AND first, let us speak to the young husband, in the words of the
author of that excellent little volume, "A Whisper to a
Newly-Married Pair."
'Earnestly endeavour to obtain among your acquaintance the character
of a good husband; and abhor that would-be wit, which I have
sometimes seen practised among men of the world—a kind of coarse
jesting on the bondage of the married state, and a laugh at the
shackles which a wife imposes. On the contrary, be it your pride
to exhibit to the world that sight on which the wise man passes such
an encomium: Beautiful before God and men are a man and his wife
that agree together. (Ecclus. xxv, 10)
Make it an established rule to consult your wife on all occasions.
Your interest is hers: and undertake no plan contrary to her
advice and approbation. Independent of better motives, what a
responsibility does it free you from! for, if the affair turn out
ill, you are spared reproaches both from her and from your own
feelings. But the fact is, she who ought to have most influence on
her husband's mind, is often precisely the person who has least; and
a man will frequently take the advice of a stranger who cares not
for him nor his interest, in preference to the cordial and sensible
opinion of his wife. A due consideration of the domestic evils such
a line of conduct is calculated to produce, might, one would think,
of itself be sufficient to prevent its adoption; but, independent of
these, policy should influence you; for there is in woman an
intuitive quickness, a sagacity, a penetration, and a foresight into
the probable consequences of an event, that make her peculiarly
calculated to give her opinion and advice.—"If I was making up a
plan of consequences," said the great Lord Bolingbroke, "I should
like first to consult with a sensible woman."
Have you any male acquaintance, whom, on reasonable grounds, your
wife wishes you to resign? Why should you hesitate? Of what
consequence can be the civilities, or even the friendship, of any
one, compared with the wishes of her with whom you have to spend
your life—whose comfort you have sworn to attend to; and who has a
right to demand, not only such a trifling compliance, but great
sacrifices, if necessary?
Never witness a tear from your wife with apathy or indifference.
Words, looks, actions—all may be artificial; but a tear is
unequivocal; it comes direct from the heart, and speaks at once
the language of truth, nature, and sincerity! Be assured, when, you
see a tear on her cheek, her heart is touched; and do not, I again
repeat it, do not behold it with coldness or insensibility!
It is very unnecessary to say that contradiction is to be avoided at
all times: but when in the presence of others, be most particularly
watchful. A look, or word, that perhaps, in reality, conveys no
angry meaning, may at once lead people to think that their presence
alone restrains the eruption of a discord, which probably has no
existence whatsoever.
Some men, who are married to women of inferior fortune or connexion,
will frequently have the meanness to upbraid them with the
disparity. My good sir, allow me to ask what was your motive in
marrying? Was it to oblige or please your wife? No, truly; it was
to oblige and please yourself, your own dear self. Had she refused
to marry you, you would have been (in lover's phrase) a very
miserable man. Did you never tell her so? Therefore, really, instead
of upbraiding her, you should be very grateful to her for rescuing
you from such an unhappy fate.
It is particularly painful to a woman, whenever her husband is
unkind enough to say a lessening or harsh word of any member of her
family: invectives against herself are not half so wounding.
Should illness, or suffering of any kind, assail your wife, your
tenderness and attention are then peculiarly called for; and if she
be a woman of sensibility, believe me, a look of love, a word of
pity or sympathy, will, at times, have a better effect than the
prescriptions of her physicians.
Perhaps some calamity, peculiarly her own, may befall her. She may
weep over the death of some dear relative or friend; or her spirits
and feelings may be affected by various circumstances. Remember that
your sympathy, tenderness, and attention, on such occasions, are
particularly required.
A man would not, on any account, take up a whip, or a stick, and
beat his wife; but he will, without remorse, use to her language
which strikes much deeper to her heart than the lash of any whip he
could make use of. "He would not, for the world," says an ingenious
writer, "cut her with a knife, but he will, without the least
hesitation, cut her with his tongue."
I have known some unfeeling husbands, who have treated their
luckless wives with unvaried and unremitting unkindness, till
perhaps the arrival of their last illness, and who then became all
assiduity and attention. Bat when that period approaches, their
remorse, like the remorse of a murderer, is felt too late; the die
is cast; and kindness or unkindness can be of little consequence to
the poor victim, who only waits to have her eyes closed in the long
sleep of death!
Perhaps your wife may be destitute of youth and beauty, or other
superficial attractions, which distinguish many of her sex: should
this be the case, remember many a plain face conceals a heart of
exquisite sensibility and merit; and her consciousness of the defect
makes her peculiarly awake to the slightest attention or inattention
from you: and just for a moment reflect—
"What is the blooming tincture of the skin,
To peace of mind and harmony within?
What the bright sparkling of the finest eye,
To the soft soothing of a calm reply?
Can loveliness of form, or look, or air,
With loveliness of words or deeds compare?
No: those at first the unwary heart may gain;
But these, these only, can the heart retain."
Your wife, though a gentle, amiable creature, may be deficient in mental
endowments, and destitute of fancy or sentiment; and you, perhaps a man
of taste and talents, are inclined to think lightly of her. This is
unjust, unkind and unwise. It is not, believe me, the woman most gifted
by nature, or most stored with literary knowledge, who always makes the
most comfortable wife; by no, means: your gentle, amiable helpmate may
contribute much more to your happiness, more to the regularity, economy,
and discipline of your houses and may make your children a much better
mother, than many a brilliant dame who could trace, with Moore, Scott,
and Byron, every line on the map of taste and sentiment, and descant on
the merits and demerits of poetry, as if she had just arrived fresh from
the neighbourhood of Parnassus.
Should your wife be a woman of sense, worth, and cultivation, yet not
very expert at cutting out a shirt, or making paste, pies, and puddings
(though I would not by any means undervalue this necessary part of
female knowledge, or tolerate ignorance in my sex respecting them), yet
pray, my good sir, do not, on this account only, show discontent and
ill-humour towards her. If she is qualified to be your bosom friend, to
advise, to comfort, and to soothe you;—if she can instruct your
children, enliven your fireside by her conversation, and receive and
entertain your friends in a manner which pleases and gratifies you;—be
satisfied: we cannot expect to meet in a wife, or indeed in any one,
exactly all we could wish. "I can easily," says a sensible friend of
mine, "hire a woman to make my linen and dress my dinner, but I cannot
so readily procure a friend and companion for myself, and a
preceptress for my children." The remark was called forth by his
mentioning that he had heard a gentleman, the day before, finding fault
with his wife, an amiable, sensible well-informed woman, because she was
not clever at pies, puddings, and needle-work! On the other hand, should
she be sensible, affectionate, amiable, domestic, yet prevented by
circumstances in early life from obtaining much knowledge of books, or
mental cultivation, do not therefore think lightly of her; still
remember she is your companion, the friend in whom you may confide at
all times, and from whom you may obtain counsel and comfort.
Few women are insensible of tender treatment; and I believe the number
of those is small indeed who would not recompense it with the most
grateful returns. They are naturally frank and affectionate; and, in
general, there is nothing but austerity of look and distance of
behaviour, that can prevent those amiable qualities from being evinced
on every occasion. There are, probably, but few men who have not
experienced, during the intervals of leisure and reflection, a
conviction of this truth. In the hour of absence and of solitude, who
has not felt his heart cleaving to the wife of his bosom? who has not
been, at some seasons; deeply impressed with a sense of her amiable
disposition and demeanour, of her unwearied endeavours to promote and
perpetuate his happiness, and of its being his indispensable duty to
show, by the most unequivocal expressions of attachment and of
tenderness, his full approbation of her assiduity and faithfulness? But
lives not he that has often returned to his habitation fully determined
to requite the kindness he has constantly experienced, yet,
notwithstanding, has beheld the woman of his heart joyful at his
approach without even attempting to execute his purpose?—who has still
withheld the rewards of esteem and affection; and, from some motive, the
cause of which I never could develop, shrunk from the task of duty, and
repressed those soft emotions which might have gladdened the breast of
her that was ever anxious to please, always prompt to anticipate his
desires, and eager to contribute everything that affection could
suggest, or diligence perform, in order to promote and perpetuate his
felicity?
When absent, let your letters to your wife be warm and affectionate. A
woman's heart is peculiarly formed for tenderness; and every expression
of endearment from the man she loves is flattering and pleasing to her.
With pride and pleasure does she dwell on each assurance of his
affection: and, surely, it is a cold, unmanly thing to deprive her
virtuous heart of such a cheap and easy mode of gratifying it. But,
really, a man should endeavour not only for an affectionate, but an
agreeable manner of writing to his wife. I remember hearing a lady say,
"When my husband writes to me, if he can at all glean out any little
piece of good news, or pleasing intelligence, he is sure to mention it."
Another lady used to remark, "My husband does not intend to give me
pain, or to say anything unpleasant when he writes; and yet, I don't
know how it is, but I never received a letter from him, that I did not,
when I finished it, feel comfortless and dissatisfied."
I really think a husband, whenever he goes from home, should always
endeavour, if possible, to bring back some little present to his wife.
If ever so trifling or valueless, still the attention gratifies her; and
to call forth a smile of good-humour should be always a matter of
importance.
Every one who knows anything of the human mind, agrees in acknowledging
the power of trifles, in imparting either pain or pleasure. One of our
best writers, speaking on this subject, introduces the following sweet
lines:—
"Since trifles make the sum of human things,
And half our misery from those trifles springs,
O! let the ungentle spirit learn from thence,
A small unkindness is a great offence.
To give rich gifts perhaps we wish in vain,
But all may shun the guilt of giving pain."
So much of happiness and comfort in the wedded life depends upon the
wife, that we cannot too often nor too earnestly engage her thoughts
on the subject of her duties. Duty, to some, is a cold, repulsive
word, but only in the discharge of duties that appertain to each
condition in life, is happiness ever secured. From the "Whisper" we
copy again:—
'Endeavour to make your husband's habitation alluring and delightful
to him. Let it be to him a sanctuary to which his heart may always
turn from the ills and anxieties of life. Make it a repose from his
cares, a shelter from the world, a home not for his person only,
but for his heart. He may meet with pleasure in other houses,
but let him find happiness in his own. Should he be dejected,
soothe him; should he be silent and thoughtful, or even peevish,
make allowances for the defects of human nature, and, by your
sweetness, gentleness, and good humour, urge him continually to
think, though he may not say it, "This woman is indeed a comfort
to me. I cannot but love her, and requite such gentleness and
affection as they deserve."
I know not two female attractions so captivating to men as delicacy
and modesty. Let not the familiar intercourse which marriage
produces, banish such powerful charms. On the contrary, this very
familiarity should be your strongest incitement in endeavouring to
preserve them; and, believe, me, the modesty so pleasing in the
bride, may always, in a great degree, be supported by the wife.
"If possible, let your husband suppose you think him a good
husband and it will be a strong stimulus to his being so. As long as
he thinks he possesses the character, he will take some pains to
deserve it: but when he has once lost the name, he will be very apt
to abandon the reality altogether." I remember at one time being
acquainted with a lady who was married to a very worthy man.
Attentive to all her comforts and wishes, he was just what the world
calls a very good husband; and yet his manner to his wife was cold
and comfortless, and he was constantly giving her heart, though
never her reason, cause to complain of him. But she was a woman of
excellent sense, and never upbraided him. On the contrary, he had
every cause for supposing she thought him the best husband in the
world; and the consequence was, that instead of the jarring and
discord which would have been inevitably produced had she been in
the habit of finding fault with him, their lives passed on in
uninterrupted peace.
I know not any attraction which renders a woman at all times so
agreeable to her husband, as cheerfulness or good humour. It
possesses the powers ascribed to magic: it gives charms where charms
are not; and imparts beauty to the plainest face. Men are naturally
more thoughtful and more difficult to amuse and please than women.
Full of cares and business, what a relaxation to a man is the
cheerful countenance and pleasant voice of the gentle mistress of
his home! On the contrary, a gloomy, dissatisfied manner is a poison
of affection; and though a man may not seem to notice it, it is
chilling and repulsive to his feelings, and he will be very apt to
seek elsewhere for those smiles and that cheerfulness which he finds
not in his own house.
In the article of dress, study your husband's taste, and endeavour
to wear what he thinks becomes you best. The opinion of others on
this subject is of very little consequence, if he approves.
Make yourself as useful to him as you can, and let him see you
employed as much as possible in economical avocations.
At dinner, endeavour to have his favourite dish dressed and served
up in the manner he likes best. In, observing such trifles as these,
believe me, gentle lady, you study your own comfort just as much as
his.
Perhaps your husband may occasionally bring home an unexpected guest
to dinner. This is not at all times convenient. But beware, gentle
lady, beware of frowns. Your fare at dinner may be scanty, but make
up for the deficiency by smiles and good humour. It is an old
remark, "Cheerfulness in the host is always the surest and most
agreeable mode of welcome to the guest." Perhaps, too, unseasonable
visiters may intrude, or some one not particularly welcome may come
to spend a few days with you. Trifling as these circumstances may
be, they require a command of feeling and temper: but remember, as
you journey on, inclination must be continually sacrificed; and
recollect also, that the true spirit of hospitality lies (as an
old writer remarks), not in giving great dinners and sumptuous
entertainments, but in receiving with kindness and cheerfulness
those who come to you, and those who want your assistance.
Endeavour to feel pleased with your husband's bachelor friends. It
always vexes and disappoints a man when his wife finds fault with
his favourites—the favourites and companions of his youth, and
probably those to whom he is bound not only by the ties of
friendship, but by the cords of gratitude.
Encourage in your husband a desire for reading aloud at night. When
the window curtains are drawn, the candles lighted, and you are all
seated after tea round the fire, how can his time be better
employed? You have your work to occupy you: he has nothing to do
but to sit and to think; and perhaps to think too that this family
scene is extremely stupid. Give interest to the monotonous hour, by
placing in his hand some entertaining but useful work. The pleasure
which you derive from it will encourage him to proceed; while
remarks on the pages will afford improving and animating topics for
conversation.
Is he fond of music? When an appropriate moment occurs, sit down
with cheerfulness to your piano or harp; recollect the airs that are
wont to please him most, and indulge him by playing those favourite
tunes. Tell me, gentle lady, when was your time at this
accomplishment so well devoted? While he was your lover, with what
readiness, and in your very best manner, would you touch the chords;
and on every occasion what pains did you take to captivate! And now
that he is become your husband (me thinks at this moment I see a
blush mantling in your cheek), now that he is your husband, has
pleasing him become a matter of indifference to you?
Particularly shun what the world calls in ridicule, "Curtain
lectures." When you both enter your room at night, and shut to your
door, endeavour to shut out at the same moment all discord and
contention, and look on your chamber as a retreat from the vexations
of the world, a shelter sacred to peace and affection.
I cannot say I much approve of man and wife at all times opening
each other's letters. There is more, I think, of vulgar familiarity
in this than of delicacy or confidence. Besides, a sealed letter is
sacred; and every one likes to have the first reading of his or her
own letters.
Perhaps your husband may be fond of absenting himself from home, and
giving to others that society which you have a right to expect:
clubs, taverns, &c., &c., may be his favourite resort. In this case
it may perhaps be necessary to have recourse to mild reasoning; but
never—I again repeat—never to clamorous dispute. And the fonder he
seems of quitting his home, the greater should be your effort to
make yourself and your fireside agreeable to him. This may appear a
difficult task; but I recommend nothing that I have not myself seen
successfully practised. I once knew a lady who particularly studied
her husband's character and disposition; and I have seen her, when
he appeared sullen, fretful, and inclined to go out, invite a
friend, or perhaps a few friends, to spend the evening, prepare for
him at dinner the dish she knew he liked best, and thus, by her
kind, cheerful manner, make him forget the peevishness which had
taken possession of him. Believe it from me, and let it take deep
root, gentle lady, in your mind, that a good-humoured deportment, a
comfortable fireside, and a smiling countenance, will do more
towards keeping your husband at home than a week's logic on the
subject.
Is he fond of fishing, fowling, &c.? When those amusements do not
interfere with business or matters of consequence, what harm can
result from them? Strive then to enter into his feelings with regard
to the pleasure which they seem to afford him, and endeavour to feel
interested in his harmless accounts and chat respecting them. Let
his favourite dog be your favourite also; and do not with a surly
look, as I have seen some wives put on, say, in his hearing, "That
Cato, or Rover, or Ranger, is the most troublesome dog and the
greatest pest in the world."
If the day he goes out on these rural expeditions be cold or wet, do
not omit having his shirt and stockings aired for him at the
fireside. Such little attentions never fail to please; and it is
well worth your while to obtain good humour by such easy efforts.
Should he be obliged to go to some distant place or foreign land, at
once and without indecision, if circumstances render it at all
practicable, let your determination be made in the beautiful and
expressive language of Scripture: Entreat me not to leave thee, nor
to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will
go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my
people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there
will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but
death part thee and me. (Ruth i. 16, 17.) If his lot be
comfortless, why not lessen those discomforts by your society? and
if pleasure and gayety await him, why leave him exposed to the
temptations which pleasure and gayety produce? A woman never appears
in so respectable a light, never to no much advantage, as when under
the protection of her husband.
Even occasional separations between man and wife I am no friend to,
when they can be avoided. It is not to your advantage, believe me,
gentle lady, to let him see how well he can do without you. You may
probably say, "Absence is at times unavoidable." Granted: I only
contend such intervals of absence should be short, and occur as
seldom as possible.
Perhaps it may be your luckless lot to be united to an unkind
husband—a man who cares not whether he pleases or displeases,
whether you are happy or unhappy. If this be the case, hard is your
fate, gentle lady, very hard! But the die is cast; and you must
carefully remember that no neglect of duty on his part can give a
legitimate sanction to a failure of duty on yours. The sacredness
of those ties which bind you as a wife remain equally strong and
heavy, whatever be the conduct of your husband; and galling as the
chain may be, you must only endeavour for resignation to bear it,
till the Almighty, by lightening it, pleases to crown your
gentleness and efforts with success.
When at the Throne of Grace (I address you as a religious woman), be
fervent and persevering in your prayers for your husband; and by
your example endeavour to allure him to that heaven towards which
you are yourself aspiring: that, if your husband obey not the
word, as the sacred writer says, he may, without the word, be won
by the conversation (or conduct) of the wife.
Your husband, perhaps, may be addicted to gambling, horse-racing,
drinking, &c. These are serious circumstances; and mild
remonstrances must be occasionally used to oppose them; but do not
let your argument rise to loud or clamorous disputing. Manage your
opponent like a skilful general, and constantly watching the
appropriate moment for retreat. To convince without irritating,
is one of the most difficult as well as most desirable points of
argument. Perhaps this may not be in your power: at all events, make
the attempt, first praying to God for direction, and then leaving to
him the result.
Or, gentle lady, you may, perhaps, be united to a man of a most
uncongenial mind, who, though a very good sort of husband, differs
from you in every sentiment. What of this? You must only make the
best of it. Look around. Numbers have the same and infinitely worse
complaints to make; and, truly, when we consider what real misery
there is in the world, it seems the height of folly fastidiously and
foolishly to refine away our happiness, by allowing such worthless
trifles to interfere with our comfort.
There are very few husbands so bad as to be destitute of good
qualities, and probably, very decided ones. Let the wife search out
and accustom herself to dwell on those good qualities, and let her
treat her own errors, not her husband's, with severity. I have
seldom known a dispute between man and wife in which faults on both
sides were not conspicuous; and really it is no wonder; for we are
so quick-sighted to the imperfections of others, so blind and
lenient to our own, that in cases of discord and contention, we
throw all the blame on the opposite party, and never think of
accusing ourselves. In general, at least, this is the case.
I was lately acquainted with a lady, whose manner to her husband
often attracted my admiration. Without appearing to do so, she would
contrive to lead to those subjects in which he appeared to most
advantage. Whenever he spoke, she seemed to listen as if what he was
saying was of importance. And if at any time she differed from him
in opinion, it was done so gently as scarcely to be perceived even
by himself. She was quite as well informed (perhaps more so) and as
sensible as himself, and yet she always appeared to think him
superior in every point. On all occasions she would refer to him,
asking his opinion, and appearing to receive information at the very
moment, perhaps, she was herself imparting it. The consequence was,
there never was a happier couple, and I am certain he thought her
the most superior woman in the world.
I repeat, it is amazing how trifles—the most insignificant
trifles—even a word, even a look,—yes, truly, a look, a
glance—completely possess the power, at times, of either pleasing,
or displeasing. Let this sink deep into your mind: remember, that to
endeavour to keep a husband in constant good humour is one of the
first duties of a wife.
Perhaps, on some occasion or other, in the frolic of the moment,
without in the least degree intending to annoy you, your husband may
toy, and laugh, and flirt, while in company, with some pretty girl
present. This generally makes a wife look foolish; and it would be
as well, nay, much better, if he did not do so. But let not a shade
of ill humour cross your brow, nor even by a glance give him or any
one present, reason to think his behaviour annoys you. Join in the
laugh and chat, and be not outdone in cheerfulness and good humour
by any of the party. But remember, gentle lady, there must be no
acting in this affair: the effort must extend to your mind as
well as your manner; and a moment's reasoning on the subject will
at once restore the banished sunshine. The incomparable Leighton
says, "The human heart is like a reservoir of clear water, at the
bottom of which lies a portion of mud: stir the mud, and the water
gets all sullied. In like manner does some strong passion or peevish
feeling rise in the heart, and stain and darken it as the mud does
the water." But should there be a prospect of your husband often
meeting with this lady in question, endeavour at once to break off
the intimacy by bringing forward some pretext consistent with truth
(for to truth everything must be sacrificed), such as, You do not
like her; The intimacy is not what you would wish, &c. Never,
however, avow the real reason: it will only produce discord, and
make your husband think you prone to jealousy—a suspicion a woman
cannot too carefully guard against. And there is often in men an
obstinacy which refuses to be conquered of all beings in the world
by a wife. A jealous wife (such is the erroneous opinion of the
ill-judging world) is generally considered a proper subject for
ridicule; and a woman ought assiduously to conceal from her husband,
more than from any one else, any feeling of the kind. Besides, after
all, gentle lady, your suspicions may be totally groundless; and
you may possibly be tormenting yourself with a whole train of
imaginary evils. As you value your peace, then, keep from you, if
possible, all such vexatious apprehensions, and remember, a man can
very ill bear the idea of being suspected of inconstancy even when
guilty; but when innocent, it is intolerable to him.'
Dr. Boardman, in his excellent "Hints on Domestic Happiness," has
uttered a timely warning against the depraving influence of Clubs,
to which some young married men resort, to their own injury and the
destruction of domestic peace.
'I have to do, at present,' he says, 'with certain "avocations and
habits which contravene the true idea of home, and are prejudicial
to domestic happiness." I have spoken at some length, in this view,
of a life of fashionable dissipation, particularly in its influence
upon the female sex. The whole range of public amusements might
fairly be considered as within the sweep of my subject; but there is
one topic which it will not do to pass by. Equal justice ought, in a
series of lectures like this, to be meted out to both sexes; and I
feel bound to say a few words in respect to CLUBS.
One reason why I do this ha's been given. A second is, that in so
far as large cities are concerned, one can hardly sever the mental
association which links together Clubs and domestic happiness—or
unhappiness. I bring against these institutions no wholesale
denunciation. I neither say nor believe that all who belong to them
are men of profligate character. I cannot doubt that they comprise
individuals not only of high social standing, but of great personal
worth. But in dealing with the institutions themselves, I must be
permitted to express the conviction that they are unfavourable to
the culture of the domestic affections, and hurtful to the morals
and manners of society. That this is the common opinion respecting
them is beyond a question. Of the respectable people who pass by any
fashionable Club-House in an evening, the thoughts of a very large
proportion are probably directed, for the moment, with the most
intensity, to the homes of its tenantry, with the feeling, "Those
would be happier homes if this establishment were out of the way."
The mildest conception of these associations which any one can
insist upon, is that given by Mr. Addison, who says, "Our modern
celebrated Clubs are founded upon eating and drinking, which are
points wherein most men agree, and in which the learned and the
illiterate, the dull and the airy, the philosopher and the buffoon,
can all of them bear a part." They must be greatly scandalized if
billiards and cards do not enter as largely into the recreations
they supply, as eating and drinking. There must be some potent
attractions which can draw a set of gentlemen away from all other
scenes and engagements, domestic and social, moral and religious,
literary and political, and hold them together to a late hour, for
many nights in succession. If it is social reading, the authors they
read may well be flattered with the honours paid them. If it is
conversation,
"The feast of reason and the flow of soul."
the talkers must have rare conversational powers. If it is politics,
the country must have zealous patriots among her sons. If it is
science, no wonder that under the pressure of this prodigious
research, the lightning lends its wings to knowledge, that the
subjugated earth hastens to reveal its deep arcana to mortal eyes,
and that planet after planet should come forth out of the
unfathomable abyss of space, and submit to be measured, and weighed,
and chronicled, as their older sisters have been. But this is going
too far even for the charity which "believeth all things." Those who
have never been initiated into the penetralia of these
institutions, know enough of them to be satisfied that they are not
precisely schools of science—or, if they are, that the sciences
they exult in, are not those which soar towards heaven, but those
which have to do with the auriferous bowels of the earth, and the
full-fed cattle upon its surface.
To come more directly to the point, the allegation made against
these Clubs—made in the name of ten thousand injured wives and
mothers and children—is, that they become a sort of RIVAL HOME to
the home they occupy; that the influence they exert over their
members, loosens their domestic ties, indisposes them to their
domestic duties, and not unfrequently seduces them into habits of
intemperance and gambling. The clients I represent in this argument
contend that they are an unnecessary institution—that where
gentlemen wish to associate together for literary purposes, there
are always within their reach lyceums, athenaeums, libraries, and
societies without number; and that as to a social relaxation, it can
be had without setting up a quasi-monastery. They urge with truth
that any course of social amusements pursued systematically and
earnestly by a combination of gentlemen, to the exclusion of ladies,
will as really tend to impair, as the companionship of cultivated
women does to refine, the manners, and the sensibilities of the
heart; that, as a matter of fact, those who become addicted to these
coarser pleasures, lose their relish for the best female society;
and that the old home sinks in their esteem, as the new one rises.
These charges, which cannot be gainsayed, bear not only upon married
men, but young men; for the tastes and habits fostered by the Clubs,
are precisely those which go to alienate them from the paternal
roof, and to unfit them to become heads of families.
After noting down my own reflections on this subject, I met with
some observations upon it by an eminent female writer (the best
writer, probably, that sex has produced), which one portion of my
hearers, as least, will thank me for quoting: they are graphic,
forcible, and suggestive: "The Clubs generate and cherish luxurious
habits, from their perfect ease, undress, liberty, and inattention
to the distinctions of rank; they promote a love of play, and, in
short, every temper and spirit which tends to undomesticate; and
what adds to the mischief is, all this is attained at a cheap rate
compared with what may be procured at home in the same style. A
young man in such an artificial state of society, accustomed to the
voluptuous ease, refined luxuries, soft accommodations, obsequious
attendance, and all the unrestrained indulgences of a fashionable
Club, is not to be expected after marriage to take very cordially to
a home, unless very extraordinary exertions are made to amuse, to
attach, and to interest him; and he is not likely to lend a helping
hand to the union, whose most laborious exertions have hitherto been
little more than a selfish stratagem to reconcile health with
pleasure. Excess of gratification has only served to make him
irritable and exacting; it will, of course, be no part of his
project to make sacrifices—he will expect to receive them; and,
what would appear incredible to the Paladins of gallant times, and
the Chevaliers Preux of more heroic days, even in the necessary
business of establishing himself for life, he sometimes is more
disposed to expect attentions than to make advances." "These
indulgences, and this habit of mind, gratify so many passions, that
a woman can never hope successfully to counteract the evil by
supplying at home, gratifications which are of the same kind, or
which gratify the same habits. Now a passion for gratifying vanity,
and a spirit of dissipation, is a passion of the same kind; and,
therefore, though for a few weeks, a man who has chosen his wife in
the public haunts of fashion, and this wife a woman made up of
accomplishments, may, from the novelty of the connexion and of the
scene, continue domestic; yet, in a little time she will find that
those passions to which she has trusted for making pleasant the
married life of her husband, will crave the still higher pleasures
of the Club; and while these are pursued, she will be consigned over
to solitary evenings at home, or driven back to the old
dissipations."
If there is any real foundation for these strictures, it cannot
excite your surprise that in vindicating the domestic constitution,
these associations should be arraigned and condemned as tending to
counteract its beneficent operation. The Family is a divine
ordinance. It is God's institution for training men. It is vitally
connected with the destinies of individuals and nations. Whatever
interferes, therefore, with its legitimate influence, must be
criminal in God's sight, and a great social evil. On this ground,
Clubs are to be reprobated. They are unfavourable to the domestic
virtues. They make no man a better husband or father, a better son
or brother. If some have mixed in them without being contaminated,
this is more than can be said of all. They have inspired many a man
with a disrelish for his home; have made many a young wife water her
couch with tears; and kept many a widowed mother walking her
parlours in lonely anguish till after midnight, awaiting the return
of her wayward son from the card-table. Does it become a community,
who would guard their homes as they do their altars, because they
know their altars will not long be worth guarding if their homes are
desecrated to encourage CLUBS?
The following should be read by every woman in the country, married
or unmarried—yes, it should be committed to memory and repeated
three times a day, for it contains more truth than many volumes that
have been written on the subject:—
'How often we hear a man say, I am going to California, Australia,
or somewhere else. You ask him the reason of his going away, and the
answer is, in nine cases out of ten, I am not happy at home. I have
been unfortunate in business, and I have made up my mind to try my
luck in California. The world seems to go against me. While fortune
favoured me, there were those whom I thought to be my friends, but
when the scale turned, they also turned the cold shoulder against
me. My wife, she that should have been the first to have stood by
me, and encourage me, was first to point the finger of scorn and
say, "It is your own fault; why has this or that one been so
fortunate? If you had attended to your business as they have, you
would not be where you are now." These and other like insinuations,
often drive a man to find other society, other pleasures, in
consequence of being unhappy at home. He may have children that he
loves, he cannot enjoy life with them as he would; he may love them
as dearly as ever; yet home is made unpleasant in consequence of
that cold indifference of the wife. Now, I would say to all such
wives, sisters, and in fact, all females, deal gently with him that
is in trouble; remember that he is very easily excited. A little
word, carelessly thrown out, may inflict a wound time never can
heal. Then be cautious; a man is but human—therefore he is liable
to err. If you see him going wrong, ever meet him with a smile, and
with the kiss of affection; show that you love him by repeated acts
of kindness; let your friendship be unbounded; try to beguile his
unhappy hours in pleasant conversation. By so doing, you may save
yourself and children from an unhappy future.
When a man is in trouble, it is but a little word that may ruin him;
it is but a little word that may save him.'
Marriage, says Jeremy Taylor, is the proper scene of piety and
patience; of the duty of parents and the charity of relations. Here
kindness is spread abroad, and love is united and made firm as a
centre. Marriage is the nursery of Heaven. The virgin sends prayers
to God, but she carries but one soul to him; but the state of
marriage fills up the numbers of the elect, and hath in it the
labour of love and the delicacies of friendship, the blessing of
society, and the union of hands and hearts. It hath in it less of
beauty but more of safety than the single life; it hath more ease
but less danger; it is more merry and more sad; it is fuller of
sorrows and fuller of joys; it lies under more burdens, but is
supported by all the strengths of love and charity, and those
burdens are delightful. Marriage is the mother of the world, and
preserves kingdoms, and fills cities and churches, and Heaven
itself. Celibole, like the fly in the heart of an apple, dwells in
perpetual sweetness, but sits alone, and is confined and dies in
singularity; but marriage, like the useful bee, builds a house, and
gathers sweetness from every flower, and labours and unites into
societies and republics, and sends out colonies, and feeds the world
with delicacies, and obeys their king, and keeps order, and
exercises many virtues, and promotes the interest of mankind, and is
that state of good things to which God hath designed the present
constitution of the world.
The every-day married lady is the inventor of a thing which few
foreign nations have as yet adopted either in their houses or
languages. This thing is "comfort." The word cannot well be defined;
the items that enter into its composition being so numerous, that a
description would read like a catalogue. We all understand however
what it means, although few of us are sensible of the source of the
enjoyment. A widower has very little comfort, and a bachelor, none
at all—while a married man, provided his wife be an every-day
married lady—enjoys it in perfection. But he enjoys it
unconsciously, and therefore ungratefully; it is a thing of
course—a necessary, a right, of the want of which he complains
without being distinctly sensible of its presence. Even when it
acquires sufficient intensity to arrest his attention, when his
features and his heart soften, and he looks round with a half smile
on his face, and says, "This is comfort!" it never occurs to him to
inquire where it all comes from. His every-day wife is sitting
quietly in the corner; it was not she who lighted the fire, or
dressed the dinner, or drew the curtains; and it never occurs to him
to think that all these, and a hundred other circumstances of the
moment, owe their virtue to her spiriting; and that the comfort
which enriches the atmosphere, which sparkles in the embers, which
broods in the shadowy parts of the room, which glows in his own full
heart, emanates from her, and encircles her like an aureola.
When once a woman is married, when once she has enlisted among the
matrons of the land; let not her fancy dream of perpetual
admiration; let her not be sketching out endless mazes of pleasure.
The mistress of a family has ceased to be a girl. She can no
longer be frivolous or childish with impunity. The angel of
courtship has sunk into a woman; and that woman will be valued
principally as her fondness lies in retirement, and her pleasures in
the nursery of her children. And woe to the mother who is obliged to
abandon her children during the greater part of the day to
hirelings—no, not obliged; for there is no duty so imperious, no
social convenience or fashionable custom so commanding, as to oblige
her to such shameful neglect: for maternal care, let her remember,
supercedes all other duties.
In the matrimonial character which you have now assumed, gentle
lady, no longer let your fancy wander to scenes of pleasure or
dissipation. Let home be now your empire, your world! Let
home be now the sole scene of your wishes, your thoughts, your
plans, your exertions. Let home be now the stage on which, in the
varied character of wife, of mother, and of mistress, you strive to
act and shine with splendour. In its sober, quiet scenes, let your
heart cast its anchor, let your feelings and pursuits all be
centred. And beyond the spreading oaks that shadow and shelter your
dwelling, let not your fancy wander. Leave to your husband to
distinguish himself by his valour or his talents. Do you seek for
fame at home; and let the applause of your God, of your husband,
of your children, and your servants, weave for your brow a
never-fading chaplet.
An ingenious writer says, "If a painter wished to draw the very
finest object in the world, it would be the picture of a wife, with
eyes expressing the serenity of her mind, and a countenance beaming
with benevolence; one hand lulling to rest on her bosom a lovely
infant, the other employed in presenting a moral page to a second
sweet baby, who stands at her knee, listening to the words of truth
and wisdom from its incomparable mother."
I am a peculiar friend to cheerfulness. Not that kind of
cheerfulness which the wise man calls the mirth of fools,—always
laughing and talking, exhausting itself in jests and puns, and then
sinking into silence and gloom when the object that inspired it has
disappeared. No—no! The cheerfulness I would recommend must belong
to the heart, and be connected with the temper, and even with the
principles. Addison says, "I cannot but look on a cheerful state of
mind as a constant, habitual gratitude to the great Author of
nature. An inward cheerfulness is an implicit praise and
thanksgiving to Providence under all its dispensations: it is a kind
of acquiescence in the state wherein we are placed, and a secret
approval of the Divine Will in his conduct towards us." I think
there is something very lovely in seeing a woman overcoming those
little domestic disquiets which every mistress of a family has to
contend with; sitting down to her breakfast-table in the morning
with a cheerful, smiling countenance, and endeavouring to promote
innocent and pleasant conversation among her little circle. But vain
will be her amiable efforts at cheerfulness, if she be not assisted
by her husband and the other members around; and truly it is an
unpleasant sight to see at family when collected together, instead
of enlivening the quiet scene with a little good-humoured chat,
sitting like so many statues, as if each was unworthy of the
attention of the other. And then, when a stranger comes in, O dear!
such smiles, and animation, and loquacity! "Let my lot be to please
at home," says the poet; and truly I cannot help feeling a
contemptuous opinion of those persons, young or old, male or female,
who lavish their good humour and pleasantry in company, and hoard up
sullenness and silence for the sincere and loving group which
compose their fireside.
They do not behold home with the same eyes as did the writer of the
following lines:—
"'Home's the resort of love, of joy, of peace;''
So says the bard, and so say truth and grace;
Home is the scene where truth and candour move,
The only scene of true and genuine love.
'To balls, and routs for fame let others roam,
Be mine the happier lot to please at home.'
Clear then the stage: no scenery we require,
Save the snug circle round the parlour fire;
And enter, marshall'd in procession fair,
Each happier influence that governs there!
First, Love, by Friendship mellow'd into bliss,
Lights the warm glow, and sanctifies the kiss;
When, fondly welcomed to the accustom'd seat,
In sweet complacence wife and husband meet;
Look mutual pleasure, mutual purpose share,
Repose from labours to unite in care!
Ambition! Does Ambition there reside?
Yes: when the boy, in manly mood astride,
With ruby lip and eyes of sweetest blue,
And flaxen locks, and cheeks of rosy hue,
(Of headstrong prowess innocently vain),
Canters;—the jockey of his father's cane:
While Emulation in the daughter's heart
Bears a more mild, though not less powerful, part,
With zeal to shine her little bosom warms,
And in the romp the future housewife forms:
Think how Joy animates, intense though meek,
The fading roses on their grandame's cheek,
When, proud the frolic children to survey,
She feels and owns an interest in their play;
Tells at each call the story ten times told,
And forwards every wish their whims unfold."
"To be agreeable, and even entertaining, in our family circle," says
a celebrated writer, "is not only a positive duty, but an absolute
morality."
We cannot help quoting the following passage from Miss H. More, as
an admirable illustration of true sweetness of temper, patience, and
self-denial—qualities so essential in a wife and mistress of a
family:—"Remember, that life is not entirely made up of great
evils, or heavy trials, but that the perpetual recurrence of petty
evils and small trials is the ordinary and appointed exercise of
Christian graces. To bear with the feelings of those about us, with
their infirmities, their bad judgments, their ill-breeding, their
perverse tempers—to endure neglect where we feel we have deserved
attention, and ingratitude where we expected thanks—to bear with
the company of disagreeable people, whom Providence has placed in
our way, and whom he has perhaps provided on purpose for the trial
of our virtue—these are the best exercise; and the better because
not chosen by ourselves. To bear with vexations in business, with
disappointments in our expectations, with interruptions in our
retirement, with folly, intrusion, disturbance, in short, with
whatever opposes our will and contradicts our humour—this habitual
acquiescence appears to be the very essence of self-denial. These
constant, inevitable, but inferior evils, properly improved, furnish
a good moral discipline, and might well, in the days of ignorance,
have superseded pilgrimage and penance." Another remark of the same
author is also excellent: "To sustain a fit of sickness may exhibit
as true a heroism as to lead an army. To bear a deep affliction
well, calls for as high exertion of soul as to storm a town; and to
meet death with Christian resolution, is an act of courage in which
many a woman has triumphed, and many a philosopher, and even some
generals, have failed."