The Ladies' Garland

WHISPER TO A WIFE.

When once a woman is married—when once she is 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 the yeoman; and that woman will be valued principally as her fondness lies in retirement, and her pleasure 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, precedes all other duties.

In her matrimonial character, gentle lady, no longer let your fancy wander to scenes of pleasure or dissipation. Let home be your empire, your world. Let home be now the sole scene of your wishes, your thoughts, your plans, your exertions. Let it be now the stage on which, in the varied character of wife, of mother, of mistress, you strive to act and shine with splendor. 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, gentle lady, let not your fancy wander. Leave your husband to distinguish himself by his valor or his talents. Do you seek for fame at home, and let the applause of your God, your husband, 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 think there is something very lovely in seeing a woman overcome those little domestic disquiets with which every mistress of a family has to contend, sitting down to her breakfast-table in the morning with a cheerful, smiling countenance, and endeavoring to promote innocent and pleasant conversation among her little circle. But vain will be her amiable efforts at cheerfulness, if she be not assisted by her husband and other members around; and truly it is an unpleasant sight to see a family when collected together, instead of enlivening the quiet scene with a little good-humored chat, sitting like as many statues; as if each was unworthy 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 contemptible opinion of those persons, young or old, male or female, who lavish their good-humor and pleasantry in company, and hoard up sullenness and silence for the sincere and loving group which compose their fire-side.