The Penny Press

The Duty of Husbands—How Little Makes a Wife's Happiness.

A writer in a late London journal addresses an article on the class of men styled husbands, and as there may be something substantial in his remarks, we subjoin a part of them:

I wish every husband would copy into his memorandum book this sentence, from a recently published work: "Women must be constituted very differently from men. A word said, a line written, and we are happy; omitted, our hearts ache, as if for a great misfortune. Men cannot feel it, or guess at it; if they did, the most careless of them would be slow to wound us so."

The grave hides many a heart which has been stung to death, because one who might, after all, have loved it after a certain careless fashion, was deaf, dumb, and blind to the truth in the sentence we have just quoted, or if not, was at least restive and impatient with regard to it.

Many men, marrying late in life, being accustomed only to take care of themselves, and that in the most erratic, rambling, exciting fashion, eating, drinking, sleeping, and waking whenever their fancy, or good cheer and amusement, questionable or unquestionable, prompted, come at last, when they get tired of this, with their selfish habits fixed, as fate, to matrimony. For awhile it is novelty. Shortly, it is strange as irksome, thus always being obliged to consider the comfort and happiness of another. To have something always hanging on the arm, which used to swing free, or, at most, but twirl a cane. Then they think their duty done if they provide food and clothing and refrain (possibly) from harsh words. Ah, is it? Listen to that sigh as you close the door. Watch the gradual fading of the eye, the paling of the cheek, hot from age—she should be yet young—but that gnawing pain at the heart, born of the settled conviction that the great hungry craving of her soul, as far as you are concerned, must go forever unsatisfied. God help such wives, and keep them from attempting to slake their soul's thirst at poisoned fountains.

Think you, her husband, how little a kind word, a smile, a caress to you, how much to her. If you call these things "childish, and beneath your notice," then you should never have married. There are men who should remain forever single. You are one. You have no right to require of a woman her health, strength, time and devotion, to mock her with this shadowy unsatisfying return. A new bonnet, a dress, a shawl, a watch, anything, everything but what a true woman's heart must crave, sympathy, appreciation, love. She may be rich in everything else, but if she is poor in these, and is a good woman, she had better die.

There are hard, unloving, cold monstrosities of women (rare exceptions,) who neither require love nor know how to give it. We are not speaking of these. That big hearted, loving noble men have occasionally been thrown away upon such, does not disprove what we have been saying. But even a man thus situated has greatly the advantage of a woman in a similar position, because, over the needle, a woman may think herself into an insane asylum, while the active out door turmoil of business life is at least a sometime reprieve to him.

Do you ask me, "Are there no happy wives?" God be praised, yes, and glorious, loveable husbands, too, who know how to treat a woman, and would have her neither fool nor drudge. Almost every wife would be a good and happy wife were she only loved enough. Let husbands, present and prospective, think of this.