What is love? The first, the only all-pervading. Petrarch and Laura. "Love-matches." Self-oblivion indicates true love. Proofs of one's being affected by this sentiment. Shakspeare's description of a lover. Jealousy and Timidity indicate love.

Overtures. Unrequited love. Rejection of Addresses.

I use the expression at the head of this chapter, because of the importance I attach, not only to the sentiment in general, but especially to its earliest developement. There are those, who sneer at the name of love. There are many, who laugh at its mention, if made in sober earnestness, and yet some of these, who thus speak in public, do, I believe, in the secrecy of their hearts, believe in, aye, reverence, it, as one of the most sacred impulses of our nature. Because we have witnessed, or read of, a silly sentimentalism, that affected its character, let us not straightway question the possibility of its existence in any one.

Nor would I encourage the little girl in musing over novels, or listening to talk on this subject, until she dreams herself in love.

There is indeed little danger of this where friends have not made it a theme for perpetual inuendos and jests, but spoken frankly, simply, and seriously of it, as a reality in human experience. She, who finds herself tending to foolish imaginings on this subject, has but to employ her mind constantly, and preserve her health in soundness, and the illusion will be dispelled.

But what is love? Shall we take the description of it given by the master poet of our nature, who tells us that

"Love with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power; And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices"?

It may be thus mighty in its sway over some hearts; but not always are its courses so "swift." The affections of some "tremble, like a leaf, at every breath of love; while others, like the ocean, are moved only by the breath of a storm." Yet in all, its approach causes great changes in the character, and usually alters the entire complexion of life. Where the individual has enjoyed great mental culture, it brings in its train increased hazards; and in not a few hearts, its involutions are strangely complex, and its abysses of fearful depth.

I am one of those who believe, that in strict truth, the first love is the only real, all-pervading affection. There are other sentiments, on which the marriage relation may be founded with fair and reasonable hopes of an happy result. But no one can love two individuals, simultaneously or successively, with equal strength. There is a fervor, in the freshness of the heart's first gift, that no second occasion can quicken. Petrarch could never have found another Laura. Though his was love at first sight, it endured until twenty-one years had terminated the life of its object. Our earliest manners, tones of voice, and expression of countenance, endure the longest. So does the stamp of love's seal, when new, outshine every subsequent impression. Hence the importance of bestowing this primal treasure with wisdom. Where all of this life, and all of the future is at stake, wary should be our steps, and well pondered our decisions.

We hear much of "love-matches." Weak transactions, but the foam of love's great deep, are many of these matches. Still there is such a thing as marriage based on spontaneous love. It may occur at a chance meeting, not, I allow, to be consummated without the revision of calm judgment, but still the fruit of a moment's impression. There is a kind of love, which is not natural, impulsive, and cordial, but the result of an unnatural predisposition, and an inflamed and diseased imagination.

None the less is there an up-welling, genuine affection, that for the time, commands and absorbs woman's entire being. It is possible, that what is treated here as a jest, and there, as a matter of skepticism, may exist in some true hearts, suddenly conceived, yet persevered in, and permanent.

Some marry for money, others for beauty, for intelligence, or rank, or family, or fancy; there are those who marry for love. We have known females, who venerated the object of their affection so completely, as to mourn sincerely their own unworthiness of, and regard themselves as a simple gift of G.o.d to so good a man. Where one sees this beautiful self-oblivion, can he be a true philosopher, and a.s.sign any cause for it, save the existence of genuine love? She, who unites to this pa.s.sion a provident self-possession, who is as calm, as she is keenly susceptible, will enter the marriage relation with the happiest omens of joy, and ever-growing success, in every coming duty.

After these preliminary remarks, it will be expected that I should give a sketch of the tokens and proofs of one's being under the influence of this sentiment. It occasions, on its approach, important changes in the feelings and character, such as no one experiences without being sensible of their occurrence, although, so close is the resemblance between love and the effects of a warm imagination, that one may fancy herself in love, when she really is not. It wakes emotions and sympathies never before awakened, and lying deep in our nature. No writer has described its signs and effects so minutely as Shakspeare. If we may believe him, it is not always marked by deliberation, and entire self-possession:

"If thou rememberest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not sat, as I do now, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not broke from company, Abruptly, as my pa.s.sion now makes me, Thou hast not loved."

Love makes the hours, when its object is absent, long and dreary. It renders even the contemplation of the preferred one more agreeable than the society of others. A prepossession for a particular individual usually makes one jealous of attentions bestowed by him on other persons. I once heard a gentleman remark, that it was this jealousy, which first convinced him that he was in love. You cannot open your lips to speak against him, who has impressed your heart. You will inwardly, although not probably in words, defend him from the attacks of others.

To blush and falter under such circ.u.mstances would indicate love, much more surely than open professions.

Were the question put by yourself "Do I love this person?" the first reply,--that of timidity and doubt,--would be, "no." Still for no consideration could you rest an hour in that conclusion. Unstaid in all motions else, there would be one fixed object,

"The constant image of the creature That is beloved."

Should Overtures be made by a gentleman, it requires great delicacy to treat them aright. Are you decided in the determination to accept them, let your reply be prompt. It is ungenerous to trifle with the feelings of another, when in your power. Perhaps you need advice. Those ent.i.tled to your first regard, on this subject, are your parents. Reserve at this period causes many unhappy mistakes. A word of information, a hint from so true a friend as a mother, may confirm your undecided purpose, or lead you at once to abandon it. Let it not be your fault, if you do not enjoy the benefit of such valuable counsel. Suppose your parents object to the connection, when your heart is interested, and judgment approves your affection. There are examples of n.o.ble self-denial under these circ.u.mstances. Cases there are, too, in which health, peace of mind, and even life, have been the forfeit paid for compliance with such advice. I believe it right, where the opposition is evidently unreasonable, that a young lady should obey the promptings of her own heart. Gretna Green, if it have witnessed the union of some unprincipled fugitives from home, has seen others joined in a true and sacred bond. Is not such a resort better than to hang, or suffocate oneself, as is so often done in France by thwarted lovers? The instances that justify this procedure may be very rare, yet surely it is better to follow nature's holiest law, than to drag out a lingering life of martyrdom, as thousands have done, to gratify what the world knew to be but a whim of an ambitious father, or a capricious mother. When conscience approves the step, let it be firmly taken. If the blessing of G.o.d can be invoked upon it, then is it right.

Another event may occur. The offering of the heart may prove Unrequited.

She, who has poured forth the fulness of her affections, meets a chilling repulse. Perhaps it is instant; or there may be intimations of a favorable regard that shall fan, and keep alive, a hope. That hope is at length totally crushed. How is one to demean herself, under this severe trial? Let her cherish no resentment. This will but aggravate her sufferings and expose her to contempt. Neither should she dwell morbidly on her fate, and nurse in her bosom the seeds of consumption. Rather let the whole energy of her soul be given to banish the occurrence from her thoughts, and let her seek relief from the Source of all solace.

The task of extinguishing our affection for an individual, voluntarily, is never an easy one. They, who are called by circ.u.mstances to this effort, should know that it can usually be effected only by a resolute purpose, and by a force of exertion which, to those of strong feelings, seems almost to rend the spirit in twain. Yet so it must be. As a lady has well remarked--"to a frank and ardent nature," and such usually have this s.e.x, "reasoning on love is a useless pastime;--it can be overcome only by an effort strong as the whirlwind, such as uproots the young and vigorous oak, in its bright leafing time. Woman's warm nature must cast it far away at once, though death were in the parting."

You may feel it a duty to reject the offers of a suitor. In this case, let your decision be communicated in such a manner as to spare the feelings of him, who cannot but be mortified, if not humbled, by your decision. How can she maintain a clear conscience, or even a sense of honor, who exposes a gentleman, under these circ.u.mstances, to the derision of the public? Let no one share the secret, beyond the precincts of your own family. Return all letters, and leave no evidence of the disappointment of your friend, where it may be discovered.

She, who conducts thus kindly and wisely, will retain still a respect for her suitor. If she lose his friendship, or alienate him entirely from her regard, it is sufficient proof that there was something wrong, either in the spirit, or the manner, of her refusal. Why should one sink in your estimation, for an event unexpected on his part, and for which he had seen nothing in your previous deportment, perhaps, to prepare him? Let your conduct be judicious, and then, should he address himself to another lady, she will not indeed have his first love, yet, unless greatly prejudiced by the fact of his previous rejection, she may accept his addresses, and be united to him, with the fair hope of a happy life.

Chapter XII.

CONDUCT DURING ENGAGEMENT.

Two aspects of the Future. Extravagant Antic.i.p.ations. Calm, and rational ones. We should disclose our true and entire Character.

The great error of the Betrothed. Disclosure of Faults. Esteem and Respect to be secured. Sacredness of our Plighted word. Implied engagement. Dismissing a Suitor. A n.o.ble example of constancy. Sad fate of Mrs. Hemans. Preparation for marriage. Duration of engagement. Testimony from Pere Lachaise. Short engagements usually most desirable.

After mature deliberation, and in accordance with the sacred impulse of love, you are now, let us conceive, pledged to one, who antic.i.p.ates a future consummation with you, of the dearest relation which man can form. What views ought you to take of your present situation? and how should you deport yourself in your intercourse with this near friend?

There are two aspects, under which the future may, from this point, be regarded. It may be to you a region of dreams, and extravagant Antic.i.p.ations. The mind may easily be allowed so to dwell on its scenes, that imagination shall take the place of reality. Circ.u.mstances often warrant but moderate expectations; yet amid the most arid waste you see, like the deceived traveller in the deserts of Zahara, the enchanting _mirage_, a beautiful lake of deep, refreshing, inexhaustible waters.

A moment's reflection might teach such an one the delusiveness of these prospects. Let it be that your lover has every good quality you ascribe to him, that he is quite perfection; you must know, from the experience of other antic.i.p.ated enjoyments, that the possession of an object tends naturally to moderate our feelings in regard to it. The heart, which beat feverish pulsations beneath the summer of expectation, becomes calm, when autumn's tranquil days have arrived. There is a wide chasm between the illusions of sleep and all we can call

"The sober certainty of waking bliss."

There is a joy, it is true, in the marriage bond greater even than we once antic.i.p.ated. But it comes from an unlooked-for source. It is not that very thing we imagined; in that we are often disappointed. It consists in the shining forth of new and before undiscovered traits. But when were extravagant antic.i.p.ations ever yet realized, and that too in the precise objects, on which they had fastened?

Another view a lady who is engaged may take of coming life, is, that of the calm and Rational description. She may strive to see her lover in the true light; she may pray that her heart be not betrayed into false hopes, and resolve that she will never abandon her judgment, in so momentous a transaction. Such an one looks at the world as it is, a chequered scene; a place in which "one thing is set over against another;" a mart in which a just price must be paid for every article we obtain. This aspect of life may be less pleasing than its opposite. It may render what is termed "Courtship" something else beside a golden age; yet, in the end, who can doubt, it will prove a rich source of substantial happiness?

If it be desirable that a young woman see her lover in his genuine character, so is it that she disclose to him every feature of her own.

Why should she wish to keep any thing concealed? What is the purpose of that period, which pa.s.ses between the engagement of two individuals, and the consummation of their marriage? If it have any rational meaning, it must be to afford an opportunity for a thorough mutual acquaintance. The parties do not,--ostensibly, at least, this is the case,--they do not, pa.s.s hours and months in the society of one another, except the better to understand, and hence the more truly to sympathize with, each other.

Not, surely, does the suitor enter the presence of his friend, to exalt himself into an unnatural position. He is not striving to pa.s.s with her for some creature of romance, some hero, or G.o.d. No, the ostensible purpose of their interviews is, that he may exhibit himself to her more and more truly as he is, in heart, principle, character, and life. So is it designed, by these acts and conversations, that the lady should present her true phases before him. To suppose that she arrays her person, or frames her speech, with a view to concealing her real feelings, and thoughts, and dispositions, from him, is a mockery of the most sacred relation on earth.

One would imagine that nothing would give an individual such pain, in this situation, as the fear that her too partial admirer might conceive of her as a divinity, instead of a mere woman, inheriting the common frailties of our nature. Her chief solicitude would be, we should think, to guard against his forming too high expectations of her future character. Rather would she that he undervalue her merits, and so leave her room to rise in his estimation, than so heighten her charms, as to render the fruition of his hopes impossible.

Is this the usual tenor of feeling in the hearts of the betrothed? It would argue little practical knowledge of the world to contend that it is. On the contrary, there seems a systematic endeavor, on the part, too often, of both individuals, to disguise their real sentiments, cloak their sincere opinions, and throw a mist over their daily principles and habits. The gentleman usually exhibits only his Sunday exterior and manner, aiming studiously to veil his face, in the company of his affianced one. And instead of encouraging her to speak out her true thoughts, and show her ordinary disposition, he burns before her the incense of flattery, until she is constrained to force herself up to unnatural heights of goodness, in appearance and expression, lest her lover be compelled to lower his conception of his paragon, and at length see her, a poor, unadorned sharer of humanity, just as she is.

Who can wonder, amid this utter want of frankness, and these pasteboard forms, that the foundation is laid for sure disappointment and misery, when the masks are thrown off, and the two individuals stand, a mere man and a mere woman, before one another? Human ingenuity could not devise a system more completely adapted to entail sorrow and suffering on our race, than this.

It may be said that I exaggerate the case, that the parties do not _mean_ to deceive each other, but do really feel all that they now mutually express. In one sense this may be correct. The circ.u.mstances in which they are placed tend, I know, to foster kind feelings, and create courteous manners; and to the manifestation of these, all that flow spontaneously at the moment, I do not object.

But is not more also expressed? Or rather,--for the error lies chiefly in restraint,--is not much suppressed, that ought, in all wisdom and ingenuousness, to be distinctly avowed? Suppose I have faults,--and who has not?--why should they be cautiously concealed from my nearest friend? I am, by nature, and indulgence also, peevish and ill-humored; ought I to seek to pa.s.s for all that is opposite to this?

Contentiousness is a besetting sin of my character. Shall I strive to appear, always and only, one of the most yielding of my s.e.x? My temper is violent, or sullen, why should this fact be kept from my lover, until some outbreak after our marriage day? Ought I not to speak decidedly, and unequivocally, of this my infirmity? I am addicted to occasional depression of spirits and gloom; by what right, or on what principle of religion, or expediency, shall I labor to keep up an unnatural cheerfulness? If I am extravagant, is it wise or just to be always sounding the praises of economy? Why profess a taste for reading, when I loathe the sight of a sober volume? Why force myself up to a pitch of neatness, when my wardrobe would, by a single glance, prove me a slattern?

It is hard, it seems cruel, to require these painful disclosures, to roll clouds over the sun of the matrimonial sky. But is not even this better than to suffer a dense ma.s.s to acc.u.mulate, which shall at length break in storm, and thunder, and desolation, upon the devoted pair? We are both weak and wicked, if we deliberately lay a train, that must at length explode, and cause decrepitude, if not matrimonial death, to one, who is about committing his entire happiness to our hands.

No marriage can be consummated, with a fair prospect of good, except between individuals, who have made it a point of principle to disclose to each other their entire characters. New scenes may develope new dispositions unfriendly to perfect harmony. But these can be met and successfully encountered, if there were no intentional deception, if there were an earnest desire and effort to show frankly every fault, that did really exist before marriage. Any efforts to engage the affections of another by false appearances will inevitably abate thus much from the future happiness of those who make, or are misled by, them. All that is termed "Courting," so far as that word implies a.s.sumption, pretence, and flattery,--and it too often means nothing more,--should be sacredly avoided. Nature alone can lay the basis of an enduring superstructure; art, affectation, disguise, and concealment, are but a sure presage of bitter regrets.

The intercourse we describe would be pervaded by mutual Esteem and Respect. It would prevent the habit of trifling on the concerns of the affections, and render the conversation worthy of the holy relation now contemplated, and such as could be reviewed with satisfaction. From their taking just views of one another, there would be sincerity, confidence, and a rational, ever-growing, attachment, between the individuals thus situated. Their most private hours would be marked by perfect delicacy, modesty, and propriety, of deportment. In public, no occasion would be given for remarks on their silly and sentimental airs, while all would perceive evidence of a mutual and deep interest between them, and predict, as they ought, that their future connection would be auspicious of the happiest results.

Where a true understanding of each other's characters, and an esteem, sustained by self-respect, exists, the communications, however conducted, whether by personal interviews, or by correspondence, will be of a rational description. The letters will not be crowded with nauseating compliments, with nonsense and vanity, but will contain good thoughts, no less than the expression of pure feeling, and generous sentiments. There will be nothing of insincerity, nor what would lead a stranger, who perused them, to say that they were mere folly and illusions.

A lady should feel bound, from the moment of her engagement, to be true to her plighted word. She is forbidden, by every dictate of Honor, from pursuing any course of conduct that will give pain to her friend. There is a steadiness of feeling and purpose, under these circ.u.mstances, which cannot be too highly commended. "What state could fall," asks a recent writer, "what liberty decay, if the zeal of man's noisy patriotism was as pure as the silent loyalty of woman's love." Erring,--all human as she is, to others,--G.o.d gifts her with a thousand virtues, to the one she loves; it is from that love, that she drinks her n.o.bler nature;--it gives her the meekness of a dove, the devotion of a saint. In his danger, she has the sagacity of the serpent, and the courage of the lioness. Like the chivalrous knight, she who thus feels, will "avoid no foe, forsake no love."

There are those who apparently enjoy the opposite of this course. They consent to receive marked attentions from others in company. A French author says he has known individuals among his countrywomen, "who unconsciously, actuated by a thirst for emotion, provoked very lively scenes with their lovers, solely to obtain for themselves the pleasure of tears, reproaches, and reconciliations." This luxury is one, in which no lady of principle will indulge herself. Agreeable as an occasional conquest, or flirtation, might be to her, she will sacredly abstain from every act that tends in this direction. The sure possession of one true heart, one affianced protector, and unalterable friend, will suffice her desires.

Nor is it enough to refrain from encouraging the open attentions of others, the truly loyal one will not allow herself to cherish a secret feeling or preference toward any other. Her every affection will be true as steel to the magnet. She will know no wayward inclinations, nor give way to whims and fancies, and undefinable emotions, to feelings, which she would blush to betray to her lover.

This true-heartedness will operate not less where an engagement is implied and understood between the parties, than if a formal pledge had been given. It is what we conceive another to expect from us, and what we have encouraged him to expect, more than any set speeches and written promises, that binds the conscientious mind. Some, indeed, are never formally engaged, before the day of their marriage. The trust which such instances manifest, is a beautiful trait, and will be fostered by every pure heart.