The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1919-01-18
,ther days to my dear wife's face"

Father Murphy looked pensive for
moment and then in serious tone:
Il have known you, John, and Mary,
too, from childhood, and was happy
the day joined your hands at the
altar, and so, my boy, though | pain
you, must speak plainly. John, Mary
does not want an expensive fat or a
piano, or a Victrola, or the latest
records, or books, or magazines. What
Mary wants, John, and what Mary
does not get is you and your COM
pany. Consider for a moment her life
and yours. That young woman loves
you, John, with her whole heart, yet
her life is lonely one, because you
are selfish to the core with no thought
of her
"Why, Father Murphy, | selfish with
regard to Mary"
Wait, my boy, and hear me out.
You rise, John, and breakfast about
| 7 o'clock. During the meal Mary must
not interrupt you because you are i'm
mersed in the morning paper There
| is a hurried leave-taking and you are
gone to the office. Till p. M, John,
you are busy. You have change, dis
traction and certain amount of com
partnership and pleasure with friends
at lunch; and all day long, John, that
! young girl is leading lonely life
thinking of you and your comforts.
You return at 600 or $50 for dinner.
She has waited all the long day for
that return and worked hard over that
dinner for your pleasure, yet you tell
her in an off-hand way how nicely
things were prepared for your lunch
at Balloran's, and not a word of ap-
probation of her efforts, not a syllable
about Your business and other inter
ests about which Mary is curious. She
| is a woman and could not understand,
you think, assuming what is false, that
men have the monopoly Of brains. She
is told perhaps to keep the baby quiet,
while you scan the evening paper. On
| the way home you have treated your
self to a cigar, a paper, even a drink.
Do you ever think of treating Mary
| to box of candy or even flower?
After dinner you have got your club
or the evening haunts where you meet
your friends and talk over various
| topics, and Mary is left with the child
| till you come in to retire. Saturday
afternoon finds you at the game of
baseball, and on Sundays at times you
go fishing, and that lonely and loving,
quiet girl, whose heart is yearning for
your company and your conversation,
Of whose company you could not get
enough, when you courted her, is beat
| ing her heart out in solitude. John,
you are boarder at the Flaherty fat,
and Mary's illness is the outcome of
your selfishness, and you regret that
| illness, in part at least, because it
frets the surface of your selfish life.
| What Mary wants, John, is not your
| gifts, not your piano, not. your ex-
lpensively furnished fat. Mary will be
| happy with you, John, in stable, if
you will give her that life and your
love. The happiness of married life,
ords on the Victrola but through the
unSelnSn love OF manly heart.
Say nothing now, my boy, because
you are hurt, but / have said it in
friendship and for your good
John left a wiser man. After few
months Mary's tears had dried, and
the blioyancy had come back to hel
footsteps. The piano was sold even
tually, so that John could have more
room to play Of an evening with hel
and the kids which were coming
fast. There was sweeter music thar
ever came from Victrola or piano, the
laughter of a loving couple and Their
children.
John Fl. o 'Rourks, S. j.. in The Sacred Hea,
Almanac.