Rensselaer Union, Volume 7, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 February 1875 — Plain-Spoken, Truth-Telling Women. [ARTICLE]

Plain-Spoken, Truth-Telling Women.

Haunting the out-of-the-way places of the world, especially the brains of philosophers, there seems to be an idea that the search for the truth should occupy the whole of the time and talents of humanity ; that all the miseries, from the flood to the present time, are caused by her absence; that the real millennium will dawn on us, not when the wrong shall fail and the right triumph, but when truth shall have come -forth from her secret hiding-places, with all her veils and coverings torn aside, and shall stand in the full light of day, grand, pure and holy, in the might of her own beauty alone, owing nothing to times, places or surroundings; that, standing thus, armed with her Ithuriel spear, she will cause the cloaks to fall from all, and that the vices and failings of each man will be revealed to the eyes of all men, and all men will be benefited thereby. The idea is very pleasing, and the course of reasoning, to a practical mind, is very brief. If truth would be such a glorious thing for an age, it would be an excellent thing in a man; if an excellent thing in a man it would be a delightful trait of character in a woman, When you hear that a certain neighbor of yours is a living example of this great virtue, you think it would be delightful to meet her. From what you have heard of her she must be an extraordinary woman. Her admirers tell you that she is one of the modern Spartans, one who will let no considerations of friendship or hatred swerve her from the path of duty and truth; that an enemy has nothing to lose from her perfect truthfulness; that a friend has everything to gain from it. So you are introduced to her. You were not especially pleased; but then it is impossible to form an opinion at first sight. People who are of any account do not usually show off well. One cannot expect to be dazzled by a creature of such sterling worth. But you think pleasant things of the times when you shall be admitted into the inner sanctuary of her friendship and be strengthened and sweetened by association with such a strong, pure nature. She redeems her promise to call on you, and you admit her into your parlor. The carpet and wall-paper have a decided antipathy toward each other. You knew it long ago, but did not think you could afford either to tear down the one or throw away the other. It has been an eyesore to you from the first; but you tranquilize yourself by the sweet delusion that no one else will notice it. When the bell rings you pull the curtains down in the daytime and turn the gas a little lower in the evening. Your neighbor over the way called. She had the reputation of possessing exquisite taste and unlimited means of gratifying it. You felt a little uneasy; but she was so entertaining that curtains and carpet were both forgotten. Your neighbor on the left called. You knew her pretty well by reputation, and her reputation was that of a hypocrite. You hadn’t the slightest doubt but that she would tell the next person she met that you had horrid taste; and your rooms were as gloomy as a cavern; but she only spoke to you of the pleasure she experienced from finding your house cool and dark, so restful to the eyes and so refreshing. So you readily yielded to the flattery and rather enjoyed the visit. When that truthful woman came you knew that the tortures of the Inquisition would be powerless to make her utter a word concerning you that you would want to contradict; but then she informs you that you have made a bad selection of colors in the room; that a carpet that cost half of what that one did would be much more suitable for your room, if the colors were only in harmony with the walls and curtains ; that the practice of sitting in a half-darkened room is very injurious to the eyes. You knew all this before, but it never annoyed you so much as now, and all your anticipated pleasure from the visit Is gone. You return the call. She tells you that you laughed too loud; but, then, you were having a good time and forgot yourself for a moment only. She sees all the defects in your toilet, and tells you of each of them. You always knew that a true friend is one who tells you your faults. It was your first copy, commenced with an enormous A, in your first copy-book; it was the theme of your last essay at school; it was the corner-stone of all your Spanish castles dedicated to friendship in after years; but somehow you are not quite prepared to enjoy the reality as you thought you should, and you leave the house, leaving all your mirth within; no danger of laughing too loud now. The world has suddenly grown very disagreeable and gloomy, and you go home out of humor with yourself and everybody else. Go shopping with het, you don’t like the goods shown you, but make some timid excuse for not purchasing. She tells the salesman tifht his goods are entirely too high; she could buy the same article at one-third the price over the way; that he had better get in a new stock of goods, for he had actually nothing worth carrying home. So you meekly follow hei- from the store, feeling that the salesman regards you as his natural enemy for causing him to receive undeserved insult, and that she regards you as an arch-hypocrite for not telling the full truth about the matter in the first place. Invite her to tea, she will tell you that there is a heavy streak in your cake. You wanted it extra nice, and put in too much butter; but she sees only that heavy streak, and pays no attention to the other side of the question. She asks your friend if her cousin is keeping any straighter now, and gives her views of such conduct as he indulges in. You look all sorts at her; she proceeds, nothing daunted. You afterward remonstrate with her. In vain you tell her that your other friend is not responsible for the sins of her family, ' even unto the third and fourth generation; but she utterly crushes you by saying,that she speaks only the truth—no one should be ashamed of that. You call on some one to play. You probably knew that the

girl was not a finished musician—more than likely not a half-finished one; but she is a kindly little body, who likes to play, and would feel hurt if she were not asked to do so. After the usual preliminaries she consents, and naturally expects a little praise. It would not require much of an effort to thank her and praise the piece a little; but your truth-telling friend tells her that the music is altogether too difficult for her; that she is sadly in need of practice; and a whole day’s pleasure is marred for one who was trying to please others. You wonder how it happens that people who pride themselves in saying just -what they think, never think anything pleasant. You regret that all persons who do say kindly things are deceivers; but you rather like them best, with all their faults. You come to the conclusion that philosophers, who, as a rule, live some hundreds of years hence, are not always the safest, and by no means the pleasantest, guides for the present. The theories that look the best on paper are often so unsatisfactory when reduced to practice. Truth may be a blessed thing in-the Millennium, when poor humanity has gotten over its faults, and is sufficiently exalted to be able to overlook the little annoyances of life; but she is a little too much for us now. Truth has been crushed to earth too long not to have received many unsightly scars, and the veils and draperies she now wears are saving us from an unpleasant spectacle. False women may betray us; but we enjoyed their friendship while believing them true. Gat-like women may have deceived us; but they purred before they scratched. But it remains for that truthtelling woman to distress and annoy us in season and out of season without any possibility of escaping her, pnd without ever receiving any recompense for the continued miseries she constantly inflicts.— “ Ruth," in Chicago Tribune.