Advice to Young Men Part 5

193. As to those husbands who make the _unjust_ suspicions of their wives a _justification_ for making those suspicions just; as to such as can make a sport of such suspicions, rather brag of them than otherwise, and endeavour to aggravate rather than a.s.suage them; as to such I have nothing to say, they being far without the scope of any advice that I can offer. But to such as are not of this description, I have a remark or two to offer with respect to measures of _prevention_.

194. And, first, I never could see the _sense_ of its being a piece of etiquette, a sort of mark of _good breeding_, to make it a rule that man and wife are not to sit side by side in a mixed company; that if a party walk out, the wife is to give her arm to some other than her husband; that if there be any other hand near, _his_ is not to help to a seat or into a carriage. I never could see the _sense_ of this; but I have always seen the _nonsense_ of it plainly enough; it is, in short, amongst many other foolish and mischievous things that we do in aping the manners of those whose riches (frequently ill-gotten) and whose power embolden them to set, with impunity, pernicious examples; and to their examples this nation owes more of its degradation in morals than to any other source. The truth is, that this is a piece _of false refinement_: it, being interpreted, means, that so free are the parties from a liability to suspicion, so innately virtuous and pure are they, that each man can safely trust his wife with another man, and each woman her husband with another woman. But this piece of false refinement, like all others, overshoots its mark; it says too much; for it says that the parties have _lewd thoughts in their minds_. This is not the _fact_, with regard to people in general; but it must have been the origin of this set of consummately ridiculous and contemptible rules.

195. Now I would advise a young man, especially if he have a pretty wife, not to commit her unnecessarily to the care of any other man; not to be separated from her in this studious and ceremonious manner; and not to be ashamed to prefer her company and conversation to that of any other woman. I never could discover any _good-breeding_ in setting another man, almost expressly, to poke his nose up in the face of my wife, and talk nonsense to her; for, in such cases, nonsense it generally is. It is not a thing of much consequence, to be sure; but when the wife is young, especially, it is not seemly, at any rate, and it cannot possibly lead to any good, though it may not lead to any great evil. And, on the other hand, you may be quite sure that, whatever she may _seem_ to think of the matter, she will not like _you_ the better for your attentions of this sort to other women, especially if they be young and handsome: and as this species of fashionable nonsense can do you no good, why gratify your love of talk, or the vanity of any woman, at even the risk of exciting uneasiness in that mind of which it is your most sacred duty to preserve, if you can, the uninterrupted tranquillity.

196. The truth is, that the greatest security of all against jealousy in a wife is to show, to _prove_, by your _acts_, by your words also, but more especially by your _acts_, that you prefer her to all the world; and, as I said before, I know of no act that is, in this respect, equal to spending in her company every moment of your _leisure_ time. Every body knows, and young wives better than any body else, that people, who can choose, will be where _they like best to be_, and that they will be along with those _whose company they best like_. The matter is very plain, then, and I do beseech you to bear it in mind. Nor do I see the use, or sense, of keeping a great deal of _company_, as it is called.

What company can a young man and woman want more than their two selves, and their children, if they have any? If here be not company enough, it is but a sad affair. The pernicious _cards_ are brought forth by the company-keeping, the rival expenses, the sittings up late at night, the seeing of '_the ladies home_,' and a thousand squabbles and disagreeable consequences. But, the great thing of all is, that this hankering after company, proves, clearly proves, that _you want something beyond the society of your wife_; and that she is sure to feel most acutely: the bare fact contains an imputation against her, and it is pretty sure to lay the foundation of jealousy, or of something still worse.

197. If acts of kindness in you are necessary in all cases, they are especially so in cases of her _illness_, from whatever cause arising. I will not suppose myself to be addressing any husband capable of being _unconcerned_ while his wife's life is in the most distant danger from illness, though it has been my very great mortification to know in my life time, two or three brutes of this description; but, far short of this degree of brutality, a great deal of fault may be committed. When men are ill, they feel every neglect with double anguish, and, what then must be in such cases the feelings of women, whose ordinary feelings are so much more acute than those of men; what must be their feelings in case of neglect in illness, and especially if the neglect come _from the husband_! Your own heart will, I hope, tell you what those feelings must be, and will spare me the vain attempt to describe them; and, if it do thus instruct you, you will want no arguments from me to induce you, at such a season, to prove the sincerity of your affection by every kind word and kind act that your mind can suggest. This is the time to try you; and, be you a.s.sured, that the impression left on her mind now will be the true and _lasting_ impression; and, if it be good, will be a better preservative against her being jealous, than ten thousand of your professions ten thousand times repeated. In such a case, you ought to spare no expense that you can possibly afford; you ought to neglect nothing that your means will enable you to do; for, what is the use of money if it be not to be expended in this case? But, more than all the rest, is your own _personal_ attention. This is the valuable thing; this is the great balm to the sufferer, and, it is efficacious in proportion as it is proved to be sincere. Leave nothing to other hands that you can do yourself; the mind has a great deal to do in all the ailments of the body, and, bear in mind, that, whatever be the event, you have a more than ample reward. I cannot press this point too strongly upon you; the bed of sickness presents no charms, no allurements, and women know this well; they watch, in such a case, your every word and every look: and now it is that their confidence is secured, or their suspicions excited, for life.

198. In conclusion of these remarks, as to jealousy in a wife, I cannot help expressing my abhorrence of those husbands who treat it as a matter for ridicule. To be sure, infidelity in a man is less heinous than infidelity in the wife; but still, is the marriage vow nothing? Is a promise solemnly made before G.o.d, and in the face of the world, nothing?

Is a violation of a contract, and that, too, with a feebler party, nothing of which a man ought to be ashamed? But, besides all these, there is the _cruelty_. First, you win, by great pains, perhaps, a woman's affections; then, in order to get possession of her person, you marry her; then, after enjoyment, you break your vow, you bring upon her the mixed pity and jeers of the world, and thus you leave her to weep out her life. Murder is more horrible than this, to be sure, and the criminal _law_, which punishes divers other crimes, does not reach this; but, in the eye of reason and of moral justice, it is surpa.s.sed by very few of those crimes. _Pa.s.sion_ may be pleaded, and so it may, for almost every other crime of which man can be guilty. It is not a crime _against nature_; nor are any of these which men commit in consequence of their necessities. _The temptation is great_; and is not the temptation great when men thieve or rob? In short, there is no excuse for an act so unjust and so cruel, and the world is just as to this matter; for, I have always observed, that, however men are disposed to _laugh_ at these breaches of vows in men, the act seldom fails to produce injury to the whole character; it leaves, after all the joking, a stain, and, amongst those who depend on character for a livelihood, it often produces ruin.

At the very least, it makes an unhappy and wrangling family; it makes children despise or hate their fathers, and it affords an example at the thought of the ultimate consequences of which a father ought to shudder.

In such a case, children will take part, and they ought to take part, with the mother: she is the injured party; the shame brought upon her attaches, in part, to them: they feel the injustice done them; and, if such a man, when the grey hairs, and tottering knees, and piping voice come, look round him in vain for a prop, let him, at last, be just, and acknowledge that he has now the due reward of his own wanton cruelty to one whom he had solemnly sworn to love and to cherish to the last hour of his or her life.

199. But, bad as is conjugal infidelity in the _husband_, it is much worse in the _wife_: a proposition that it is necessary to maintain by the force of reason, because _the women_, as a sisterhood, are p.r.o.ne to deny the truth of it. They say that _adultery_ is _adultery_, in men as well as in them; and that, therefore, the offence is _as great_ in the one case as in the other. As a crime, abstractedly considered, it certainly is; but, as to the _consequences_, there is a wide difference.

In both cases, there is the breach of a solemn vow, but, there is this great distinction, that the husband, by his breach of that vow, only brings _shame_ upon his wife and family; whereas the wife, by a breach of her vow, may bring the husband a spurious offspring to maintain, and may bring that spurious offspring to rob of their fortunes, and in some cases of their bread, her legitimate children. So that here is a great and evident wrong done to numerous parties, besides the deeper disgrace inflicted in this case than in the other.

200. And why is the disgrace _deeper_? Because here is a total want of _delicacy_; here is, in fact, _prost.i.tution_; here is grossness and filthiness of mind; here is every thing that argues baseness of character. Women should be, and they are, except in few instances, far more reserved and more delicate than men; nature bids them be such; the habits and manners of the world confirm this precept of nature; and therefore, when they commit this offence, they excite loathing, as well as call for reprobation. In the countries where a _plurality of wives_ is permitted, there is no _plurality of husbands_. It is there thought not at all indelicate for a man to have several wives; but the bare thought of a woman having _two husbands_ would excite horror. The _widows_ of the Hindoos burn themselves in the pile that consumes their husbands; but the Hindoo _widowers_ do not dispose of themselves in this way. The widows devote their bodies to complete destruction, lest, even after the death of their husbands, they should be tempted to connect themselves with other men; and though this is carrying delicacy far indeed, it reads to Christian wives a lesson not unworthy of their attention; for, though it is not desirable that their bodies should be turned into handfuls of ashes, even that trans.m.u.tation were preferable to that infidelity which fixes the brand of shame on the cheeks of their parents, their children, and on those of all who ever called them friend.

201. For these plain and forcible reasons it is that this species of offence is far more heinous in the wife than in the husband; and the people of all civilized countries act upon this settled distinction. Men who have been guilty of the offence are not cut off from society, but women who have been guilty of it are; for, as we all know well, no woman, married or single, of _fair reputation_, will risk that reputation by being ever seen, if she can avoid it, with a woman who has ever, at any time, committed this offence, which contains in itself, and by universal award, a sentence of social excommunication for life.

202. If, therefore, it be the duty of the husband to adhere strictly to his marriage vow: if his breach of that vow be naturally attended with the fatal consequences above described: how much more imperative is the duty on the wife to avoid, even the semblance of a deviation from that vow! If the man's misconduct, in this respect, bring shame on so many innocent parties, what shame, what dishonour, what misery follow such misconduct in the wife! Her parents, those of her husband, all her relations, and all her friends, share in her dishonour. And _her children_! how is she to make atonement to them! They are commanded to honour their father and their mother; but not such a mother as this, who, on the contrary, has no claim to any thing from them but hatred, abhorrence, and execration. It is she who has broken the ties of nature; she has dishonoured her own offspring; she has fixed a mark of reproach on those who once made a part of her own body; nature shuts her out of the pale of its influence, and condemns her to the just detestation of those whom it formerly bade love her as their own life.

203. But as the crime is so much more heinous, and the punishment so much more severe, in the case of the wife than it is in the case of the husband, so the caution ought to be greater in making the accusation, or entertaining the suspicion. Men ought to be very slow in entertaining such suspicions: they ought to have clear _proof_ before they can _suspect_; a p.r.o.neness to such suspicions is a very unfortunate turn of the mind; and, indeed, few characters are more despicable than that of a _jealous-headed husband_; rather than be tied to the whims of one of whom, an innocent woman of spirit would earn her bread over the washing-tub, or with a hay-fork, or a reap-hook. With such a man there can be no peace; and, as far as children are concerned, the false accusation is nearly equal to the reality. When a wife discovers her jealousy, she merely imputes to her husband inconstancy and breach of his marriage vow; but jealousy in him imputes to her a willingness to palm a spurious offspring upon him, and upon her legitimate children, as robbers of their birthright; and, besides this, grossness, filthiness, and prost.i.tution. She imputes to him injustice and cruelty: but he imputes to her that which banishes her from society; that which cuts her off for life from every thing connected with female purity; that which brands her with infamy to her latest breath.

204. Very slow, therefore, ought a husband to be in entertaining even the thought of this crime in his wife. He ought to be _quite sure_ before he take the smallest step in the way of accusation; but if unhappily he have the proof, no consideration on earth ought to induce him to cohabit with her one moment longer. Jealous husbands are not despicable because they have _grounds_; but because they _have not grounds_; and this is generally the case. When they have grounds, their own honour commands them to cast off the object, as they would cut out a corn or a cancer. It is not the jealousy in itself, which is despicable; but the _continuing to live in that state_. It is no dishonour to be a slave in Algiers, for instance; the dishonour begins only where you remain a slave _voluntarily_; it begins the moment you can escape from slavery, and do not. It is despicable unjustly to be jealous of your wife; but it is infamy to cohabit with her if you _know_ her to be guilty.

205. I shall be told that the _law_ compels you to live with her, unless you be _rich_ enough to disengage yourself from her; but the law does not compel you to remain _in the same country with her_; and, if a man have no other means of ridding himself of such a curse, what are mountains or seas or traverse? And what is the risk (if such there be) of exchanging a life of bodily ease for a life of labour? What are these, and numerous other ills (if they happen) superadded? Nay, what is death itself, compared with the baseness, the infamy, the never-ceasing shame and reproach of living under the same roof with a prost.i.tuted woman, and calling her your _wife_? But, there are _children_, and what are to become of these? To be taken away from the prost.i.tute, to be sure; and this is a duty which you owe to them: the sooner they forget her the better, and the farther they are from her, the sooner that will be. There is no excuse for continuing to live with an adultress; no inconvenience, no loss, no suffering, ought to deter a man from delivering himself from such a state of filthy infamy; and to suffer his children to remain in such a state, is a crime that hardly admits of adequate description; a jail is paradise compared with such a life, and he who can endure this latter, from the fear of encountering hardship, is a wretch too despicable to go by the name of man.

206. But, now, all this supposes, that the husband has _well and truly acted his part_! It supposes, not only that he has been faithful; but, that he has not, in any way, been the cause of temptation to the wife to be unfaithful. If he have been cold and neglectful; if he have led a life of irregularity; if he have proved to her that _home_ was not his delight; if he have made his house the place of resort for loose companions; if he have given rise to a taste for visiting, junketting, parties of pleasure and gaiety; if he have introduced the habit of indulging in what are called '_innocent freedoms_;' if these, or any of these, _the fault is his_, he must take the consequences, and he has _no right_ to inflict punishment on the offender, the offence being in fact of his own creating. The laws of G.o.d, as well as the laws of man, have given him all power in this respect: it is for him to use that power for the honour of his wife as well as for that of himself: if he neglect to use it, all the consequences ought to fall on him; and, as far as my observation has gone, in nineteen out of twenty cases of infidelity in wives, the crimes have been _fairly ascribable to the husbands_. Folly or misconduct in the husband, cannot, indeed, justify or even palliate infidelity in the wife, whose very nature ought to make her recoil at the thought of the offence; but it may, at the same time, deprive him of the right of inflicting punishment on her: her kindred, her children, and the world, will justly hold her in abhorrence; but the husband must hold his peace.

207. '_Innocent freedoms!_' I know of none that a wife can indulge in.

The words, as applied to the demeanour of a married woman, or even a single one, imply a contradiction. For _freedom_, thus used, means an exemption or departure from the _strict rules of female reserve_; and, I do not see how this can be _innocent_. It may not amount to _crime_, indeed; but, still it is not _innocent_; and the use of the phrase is dangerous. If it had been my fortune to be yoked to a person, who liked 'innocent freedoms,' I should have unyoked myself in a very short time.

But, to say the truth, it is all a man's own fault. If he have not sense and influence enough to prevent 'innocent freedoms,' even _before_ marriage, he will do well to let the thing alone, and leave wives to be managed by those who have. But, men will talk to your wife, and natter her. To be sure they will, if she be young and pretty; and would you go and pull her away from them? O no, by no means; but you must have very little sense, or must have made very little use of it, if her manner do not soon convince them that they employ their flattery in vain.

208. So much of a man's happiness and of his _efficiency_ through life depends upon his mind being quite free from all anxieties of this sort, that too much care cannot be taken to guard against them; and, I repeat, that the great preservation of all is, the young couple living as much as possible _at home_, and having as few visitors as possible. If they do not prefer the company of each other to that of all the world besides; if either of them be weary of the company of the other; if they do not, when separated by business or any other cause, think with pleasure of the time of meeting again, it is a bad omen. Pursue this course when young, and the very thought of jealousy will never come into your mind; and, if you do pursue it, and show by your _deeds_ that you value your wife as you do your own life, you must be pretty nearly an idiot, if she do not think you to be the wisest man in the world. The _best_ man she will be sure to think you, and she will never forgive any one that calls your talents or your wisdom in question.

209. Now, will you say that, if to be happy, nay, if to avoid misery and ruin in the married state, requires all these precautions, all these cares, to fail to any extent in any of which is to bring down on a man's head such fearful consequences; will you say that, if this be the case, _it is better to remain single_? If you should say this, it is my business to show that you are in error. For, in the first place, it is against nature to suppose that children can cease to be born; they must and will come; and then it follows, that they must come by promiscuous intercourse, or by particular connexion. The former n.o.body will contend for, seeing that it would put us, in this respect, on a level with the brute creation. Then, as the connexion is to be _particular_, it must be _during pleasure_, or for the _joint lives of the parties_. The former would seldom hold for any length of time: the tie would seldom be durable, and it would be feeble on account of its uncertain duration.

Therefore, to be a _father_, with all the lasting and delightful ties attached to the name, you must first be a husband; and there are very few men in the world who do not, first or last, desire to be _fathers_.

If it be said, that marriage ought not to be for life, but that its duration ought to be subject to the will, the _mutual will_ at least, of the parties; the answer is, that it would seldom be of long duration.

Every trifling dispute would lead to a separation; a hasty word would be enough. Knowing that the engagement is for life, prevents disputes too; it checks anger in its beginnings. Put a rigging horse into a field with a weak fence, and with captivating pasture on the other side, and he is continually trying to get out; but, let the field be walled round, he makes the best of his hard fare, and divides his time between grazing and sleeping. Besides, there could be no _families_, no a.s.semblages of persons worthy of that name; all would be confusion and indescribable intermixture: the names of _brother_ and _sister_ would hardly have a meaning; and, therefore, there must be marriage, or there can be nothing worthy of the name of family or of father.

210. The _cares_ and _troubles_ of the married life are many; but, are those of the single life few? Take the _farmer_, and it is nearly the same with the tradesman; but, take the farmer, for instance, and let him, at the age of twenty-five, go into business unmarried. See his maid servants, probably rivals for his smiles, but certainly rivals in the charitable distribution of his victuals and drink amongst those of their own rank: behold _their_ guardianship of his pork-tub, his bacon rack, his b.u.t.ter, cheese, milk, poultry, eggs, and all the rest of it: look at _their_ care of all his household stuff, his blankets, sheets, pillow-cases, towels, knives and forks, and particularly of his _crockery ware_, of which last they will hardly exceed a single cart-load of broken bits in the year. And, how nicely they will get up and take care of his linen and other wearing apparel, and always have it ready for him without his thinking about it! If absent at market, or especially at a distant fair, how scrupulously they will keep all their cronies out of his house, and what special care they will take of his _cellar_, more particularly that which holds the strong beer! And his groceries and his spirits and his _wine_ (for a bachelor can _afford_ it), how safe these will all be! Bachelors have not, indeed, any more than married men, a security for _health_; but if our young farmer be sick, there are his couple of maids to take care of him, to administer his medicine, and to perform for him all other nameless offices, which in such a case are required; and what is more, take care of every thing down stairs at the same time, especially his desk with the money in it!

Never will they, good-humoured girls as they are, scold him for coming home too late; but, on the contrary, like him the better for it; and if he have drunk a little too much, so much the better, for then he will sleep late in the morning, and when he comes out at last, he will find that his men have been _so hard_ at work, and that all his animals have been taken such good care of!

211. Nonsense! a bare glance at the thing shows, that a farmer, above all men living, can never carry on his affairs with profit without a wife, or a mother, or a daughter, or some such person; and _mother_ and _daughter_ imply matrimony. To be sure, a wife would cause some _trouble_, perhaps, to this young man. There might be the midwife and nurse to gallop after at midnight; there might be, and there ought to be, if called for, a little complaining of late hours; but, good G.o.d!

what are these, and all the other _troubles_ that could attend a married life; what are they, compared to the one single circ.u.mstance of the want of a wife at your bedside during one single night of illness! A nurse!

what is a nurse to do for you? Will she do the things that a wife will do? Will she watch your looks and your half-uttered wishes? Will she use the urgent persuasions so often necessary to save life in such cases?

Will she, by her acts, convince you that it is not a toil, but a delight, to break her rest for your sake? In short, now it is that you find that what the women themselves say is strictly true, namely, that without wives, _men are poor helpless mortals_.

212. As to the _expense_, there is no comparison between that of a woman servant and a wife, in the house of a farmer or a tradesman. The wages of the former is not the expense; it is the want of a _common interest_ with you, and this you can obtain in no one but a wife. But there are _the children_. I, for my part, firmly believe that a farmer, married at twenty-five, and having ten children during the first ten years, would be able to save more money during these years, than a bachelor, of the same age, would be able to save, on the same farm, in a like s.p.a.ce of time, he keeping only one maid servant. One single fit of illness, of two months' duration, might sweep away more than all the children would cost in the whole ten years, to say nothing of the continual waste and pillage, and the idleness, going on from the first day of the ten years to the last.

213. Besides, is the money _all_? What a life to lead!! No one to talk to without going from home, or without getting some one to come to you; no friend to sit and talk to: pleasant evenings to pa.s.s! n.o.body to share with you your sorrows or your pleasures: no soul having a common interest with you: all around you taking care of themselves, and no care of you: no one to cheer you in moments of depression: to say all in a word, no one to _love_ you, and no prospect of ever seeing any such one to the end of your days. For, as to parents and brethren, if you have them, they have other and very different ties; and, however laudable your feelings as son and brother, those feelings are of a different character. Then as to gratifications, from which you will hardly abstain altogether, are they generally of little expense? and are they attended with no trouble, no vexation, no disappointment, no _jealousy_ even, and are they never followed by shame or remorse?

214. It does very well in bantering songs, to say that the bachelor's life is '_devoid of care_.' My observation tells me the contrary, and reason concurs, in this regard, with experience. The bachelor has no one on whom he can in all cases rely. When he quits his home, he carries with him cares that are unknown to the married man. If, indeed, like the common soldier, he have merely a lodging-place, and a bundle of clothes, given in charge to some one, he may be at his ease; but if he possess any thing of a home, he is never sure of its safety; and this uncertainty is a great enemy to cheerfulness. And as to _efficiency_ in life, how is the bachelor to equal the married man? In the case of farmers and tradesmen, the latter have so clearly the advantage over the former, that one need hardly insist upon the point; but it is, and must be, the same in all the situations of life. To provide for a wife and children is the greatest of all possible spurs to exertion. Many a man, naturally p.r.o.ne to idleness, has become active and industrious when he saw children growing up about him; many a dull sluggard has become, if not a bright man, at least a bustling man, when roused to exertion by his love. Dryden's account of the change wrought in CYMON, is only a strong case of the kind. And, indeed, if a man will not exert himself for the sake of a wife and children, he can have no exertion in him; or he must be deaf to all the dictates of nature.

215. Perhaps the world never exhibited a more striking proof of the truth of this doctrine than that which is exhibited in me; and I am sure that every one will say, without any hesitation, that a fourth part of the labours I have performed, never would have been performed, _if I had not been a married man_. In the first place, they could not; for I should, all the early part of my life, have been rambling and roving about as most bachelors are. I should have had _no home_ that I cared a straw about, and should have wasted the far greater part of my time. The great affair of home being _settled_, having the home secured, I had leisure to employ my mind on things which it delighted in. I got rid at once of all cares, all _anxieties_, and had only to provide for the very moderate wants of that home. But the children began to come. They sharpened my industry: they spurred me on. To be sure, I had other and strong motives: I wrote for fame, and was urged forward by ill-treatment, and by the desire to triumph over my enemies; but, after all, a very large part of my _nearly a hundred volumes_ may be fairly ascribed to the wife and children.

216. I might have done _something_; but, perhaps, not a _thousandth_ part of what I have done; not even a thousandth part: for the chances are, that I, being fond of a military life, should have ended my days ten or twenty years ago, in consequence of wounds, or fatigue, or, more likely, in consequence of the persecutions of some haughty and insolent fool, whom nature had formed to black my shoes, and whom a system of corruption had made my commander. _Love_ came and rescued me from this state of horrible slavery; placed the whole of my time at my own disposal; made me as free as air; removed every restraint upon the operations of my mind, naturally disposed to communicate its thoughts to others; and gave me, for my leisure hours, a companion, who, though deprived of all opportunity of acquiring what is _called learning_, had so much good sense, so much useful knowledge, was so innocent, so just in all her ways, so pure in thought, word and deed, so disinterested, so generous, so devoted to me and her children, so free from all disguise, and, withal, so beautiful and so talkative, and in a voice so sweet, so cheering, that I must, seeing the health and the capacity which it had pleased G.o.d to give me, have been a _criminal_, if I had done much less than that which I have done; and I have always said, that, if my country feel any grat.i.tude for my labours, that grat.i.tude is due to her full as much as to me.

217. _'Care'!_ What _care_ have I known! I have been buffeted about by this powerful and vindictive Government; I have repeatedly had the fruit of my labour s.n.a.t.c.hed away from me by it; but I had a partner that never frowned, that was never melancholy, that never was subdued in spirit, that never abated a smile, on these occasions, that fortified me, and sustained me by her courageous example, and that was just as busy and as zealous in taking care of the remnant as she had been in taking care of the whole; just as cheerful, and just as full of caresses, when brought down to a mean hired lodging, as when the mistress of a fine country house, with all its accompaniments; and, whether from her words or her looks, no one could gather that she regretted the change. What '_cares_'

have I had, then? What have I had worthy of the name of '_cares_'?

218. And, how is it _now_? How is it when the _sixty-fourth year_ has come? And how should I have been without this wife and these children? I _might_ have ama.s.sed a tolerable heap of _money_; but what would that have done for me? It might have _bought_ me plenty of _professions_ of attachment; plenty of persons impatient for my exit from the world; but not one single grain of sorrow, for any anguish that might have attended my approaching end. To me, no being in this world appears so wretched as an _Old Bachelor_. Those circ.u.mstances, those changes in his person and in his mind, which, in the husband, increase rather than diminish the attentions to him, produce all the want of feeling attendant on disgust; and he beholds, in the conduct of the mercenary crew that generally surround him, little besides an eager desire to profit from that event, the approach of which, nature makes a subject of sorrow with him.

219. Before I quit this part of my work, I cannot refrain from offering my opinion with regard to what is due from husband to wife, when the _disposal of his property_ comes to be thought of. When marriage is an affair settled by deeds, contracts, and lawyers, the husband, being bound beforehand, has really no _will_ to make. But where he has _a will_ to make, and a faithful wife to leave behind him, it is his first duty to provide for her future well-being, to the utmost of his power.

If she brought him _no money_, she brought him _her person_; and by delivering that up to him, she established a claim to his careful protection of her to the end of her life. Some men think, or act as if they thought, that, if a wife bring no money, and if the husband gain money by his business or profession, that money is _his_, and not hers, because she has not been doing any of those things for which the money has been received. But is this way of thinking _just_? By the marriage vow, the husband endows the wife _with all his worldly goods_; and not a bit too much is this, when she is giving him the command and possession of her person. But does she _not help to acquire the money_? Speaking, for instance, of the farmer or the merchant, the wife does not, indeed, go to plough, or to look after the ploughing and sowing; she does not purchase or sell the stock; she does not go to the fair or the market; but she enables him to do all these without injury to his affairs at home; she is the guardian of his property; she preserves what would otherwise be lost to him. The barn and the granary, though they _create_ nothing, have, in the bringing of food to our mouths, as much merit as the fields themselves. The wife does not, indeed, a.s.sist in the merchant's counting-house; she does not go upon the exchange; she does not even know what he is doing; but she keeps his house in order; she rears up his children; she provides a scene of suitable resort for his friends; she insures him a constant retreat from the fatigues of his affairs; she makes his home pleasant, and she is the guardian of his income.

220. In both these cases, the wife _helps to gain the money_; and in cases where there is no gain, where the income is by descent, or is fixed, she helps to prevent it from being squandered away. It is, therefore, as much _hers_ as it is the husband's; and though _the law_ gives him, in many cases, the power of keeping her share from her, no just man will ever avail himself of that power. With regard to the _tying up_ of widows from marrying again, I will relate what took place in a case of this kind, in America. A merchant, who had, during his married state, risen from poverty to very great riches, and who had, nevertheless, died at about forty years of age, left the whole of his property to his wife for her life, and at her disposal at her death, _provided that she did not marry_. The consequence was, that she took a husband _without marrying_, and, at her death (she having no children), gave the whole of the property to the second husband! So much for _posthumous jealousy_!

221. Where there are _children_, indeed, it is the duty of the husband to provide, in certain cases, against _step-fathers_, who are very p.r.o.ne not to be the most just and affectionate parents. It is an unhappy circ.u.mstance, when a dying father is compelled to have fears of this sort. There is seldom _an apology_ to be offered for a mother that will hazard the happiness of her children by a second marriage. The _law_ allows it, to be sure; but there is, as Prior says, 'something beyond the letter of the law.' I know what ticklish ground I am treading on here; but, though it is _as lawful_ for a woman to take a second husband as for a man to take a second wife, the cases are different, and widely different, in the eye of morality and of reason; for, as adultery in the wife is a greater offence than adultery in the husband; as it is more gross, as it includes _prost.i.tution_; so a second marriage in the woman is more gross than in the man, argues great deficiency in that _delicacy_, that _innate_ modesty, which, after all, is the _great charm_, the charm of charms, in the female s.e.x. I do not _like_ to hear a man _talk_ of his _first wife_, especially in the presence of a second; but to hear a woman thus _talk_ of her _first husband_, has never, however beautiful and good she might be, failed to sink her in my estimation. I have, in such cases, never been able to keep out of my mind that _concatenation of ideas_, which, in spite of custom, in spite of the frequency of the occurrence, leave an impression deeply disadvantageous to the party; for, after the greatest of ingenuity has exhausted itself in the way of apology, it comes to this at last, that the person has _a second time_ undergone that surrender, to which nothing but the most ardent affection, could ever reconcile a chaste and delicate woman.

222. The usual apologies, that 'a _lone woman_ wants a _protector_; that she cannot _manage her estate_; that she cannot _carry on her business_; that she wants a _home for her children_'; all these apologies are not worth a straw; for what is the amount of them? Why, that she _surrenders her person_ to secure these ends! And if we admit the validity of such apologies, are we far from apologising for the kept-mistress, and even the prost.i.tute? Nay, the former of these _may_ (if she confine herself to _one man_) plead more boldly in her defence; and even the latter may plead that hunger, which knows no law, and no decorum, and no delicacy.

These unhappy, but justly-reprobated and despised parties, are allowed no apology at all: though reduced to the begging of their bread, the world grants them no excuse. The sentence on them is: 'You shall suffer every hardship; you shall submit to hunger and nakedness; you shall perish by the way-side, rather than you shall _surrender your person_ to the _dishonour of the female s.e.x_.' But can we, without crying injustice, pa.s.s this sentence upon them, and, at the same time hold it to be proper, decorous, and delicate, that widows shall _surrender their persons_ for _worldly gain_, for the sake of _ease_, or for any consideration whatsoever?

223. It is disagreeable to contemplate the possibility of cases of _separation_; but amongst the evils of life, such have occurred, and will occur; and the injured parties, while they are sure to meet with the pity of all just persons, must console themselves that they have not merited their fate. In the making one's choice, no human foresight or prudence can, in all cases, guard against an unhappy result. There is one species of husbands to be occasionally met with in all countries, meriting particular reprobation, and causing us to lament, that there is no law to punish offenders so enormous. There was a man in Pennsylvania, apparently a very amiable young man, having a good estate of his own, and marrying a most beautiful woman of his own age, of rich parents, and of virtue perfectly spotless. He very soon took to both _gaming_ and _drinking_ (the last being the most fashionable vice of the country); he neglected his affairs and his family; in about four years spent his estate, and became a dependent on his wife's father, together with his wife and three children. Even this would have been of little consequence, as far as related to expense; but he led the most scandalous life, and was incessant in his demands of money for the purposes of that infamous life. All sorts of means were resorted to to reclaim him, and all in vain; and the wretch, availing himself of the pleading of his wife's affection, and of his _power over the children_ more especially, continued for ten or twelve years to plunder the parents, and to disgrace those whom it was his bounden duty to a.s.sist in making happy. At last, going out in the dark, in a boat, and being partly drunk, he went to the bottom of the Delaware, and became food for otters or fishes, to the great joy of all who knew him, excepting only his amiable wife. I can form an idea of no baseness equal to this. There is more of _baseness_ in this character than in that of the robber. The man who obtains the means of indulging in vice, by robbery, exposes himself to the inflictions of the law; but though he merits punishment, he merits it less than the base miscreant who obtains his means by his _threats to disgrace his own wife, children_, and _the wife's parents_.

The short way in such a case, is the best; set the wretch at _defiance_; resort to the strong arm of the law wherever it will avail you; drive him from your house like a mad dog; for, be a.s.sured, that a being so base and cruel is never to be reclaimed: all your efforts at persuasion are useless; his promises and vows are made but to be broken; all your endeavours to keep the thing from the knowledge of the world, only prolong his plundering of you; and many a tender father and mother have been ruined by such endeavours; the whole story _must come out at last_, and it is better to come out before you be ruined, than after your ruin is completed.

224. However, let me hope, that those who read this work will always be secure against evils like these; let me hope, that the young men who read it will abstain from those vices which lead to such fatal results; that they will, before they utter the marriage vow, duly reflect on the great duties that that vow imposes on them; that they will repel, from the outset, every temptation to any thing tending to give pain to the defenceless persons whose love for them have placed them at their mercy; and that they will imprint on their own minds this truth, that a _bad husband_ was never yet _a happy man_.

LETTER V

TO A FATHER

225. 'Little children,' says the Scripture, 'are like arrows in the hands of the giant, and blessed is the man that hath his quiver full of them'; a beautiful figure to describe, in forcible terms, the support, the power, which a father derives from being surrounded by a family. And what father, thus blessed, is there who does not feel, in this sort of support, a _reliance_ which he feels in no other? In regard to this sort of support there is no uncertainty, no doubts, no misgivings; it is _yourself_ that you see in your children: their bosoms are the safe repository of even the whispers of your mind: they are the great and unspeakable delight of your youth, the pride of your prime of life, and the props of your old age. They proceed from that love, the pleasures of which no tongue or pen can adequately describe, and the various blessings which they bring are equally incapable of description.

226. But, to make them blessings, you must act your part well; for they may, by your neglect, your ill-treatment, your evil example, be made to be the _contrary of blessings_; instead of pleasure, they may bring you pain; instead of making your heart glad, the sight of them may make it sorrowful; instead of being the staff of your old age, they may bring your gray hairs in grief to the grave.

227. It is, therefore, of the greatest importance, that you here act well your part, omitting nothing, even from the very beginning, tending to give you great and unceasing influence over their minds; and, above all things, to ensure, if possible, _an ardent love of their mother_.

Your first duty towards them is resolutely to prevent their drawing the means of life _from any breast but hers_. That is their _own_; it is their _birthright_; and if that fail from any natural cause, the place of it ought to be supplied by those means which are frequently resorted to without employing a _hireling breast_. I am aware of the too frequent practice of the contrary; I am well aware of the offence which I shall here give to many; but it is for me to do my duty, and to set, with regard to myself, consequences at defiance.

228. In the first place, no food is so congenial to the child as the milk of its own mother; its quality is made by nature to suit the age of the child; it comes with the child, and is calculated precisely for its stomach. And, then, what sort of a mother must that be who can endure the thought of seeing her child at another breast! The suckling may be attended with great pain, and it is so attended in many cases; but this pain is a necessary consequence of pleasures foregone; and, besides, it has its accompanying pleasures too. No mother ever suffered more than my wife did from suckling her children. How many times have I seen her, when the child was beginning to draw, bite her lips while the tears ran down her cheeks! Yet, having endured this, the smiles came and dried up the tears; and the little thing that had caused the pain received abundant kisses as its punishment.

229. Why, now, did I not love her _the more_ for this? Did not this tend to rivet her to my heart? She was enduring this _for me_; and would not this endearing thought have been wanting, if I had seen the baby at a breast that I had hired and _paid for_; if I had had _two women_, one to bear the child and another to give it milk? Of all the sights that this world affords, the most delightful in my eyes, even to an unconcerned spectator, is, a mother with her clean and fat baby lugging at her breast, leaving off now-and-then and smiling, and she, occasionally, half smothering it with kisses. What must that sight be, then, to the _father_ of the child?