Women's Way published in

The Daily Picayune-New Orleans, Sunday, September 23, 1897

Every Day Manners

A Baltimore woman recently brought suit for divorce from her husband, alleging in her bill of complaint's that he had neglected to show her, since their marriage, any of those little courtesies which he had lavished so profusely upon her in the days of courtship. If she wanted a chair she must fetch it herself, he did not remove his hat when with her in an elevator, and when they entered a public conveyance, he preceded her, and left her to scramble in the best that she could, unassisted. In short, he treated her with such boorish rudeness that she found his society unendurable and so prayed the court to deliver her from it. In view of the serious offenses for which divorces are usually asked, a complaint of lack of manners must seem trivial enough, and yet it is doubtful if there is any more dangerous foe to domestic happiness than the lack of common politeness. It is the little things of life that fret and try us. A grain of sand in the shoe becomes, in time, the most unendurable agony. It is easier to forgive and forget a grave sin than it is the constant little rudeness that offend us at every turn and that smart like the sting of a gad fly.

There is nothing more remarkable than the fact that so very few consider it necessary to be polite in their own families. The man who would not for the world have contradicted his sweetheart's wildest statement, does not hesitate to tell his wife she doesn't know what she is talking about, or rudely flash out his impatience on her, if he happens to be angry. How seldom does a women pay attention to her husband's remarks. He tells her his best anecdote, and when he has finished, she asks some question that show her thoughts to have been a thousand miles away, and she has missed the point of his pet joke. Let some intrepid person venture on repeating in the bosom of his family, a story they have heard, and some affectionate and considerate relative may be relied upon the mention the fact that it is a chestnut. The dullest observer can single out the married couples and the brothers and sisters at a theatre by the wearied and bored air they wear, and the stony silence that reigns between them. Evidently neither party thinks it worth while to try to make themselves interesting or agreeable to their "home folks".

Now these brutalities we should never dream of inflicting on an outsider. We should smile at the thrice told tail as if we had never heard it before. If a stranger invites us to go to the theatre with him, we make conversation and exert ourselves to be entertaining, but it doesn't seem worthwhile to put ourselves to any trouble for our own household, or to show them any of the common amenities of good society. Yet home is the very heart of life. It is not strangers who make or mar our happiness, but those to whom we are bound by close ties of blood and relationship.

This Sweet Little Women of Mine

She ain't nay bit of an angel-
This sweet little women o' mine;
She's jest a plain women,
An' purity much human-
This sweet little woman o' mine

For what would I do with an angel
When I looked for the firelight's shine?
When six little sinners
Air wantin' their dinners?
No! Give me this women o' mine!

I've heard lots of women called "angels,"
An lot's o' 'em thought it wus fine;
But give 'em the feathers,
An me in all weathers,
This sweet little women o' mine.
I jest ain't got nothin' agin 'em-
These angels- they're good in their line;
But they're sorter above me!
Thank God that she'll love me-
This sweet little woman o' mine.

(F.L. Stanton, in Chicago Times Harold)