degradation; and if not, he will only be hardened by such treatment, and driven, as a means of revenging himself, into still greater excess. Indeed, nothing but the utmost delicacy, forbearance, and gentleness, will ever be found to answer in such a case; and whatever means are employed, they must be confined in their operation to seasons of perfect sanity, and especially reserved for those occasions of fitful penitence, which often succeed to the most extravagant indulgence; when, partly from the weakness of an exhausted frame, and partly from the satiety of inclination, the victim of intemperance will sometimes throw open his heart to a confidential friend, whose kind and judicious treatment of him at such times, may not improbably be rendered conducive to his ultimate recovery. Here, too, much may be done by making his home all that it ought to be to a husband, by receiving him on his return with cordial smiles, by amusing him with pleasant conversation, but, more than all, by exercising over him, in a mild and prudent manner, that influence which it is the high privilege of a loved and trusted wife to attain. what an awful wreck is that presented by a lost and polluted mind; and they would feel, in all its reality, what it is to be desolate and alone. For the woman thus circumstanced must not complain. She must not ask for sympathy, for that would be to expose the folly and disgrace of him, about whom her hopes still linger; over whose degraded brow she would still fondly spread the soft shadow of her tenderness, that no ray of piercing light might reach it, to render more conspicuous its deformity and its shame. No; she can only lock her griefs within her own bosom, and be still. It must be from ignorance, for the phenomenon is not to be accounted for in any other way than on the ground of ignorance of what is to be found in human life, as well as what is the capability of the human heart for suffering and enjoying, which leads so many kindly-disposed and well-intentioned women into such culpable neglect of points connected with this important subject. One would willingly believe it was because they had never, even in idea, realized what it must be to live through one long night of anxious expectation, when the crisis of a husband's fate had come, and when that sin ficient mastery over himself to resist, or whether he would allow his inclination to lead him for the last time over the barrier, and finally to plunge himself and his helpless family into irremediable wretchedness and ruin. Could all women who encourage their hus-gle night would decide whether he had sufbands in the commencement of intemperance, not only by smiling with evident satisfaction at any extraordinary proofs of good humor or excitement as they begin to appear, but beyond this, and far more effectually, by their own example-could all such women "look to the end," and see the bitter fruits of this trifling with the serious indications of a growing evil, they would stand appalled at the magnitude of their own sufferings, in having to watch from day to day, through their future lives, the gradual extinction of all they had ever loved in the being to whom they must still be united. They would see then how the very countenance may lose its beau- another wave of the fast-ebbing tide, and ty, and like some hideous form that grows all is gone, and all is silent as before. The upon us in a feverish dream, assume first one eye, too, though dim with tears, and wearied aspect of distortion, and then another, until out with watching, what does it not behold? all trace becomes extinct of the "divinity"-creating out of "strange combinations" of that stirred "within." They would see then familiar things, some sudden and unexpected It is in such seasons as these, that every moment is indeed an age, and every pulse like an advancing or receding wave, which falls with heavy swell upon the shore of life. And then what sharpening of the outward senses!-what quickening of the ear to distant sounds, giving to that which lives not, a vitality, until the very step is heard, and then evidence that he has returned! Yes, already come! Then follows an instantaneous flash of self-reproach for having judged him with too little kindness. But, no; the vision fades away, and with it sinks the heart of the too credulous believer. And if such be the quickening of the outward senses, what must be that of the different faculties of the mind?-of memory, whose cruel task it is through those long weary hours, to paint the smiling past, to make it live again with such intensity of loveliness, that while no actual form intrudes, nor actual sound breaks through the chain of thought, the phantasy grows real; and old impressions wake again, and voices speak so kindly, and cordial looks, and gentle loving acts, are interchanged, and pure soft feelings towards each other, as in those early days when the sweet "trysting time" was kept, and hope made light of expectation. Oh, agony ! It is a dream-a very dream. Nay, worse the vision of the sleeper may return; but this can never-never live again. There is no credulity like that of love. However dark may be the fear which alternates with hope in the mind of her who is thus situated, she has, under all, and supporting her through all the deep foundation of her own unchanging love—that love which is strong as death. And by the same comprehensive rule, which to her includes in one close union every faculty and feeling of her soul-by this rule she judges of her husband, and calculates the probability of his return. By this rule it is impossible that he should forget her prayers, and her entreaties, her sorrow, her suffering, and her tears. By this rule, then, he must of necessity remember her in that gay circle, even when its mirth and its revelry are at their height. She has wronged him-deeply wronged him, to think he could forget. Another hour will find him by her side, repaying, Oh, how richly! all her anxious fears. With these sweet thoughts, she rises and trims her fire again, and draws her husband's chair beside the hearth, bethinking her, with joyous recollection, of some other little acts of kindness by which she may possibly be able to make his home look more attractive. But still he comes not; and that strange sickness of the heart begins again, and creeps along her frame, until her very fingers ache with anguish; and tremblingly her hands are clasped together, and were it not for prayer, her heart would surely break with its strong agony; for still he comes not. Yet,-slowly as the heavy hours drag on, the midnight chime at last is heard, that solemn peal, which tells to some its tale of peace, of safety, and of home; while it speaks to others but of darkness, desolation, and despair. But who shall fill from one sad moment to another the page of busy thought, or paint the ever-shifting scenes which flit before the lonely watcher's mind? Another hour, and still he comes not.-Yet hark! It is his step She flies to meet him-Let us close a scene for which earth holds no parallel; for here are mingled, horror, shame, repulsion and contempt, with a soft tenderness like that of some sad mother for her idiot child-joy that the shrouding wings of love once more can shelter him-bliss that no other eye but hers is there to see-kind yearning thoughts of care to keep him in his helplessness from every touch of harm-feelings so gentle, yet so powerful, of a strange gladness to be near him in his degradation-to press the hand which no one else in the wide world would hold-to kiss the brow which has no trace of beauty left! And to do this, night after night-to live through all the changes of this scene, through months and years, only with less of hope, and more of anguish and despair! Such is the picture not exaggerated, for that would be impossible, of one short portion in the experience of how many women! We cannot number them. They are to be met with in society of every grade, and yet society for the most part can rest satisfied to do nothing more than pity them. Nor scarcely that; for the same voice which speaks with feeble lamentations of the suffering of the wife, will often press the husband to the fes tive board, and praise the sparkling wine, able, remain to cloud the atmosphere of homeand urge him to partake. But it is time to turn our attention to the contemplation of another of the trials of married life, of which it is to be hoped that few who read these pages, will have any cause to think with reference to themselves. It may be said, "Why then remind them of the possibility that such causes of trial may, or do, exist?" I answer, that although the extreme of the case to which I am about to allude, is, happily for us, comparatively seldom known among respectable families in the middle ranks of life in England; yet, there are degrees of proximity to these extremes, existing sometimes where we should least expect to find the cheerful aspect of domestic life cast under such a cloud. In reflecting seriously and impartially upon the love of married life, we must all be forcibly impressed with the fact, that the love which is most frequently presented to the notice of the observer, is far from being such as we ourselves should be satisfied to possess; or, at all events, not such as women of deep and sensitive feelings would expect to meet with in the married state. It is true, there are instances, and they can scarcely be dwelt upon with too much admiration, where the love of married life, in all its imperishable beauty, outlives the bloom of youth, and sheds a radiance like the sunset glow of evening, around the peaceful passage of old age towards the tomb. And were it not that in such instances, we see the possibility of earthly love being kept in all its vigor and its freshness, uninjured by the lapse of time, it would be useless to follow up the inquiry every married woman ought to make-by what means is this love to be preserved ? If in speaking of the peculiar trial about to occupy our attention, I use the word unfaithfulness, to signify my meaning, it is less in reference to those extremes of moral delinquency which sometimes stain the history of private, as well as public life, than to those slighter shades of the same character, which more frequently flit across the surface of domestic peace; or, what is still more lament enjoyment, until the whole experience of married life becomes as dull, and soulless, and devoid of interest, as if the union was simply one of habit or convenience, endured with mutual indifference, yet dragged on with decency and something like respect, because it was "so nominated in the bond." But is it right that creatures endowed with capabilities for the highest and holiest enjoyment, should be satisfied with this? Nay, is it possible that happiness of so low a grade, if one may call it such, can fill the heart whose quick susceptibilities, whose trembling emotions, and whose living depths, have been formed to answer, and to echo every touch and tone of feeling, from the highest thrill of ecstasy, down to the lowest notes of wo? No: if we are reckless how we turn from its high destiny, a nature thus endowed; if we will thus sink the immortal in the material, so as merely to work out with mechanical precision the business of each day, in which the animal nature holds pre-eminence over the spiritual, we must not venture to complain that life is vapid and monotonous, or that there is little in this world to remind us of that blessedness which is promised as the portion of the happy in the next. Whatever we aim to possess as a privilege even in this life, let it then be of the highest order; and having attained our wish, let us seek to preserve that privilege unimpaired. That which elevates the soul in its capability of enjoyment, is always worthy of our care; while that which lowers it, is always to be shunned and feared. In nothing is this more important to be observed, than in the preservation of earthly love. That which degrades the standard of affection, degrades the whole being; and that which raises this standard, raises also every faculty which can be connected either immediately or remotely with the exercise of the affections. I have already described, in some particulars, how that best gift of Providence, the love of a faithful and devoted husband, is to be preserved. We have now the painful task of supposing that it has been allowed, by some means or other, to fall away. There are faint and frequent symptoms of this decline, of which the judgment takes no cognizance, until after the heart has been made to feel them; and although I have already alluded to the folly and the danger of voluntarily looking out for such symptoms where there is no reason to suppose they exist, there may be equal, if not greater danger, in disregarding them where they do. I will only mention as the first of these symptoms, an increased tendency on the part of the husband to be repelled or annoyed by little personal peculiarities. And here it may be observed, that almost every impression injurious to the love of man in married life, is personal or immediate, rather than remote. Thus a husband will more easily forgive his wife for an act of moral culpability, provided it has no reference to himself, than for the least personal affront, or the slightest occasion for even a momentary sensation of disgust. It consequently happens, that when affection begins to wane, the husband often becomes annoyed with the voice, the manner, the dress of his wife, more than he is with those of other women. She has, then, some peculiar way of doing every thing which seems to jar upon his senses; and in time he ceases so entirely to look, to listen, or to linger near her, that unless more than commonly obtuse, she must be made to feel that she has lost her power to charm him, and when that is lost-alas, for the poor wife! Still we must not forget, that there are two kinds of unfaithfulness, the one arising entirely from estranged affection; and the other from attraction towards a different object. In the latter case it does not always follow that affection for the wife shall have become extinct, and therefore there is hope; but, in the former, the fact that man's love when once destroyed is destroyed forever, excludes all possibility of consolation, except from a higher and a surer source. As well might the mourner weeping for the dead, expect by tears and lamentations to reanimate the lifeless form; as the unloved wife to recall the affection of her husband, after the bloom and tenderness of his love is gone. Who then would incur the risk of so vast and irreparable a loss, by a neglect of those personal attractions by which it was her study in early life to charm? Who would allow a careless or negligent demeanor to impress her husband's mind with the conviction, that he was not in her estimation of sufficient importance to make it worth her while to please? or who would be willing that the powers of her mind should fall into disuse, when they might in their happiest and yet most natural exercise, be made conducive to the one great end of increasing her husband's interest in his home? To feel herself an unequal companion to the being whom of all others she would most wish to please, to have never cultivated her powers of conversation, and to be conscious that her society is vapid and uninteresting, must be one of the most painful and humiliating feelings to which an amiable woman can be subject: but to see, what is very natural in such a case, that others have a power which she has not, to call forth the higher faculties of her husband's mind, to elevate his thoughts, to charm his fancy, and to enliven his spirits!-Surely if the daughters of England could realize by any exercise of their imagination, the full intensity of feelings such as these, they would cease to be careless about the cultivation of those means of promoting social and domestic happiness, with which every woman who enters upon the duties of a wife, ought to make herself acquainted. But beyond this vague and general feeling of being neglected, and this incapacity for doing any thing to avert so desolate a doom, it sometimes happens that there is real cause to suspect a transfer of the husband's interest and affection to another. And although nothing can be more destructive to the happiness of married life, or more at variance with the nature of true and deep affection, than a predisposition to suspicion on these points; yet where the case is too evident to admit of doubt, it would evince a culpable indifference in the wife who could suffer it to remain unnoticed. Here, however, if ever in the whole range of human experience, it is necessary to act with delicacy and caution. It is necessary, in the first place, to be sure. In the next, no selfish motive, no indignant feeling, no disposition to revenge, must mingle with what is said or done on so melancholy and momentous an occasion; for though the dignity of virtue, and the purity of the female character, as well as the temporal and eternal good of the offender, alike require that some decided measures should be adopted to avert the evil; the wife herself must not forget, that under such circumstances she possesses no other than a legal claim-that, as a being to be cherished and beloved, she is utterly discarded from her husband's heart-that scarcely is his home her own-that her respectability, her position in society, all that in which an honored and a trusted wife delights, are only nominally hers; and that she is in reality, or rather, in all which belongs to the true feelings of a woman, a low, lost thing, more lonely, pitiable, and degraded, than the veriest outcast from society who still retains a hold upon her husband's love. What, then, are admiration, wealth, or fame, to such a woman? Society, even though she were its idol, would have no power to flatter her; nor could the wide world, with all its congregated millions, awake within her desolate bosom a single thrill of pride. No, there is nothing but uncomplaining loneliness, and utter self-abasement, for the portion of that wife who cannot keep her husband's heart! It is in this spirit alone, that with any propriety or any hope, she can appeal to a husband's feelings, carefully guarding against all expression of tenderness, no longer welcome or desired; and keeping, as it were, aloof in her humility; yet withal, casting herself upon his pity, as one who is struck down by a beloved hand, will kiss the instrument of her abasement; putting aside all selfish claims, as indeed she must; and making it evident, that though her own happiness is wrecked for ever, she cannot live without a hope, nor breathe without a prayer, for him. And surely, if all this is carried out to the full extent of woman's delicacy, disinterestedness, and truth; and if accompanied by earnest and unceasing prayer for that help which no human power can then afford— surely, towards a wife thus suffering and sincere, the husband whose heart is not yet wholly depraved, could scarcely withhold his pity, his protection, and his love! And if the husband should relent, if he should renounce the object of attraction to his wandering fancy, though nothing can obliterate the past, or break the chain of association between that and the thousand apprehensions which must of necessity link themselves into the sad future; all these dark thoughts must be concealed within her bosom, into whose secret counsels, and more secret griefs, no earthly friend must be admitted. Neither must sadness cloud her brow, nor any lurking suspicion betray itself upon the smooth surface of her after-life, but vivacity and cheerfulness again must charm; while a manner disengaged, and a mind at liberty to please, and receive pleasure in return, must prove the mastery of principle over impulse of affection over self. If with a wife thus circumstanced, the power to forget should appear the greatest mercy a kind Providence could bestow; and if this mercy being denied, the aspect of her life should look too dark to be endured, she must not forget that one earthly consolation yet remains—it is that of having kept her own affection unchanged and true: and oh! how infinitely preferable is the feeling of having borne unfaithfulness, than of having been unfaithful ourselves! But beyond, and far above such consolation, is that of being remembered in her lost and low estate, by Him who chasteneth whom he loveth; of being permitted in her degradation to come and offer up her broken heart to Him; when deprived of every other stay, to call Him father, and to ask in humble faith the fulfilment of His gracious promise of protection to those who put their trust in Him. |