TO WIVES

ABOVE all things there should be no gloom at home. The dark clouds of discontent and shadows of wasting fretfulness should never cross its threshold—throwing their large black shapes like funeral pails, over the happy young spirits gathered there. In the sentiment thus generally stated all agree—but how to prevent such sad visitants to the earthly heaven of the heart, and upon whom rests the responsibility of guarding it against such intrusions, upon these points, there is a wide difference of opinion. After all that may be said about the mutual responsibilities of parents, it cannot be denied that in all that affects the reign of peace and love in the family circle, woman holds and exercises supreme and entire control. A faithful, affectionate wife and mother will make home a heaven, and go far to make every in mate an angel there. If she will she may sit on a throne and be the presiding deity of the household. She wields a power more absolute and more efficient than any and all others combined. The children are her imitators, and the servants are molded by her influence; even the Husband and Father, prate as he may of his superiority in point of position, inevitably becomes just what the Wife and Mother makes him. Each member of a household receives its cue from the Wife and Mother. The children repeat in themselves the tones of her voice, the expressions of her countenance, and even the movements of her body. The servants almost unconsciously adopt her manner and spirit—and the Husband and Father becomes like her, or falls out of the circle and becomes a stranger in his own house.

The reception that the little song “What is home without a Mother,” everywhere meets with, is a testimony swelling up from the heart of humanity, that home is what a Mother makes it. The conceded axiom that Man without Woman, under all the circumstances of life which go to make up his happiness, is “A World without a Sun,” attests as plainly, from the depths of the human soul, that Man is, in this respect, what Woman makes him. These reflections were suggested by a little incident in every day life, which, but for the musing fit that was upon me at the time, might have passed unnoticed by me. Walking home with a friend one evening in dreary cold December, our conversation turned upon the effects of a business life in the present day upon the disposition and temper of a man. The night was setting in very cold; the wind blew fitfully, and as it rose and fell at intervals it produced quite a variety of sounds which, in their combination, suggested the idea of a funeral dirge, or some solemn saddening chant. My friend was a man of some thirty-five years experience in life— nearly twenty of which he had been in business. He had not succeeded in accumulating money—but, though his family was somewhat ex pensive, he had, (with the exception of two or three years in which he had failed in business, owing to circumstances which left his integrity and standing as a merchant unimpaired,) always secured a good living. The effect of the present times upon his business had been of a character that increased its difficulties and made it much more perplexing and harassing than heretofore.

During the day just past he had been seriously annoyed by contact and contention with several from whom he had been experiencing what he regarded as persecutions and ill will on business accounts altogether. He had borne with many a cruel tone—many cold and even sharp words and one had even alluded to his former difficulties in business. He had come out of the trial without having lost his temper or self-respect, for he had not retorted upon any of them and had borne himself with a becoming dignity and self-possession throughout the whole interview—but in order to do this he had nerved himself up to an energy so desperate, that as he turned away from his store his frame relaxed and his spirits drooped—every step he took seemed to increase his weakness and depression—his limbs ached with very weariness; and his temples throbbed with the pain-beat caused by the mental and physical exertion ho had been making. All this came out in our conversation as we wended our way along the streets through which we were passing to his home; and, what seemed to annoy him most, and what, I have no doubt, led him to recite these trials and cares to me, was his total unfitness to meet his family as was his wont, and as he felt it was due to them he should meet them. We reached his place of residence. A soft light from the parlor windows spread its enlivening beams on the red pave before the door, which suddenly brightened as his latch key was heard opening it. A sweet voice fell upon his ear, and its tones were so soft and glad that despite of the sadness that had been weighing down his spirits his face lit up with bright indications that hope and joy had again entered into his bosom and were nestling against his heart.

Our hats and overcoats were hastily removed and as we turned and entered the sunny little parlor, we were met by as smiling and happy a face as woman ever wore. She did not hesitate to give to her husband a cordial and earnest welcome home, even in the presence of a stranger. Every thing about this woman and her house gave evidence that a loved and honored one was expected. The shining hair smoothed over her fair brow—her dress neat and tasteful—the great arm chair drawn up to the fire—the slippers soft and warm, laid upon the stool before the grate. The children (there were four in all, but two only were old enough to wait up until papa came home,) were washed and combed, and dressed with scrupulous neatness and care— and, when the boots were drawn and slippers donned—they came for ward and claimed each a place beside the great chair, reaching up in turn for the coveted kiss—while behind and leaning over its side stood the Wife and Mother, with eyes beaming love and joy in every glance. My friend reached up his arms and clasping them about her neck drew her to him and imprinted upon her brow a fond kiss—as she lifted her head from before his face, his eyes met mine gazing upon them with evident delight—” Ah, C—,” said he, “all the trials of this long long day are past and gone! I might have known, if I had only given it a thought, that my gloomy feelings were doomed to have but a short existence. My dear good wife here has learned to govern herself, and her household too, by the principles of the Christian Religion. Come to my home when I will, and how I may, it is always the same—here I am consoled for all my trials—here I cannot be unhappy—here I am sure to find man’s sweetest, best and dearest solace.”

I will not detain my readers with an account of all that passed between us during the remainder of that ever to be remembered evening. Suffice it to say that such were the impressions made upon my mind and heart by this incident, that whenever I have met the lady alluded to, (and we have met frequently since then,) 1 have experienced more profound deference and respect for her—for her sex, which she adorns—and for her religion which she so nobly vindicates, than I had ever before deemed due to aught on earth. 0! faithful wife, what pi what powers, what treasures of love and happiness are placed within thy grasp! What rash and important influences may be wielded by thee!

Never let your husband have cause to complain that you are more agreeable abroad than at home. Many an unhappy marriage has been occasioned by neglect in these particulars. Nothing can be more senseless than the conduct of a young woman, who seeks to be admired in general society for her politeness and engaging manners, or skill in music, when, at the same time, she makes no effort to render her home attractive; and yet that home, whether a palace or a cottage, is the very centre of her being, the nucleus around which her affections should revolve.

Beware of entrusting any individual whatever with small annoyances, or misunderstandings between your husband and yourself, if they unhappily occur. Confidants are dangerous persons; and many seek to gain an ascendancy in families by winning the good opinion of young married women. Should any one presume to offer you advice with regard to your husband, or seek to lessen him by insinuations, shun that person as you would a serpent. Many a happy home has been rendered desolate by exciting coolness, or suspicion, or by endeavors to gain importance in an artful and insidious manner:

A woman—a married woman—who permits herself to find fault with her condition in life, and allows herself to be chagrined or feel an emotion of envy toward those who are peculiarity better situated than herself has already taken the first false step that may lead her on to ruin and disgrace, and will be the text of future remorse coupled with degradation. Envy and pride go hand in hand. Women will do well to ponder this, and let content make happy homes.