urie to-day. as they have been from the beginning, the' never failing theme of poet and romancer, the threads interwoven with all human history, the underlying currents of life and love. Some ships are wrecked and iothers arrive safely’ at their desired haven, and none can prophesy beforehand which shall be saved and which shall be lost. For aught we know to the contrary, Adam and Eve may have disputed the one with the other which gave strongest proof of love, he by eating the apple, with her, that whatever came he might share her lot, or she by refusing to partake of the fruit alone. Yet to all eternity the love which is truest and best is the love which “believeth all things, hopeth all things”; the love which is mutual the two halves of which united make a perfect whole. Those who feel this have never any inclination 'to dissect it in order to weigh the one part against the other. After all is said, the prayer for lovers should be that of Solomon: “Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm, for love is strong as death; jealousy’ is cruel as the grave.” o o o o o