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THE MOCKERY OF MOURNING

Thoughts Upon Outward Signs of Inward Grief Prescribed by Convention.

They Will Disappear Only When Superstition Disappears and We Have More Culture

Why do women wear mourning?

They will reply, without a doubt, in order to make some outward evidence of their inner grief.

But the question arises, if this is so, why do not men also wear it? No one will maintain that they suffer loss than women. Their hearts wear black much oftener than their hat bands do. They used, it is true, to wear it much more in former years than they do now. But at present, mourning is almost exclusively a feminine demonstration, and it is rather interesting, psychologically speaking, to inquire why women should still cling to this ancient custom, while men have almost abjured it.

Anyone who stops to think on the subject for a moment or two, will perceive that men have been the ones always to make progress toward greater spirituality in matters concerning death and burial. For example, it is the men, almost without exception, who are in favor of cremation, that hygienic and economical method of disposing of the dead. But women will have no crematories. They want a grave to weep over. They want a palpable, cold, long, grass-grown grave to put wreaths on, and at which they may sit and remember the virtues of the deceased.

It may be that this is not materialism, but it looks very much like it. Men seldom vein graves, except in the novels of Mrs Augusta Evans.

They had no solace for their woe in the purchasing of cheap flowers -- for women are very apt to exercise economy in these melancholy purchases and generally choose white carnations in preference to roses It is difficult, always, for a woman to be so prodigal that she will forget the limitations of her purse, and even when she purchases the flowery emblem of a broken life, she will pause to inquire the price, and to calculate whether or not she will have enough left over to buy the week's groceries. Of such details must the life of woman be compounded.

Mourning is a hard thing to reconcile with the sense of fitness of a woman who has really loved the person whose death she celebrates in wearing of her solemn garments Supposing, for example, that you had loved one man all your life -- loved him for the first time that you saw him and that you had married him, and that he was the father of your children and your constant companion, and, withall your heart a dearest possession. And suppose that suddenly some day he should die And that you would have to face the fact that henceforth your soul must remain silent -- that it was stricken dumb -- that you must simply wait, through the rest of life, for the day of death, which might -- just possibly, might -- reunite you. And supposing, then, that you swathe yourself in black. You drape your garments in folds suggestive of woe, yards of black hang from the bonnet on your head, you see that every letter you write bears its silent evidence to your life's disaster, and even the pocket handkerchief with which you wipe your nose proclaims the fact that your condition is a sorrowful one. You regulate all these signs with a fine nicety. The width of the hem of your veil is regulated by inexorable fashion; so is the size of the border of black on your handkerchief and your stationery.

The days drag on. Six months pass -- six little months. And what happens? You buy new writing paper with a border of black but half the width of that on which you wrote in the first dread days of your sorrow, you let out the hem of your veil, and divide its width, and you hasten to wear out the handkerchiefs with the wide border, and to get some with a smaller edging of black. For it is unnecessary to say that no woman, however rich, would think of setting aside or throwing away her handkerchiefs, even to oblige the tradition which has set its limit upon the sharpest hours of her grief, and told her when she ought to begin to appreciate the law of compensations No, no woman, in any transport, would throw away good handkerchiefs.

Very well; six more months pass And by Nlobel but gray and lavonder take the place of blackets black! There is a flower in the button hole. One even wears a diamond or two. And a little later, and the costume

THE MOCKERY OF MOURNING

Thoughts Upon Outward Signs of Inward Grief Prescribed by Convention.

They Will Disappear Only When Superstition Disappears and We Have More Culture

Why do women wear mourning?

They will reply, without a doubt, in order to make some outward evidence of their inner grief.

But the question arises, if this is so, why do not men also wear it? No one will maintain that they suffer loss than women. Their hearts wear black much oftener than their hat bands do. They used, it is true, to wear it much more in former years than they do now. But at present, mourning is almost exclusively a feminine demonstration, and it is rather interesting, psychologically speaking, to inquire why women should still cling to this ancient custom, while men have almost abjured it.

Anyone who stops to think on the subject for a moment or two, will perceive that men have been the ones always to make progress toward greater spirituality in matters concerning death and burial. For example, it is the men, almost without exception, who are in favor of cremation, that hygienic and economical method of disposing of the dead. But women will have no crematories. They want a grave to weep over. They want a palpable, cold, long, grass-grown grave to put wreaths on, and at which they may sit and remember the virtues of the deceased.

It may be that this is not materialism, but it looks very much like it. Men seldom vein graves, except in the novels of Mrs Augusta Evans.