The Wedding Guest Part 28

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 dest.i.tute 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 pa.s.sion 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 p.r.o.ne 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 a.s.siduously 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 s.e.x. The whole range of public amus.e.m.e.nts might fairly be considered as within the sweep of my subject; but there is one topic which it will not do to pa.s.s by. Equal justice ought, in a series of lectures like this, to be meted out to both s.e.xes; 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 a.s.sociation which links together Clubs and domestic happiness--or unhappiness. I bring against these inst.i.tutions 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 inst.i.tutions 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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sociations 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 s.p.a.ce, 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 inst.i.tutions, 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 inst.i.tution--that where gentlemen wish to a.s.sociate 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 amus.e.m.e.nts 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 coa.r.s.er 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 s.e.x 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 pa.s.sions, 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 pa.s.sion for gratifying vanity, and a spirit of dissipation, _is_ a pa.s.sion 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 pa.s.sions 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 const.i.tution, these a.s.sociations should be arraigned and condemned as tending to counteract its beneficent operation. The Family is a divine ordinance. It is G.o.d's inst.i.tution 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d hath designed the present const.i.tution 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 circ.u.mstances 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 princ.i.p.ally 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 a.s.sumed, 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 G.o.d, 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 grat.i.tude 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 a.s.sisted 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 h.o.a.rd 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 b.a.l.l.s, 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 pa.s.sage from Miss H. More, as an admirable ill.u.s.tration 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 ingrat.i.tude 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."

THREE WAYS OF MANAGING A WIFE.

"I allude to that false and contemptible kind of decision which we term _obstinacy_;--a stubbornness of temper which can a.s.sign no reasons but mere will, for a constancy which acts in the nature of dead weight, rather than strength-resembling less the reaction of a powerful spring, than the gravitation of a big stone."

FOSTER'S ESSAYS.

"I HAVE said, Mrs. Wilson, that it is my will to have it so, and I thought you knew me well enough to know that my will is unalterable.

Therefore, if you please, let me hear no more about it."

"But, my dear husband, the boy--"

"_But_, madam, I a.s.sure you there is no room for _buts_ in the matter. Am I not master of my own house, and fully capable of governing it?"

"Yes, certainly, my dear, only I happen to know something about this school, which I think would influence you in forming a judgment, if you would listen to me for a moment."

"My judgment is already formed, madam, and is not likely to be altered by anything a woman could say. You may be a very good judge of the merits of a pudding, or the size of a stocking, but this is a matter in which I do not wish for any advice."

So Master James Wilson, a little, delicate, backward boy of ten years, was sent to a large public school, in which the amount of study required was so much beyond his ability, and the rules so severe, that the heavy penalties daily incurred, seriously affected both his health and happiness. It was with an aching heart that the fond mother saw him creeping slowly to school in the morning with a pale and dejected countenance, and returning home, fatigued in body, soured in spirit, and rapidly learning to detest the very sight of his books, as the instruments of his wretchedness. The severity of the husband and father had in this instance produced its usual unhappy effect, by tempting Mrs. Wilson to injudicious indulgence of her son in private, and the perpetual oscillations between the extremes of harshness and fondness thus experienced, rendered the poor boy a weak and unprincipled character, anxious only to escape the consequences of wrongdoing, without any regard to the motives of his conduct.

Not many months after his entrance into the public school, he was violently thrown to the ground during recess, by an older boy, and his limb so much injured by the fall, that a long and dangerous illness was the consequence. Mrs. Wilson was extremely desirous to try the effects of the cold water treatment on the diseased limb, but her husband had adopted a system of his own, composed of all the most objectionable features of other systems, and would not relinquish such an opportunity of testing his skill as a physician.

The child was accordingly steamed and blistered until the inflammation became frightful; and then cupping, leeching, &c., were resorted to, without any other effect than greatly to reduce the strength of the patient.

"Husband," Mrs. Wilson ventured at last to say, "the poor child is getting worse every day; and if he lives through it, will, I fear, lose his limb; will you not try what Dr. S. can do with the cold-water treatment?"

"If I could be astonished at any degree of folly on the part of a woman," was his reply, "I should be surprised at such a question. I am doing what I think best for the boy, and you are well aware that my mind was long since made up about the different systems of medicine. Do you confine yourself to nursing the child, and leave his treatment to me."

Ah, this domestic "making up one's mind!" It is a process easily and often rapidly gone through, but its consequences are sometimes so far-reaching and abiding, that we may well tremble as we hear the words carelessly p.r.o.nounced.

After a period of intense suffering, James Wilson rose from his sick-bed, but he had lost for ever the use of the injured limb; and his mother could not but feel that it was in consequence of the ignorant and barbarous treatment he had received. But remonstrance was vain; the law of the Medes and Persians was not more unalterable than that which regulated the household of Mr. Wilson, not only in matters of consequence, but in the smallest details of domestic economy.

A new cooking apparatus had long been needed in the kitchen of Mr.

Wilson, and as this was a matter clearly within her province, his wife hoped she might be able to procure a range which had often been declared indispensable by her domestics. But in this, she was doomed to be disappointed. Her husband remembered the cooking-stove which had been the admiration of his childhood, and resolved, if a change must be made, to have one of that identical pattern in his own house.