THE HAPPY STATE OF MATRIMONY.
Without doubt the uniting of hearts in holy wedlock is of all conditions
the happiest; for then a man has a second self to whom he can reveal his
thoughts, as well as a sweet companion in his labours, toils, trials,
and difficulties. He has one in whose breast, as in a safe cabinet, he
can confide his inmost secrets, especially where reciprocal love and
inviolable faith is centred: for there no care, fear, jealousy,
mistrust, or hatred can ever interpose. For base is the man that hateth
his own flesh! And truly a wife if rightly considered, as Adam well
observed, is or ought to be esteemed of every honest man as “Bone of his
bone, and flesh of his flesh,” &c. Nor was it the least care of the
Almighty to ordain so near a union, and that for two causes; the first,
for the increase of posterity; the second, to restrain man’s wandering
desires and affections; nay, that they might be yet happier, when God
had joined them together, he “blessed them,” as in Gen. ii. An ancient
writer, contemplating this happy state, says, in the economy of
Zenophon, “that the marriage-bed is not only the most pleasant, but
profitable course of life, that may be entered on for the preservation
and increase of posterity. Wherefore since marriage is the most safe,
and delightful situation of man, he does in no ways provide amiss for
his own tranquillity who enters into it, especially when he comes to
maturity of years.”
Enviable is the state of that man who has fixed his choice upon a
virtuous, chaste wife, centring her entire love upon her husband, and
submitting to him as her head and king, by whose directions she ought to
steer in all lawful courses, will like a faithful companion, share
patiently with him in all his adversities, run with cheerfulness through
all difficulties and dangers, though ever so hazardous, to preserve or
assist him in poverty, sickness, or whatever misfortune may befall him,
acting according to her duty in all things.
“Marriage,” says one of our most gifted poets—who had experienced some
varieties of married life—“is a covenant, the very being whereof
consists not in a forced cohabitation and counterfeit performance of
duties, but in unfeigned love and peace. Matrimonial love, no doubt, was
chiefly meant, which by the ancient sages was thus parabled: Love, if it
be not twin-born, yet hath a brother wondrous like him, called Anteros;
whom, while he seeks all about, his chance is to meet with many false
and feigning desires, that wander singly up and down in his likeness: by
them, in their borrowed garb, Love though not wholly blind, as poets
wrong him, yet having but one eye—on being born an archer, aiming—and
that eye not the quickest in this region here below—which is not Love’s
proper sphere—partly out of the simplicity of credulity, which is native
to him, often deceived, embraces and consorts him with these obvious and
suborned striplings, as if they were her mother’s own sons; for so he
thinks them, while they subtly keep themselves most on his blind side.
But, after a while, as the manner is, when soaring up into the high
tower of his opqueum, above the shadow of the earth, he darts out the
direct rays of his then most piercing eye-sight upon the impostures and
trim disguises that were used with him, and discerns that this was not
his genuine brother, as he imagined. He has no longer the power to hold
fellowship with such a personated mate; for straight his arrows lose
their golden heads, and shed their purple feathers, his silken braids
entwine, and slip their knots, and that original and fiery virtue given
him by fate, all on a sudden goes out, and leaves him undeified and
despoiled of all his force; till, finding Anteros at last, he kindles
and repairs the almost faded ammunition of his deity, by the reflection
of a coequal and homogenial fire.”
This is a deep and serious verity, showing us that love in marriage
cannot live nor subsist unless it be mutual, and where love cannot be,
there can be left of wedlock nothing but the empty husk of an outside
matrimony, as undelightful and unpleasing to God, as any other kind of
hypocrisy.
Man experiences a feeling of want for some one to whom he can unbosom
himself of all his secrets, and tell the longings and aspirations of his
heart; and who so fit and proper to be trusted as the partner of his
joys and sorrows, and the wife of his bosom? In his boyish days he may
confide in some youthful companion, but as he verges towards manhood, he
hesitates to entrust the secrets of his heart to his equals in age,
fearful of a betrayal of confidence. Men are following the bent of their
inclinations and pursuits—seeking wealth, reputation, or pleasure—in
various ways; and if you told your dearest friend the secrets of your
heart, he would soon be wearied with your officiousness, however much he
might appreciate your friendship, and might be anxious for your success,
but your success, or even your friendship, are not of paramount
importance in his estimation. Very different, however is the case with a
wife. When you conducted her to the altar, and vowed to love and cherish
her so long as life should last, she became one with you—“no more twain
but one flesh.” To her you may safely confide all your wishes,
difficulties, and disappointments. Pleasure is all the more ecstatic
when there are two to partake of it; and every burden feels lighter,
when there are two to help to bear it. Pliny, speaking of his wife,
says,—“Her ingenuity is admirable; her frugality is extraordinary; she
reads my writings, studies them, and even gets them by heart. You would
smile to see the concern she is in when I have a cause to plead, and the
joy she shows when it is over. She finds means to have the first news
brought to her of the success I meet with in court, how I am heard, and
what decree is made. She feasts upon my applauses. Sometimes she sings
my verses, and accompanies them with the lute without any other master,
except love, the best of instructors.” Ecstatic and soul-cheering are
the delights which spring from a trusting, loving, and honourable
marriage. How the very presence of the loved wife is prized! For should
circumstances cause a short separation, with what anxiety does the fond
husband look for the return of her on whom his soul doats; and whose
returning presence throws a halo of sunshine over his domestic hearth,
which gladdens the heart of the loving husband. How the faithful husband
will seek to shield the loving wife from every harm; and how firmly he
relies on her faith and purity! What energy does the thought of her
sterling fidelity give him in life’s struggles! What a peculiar charm is
imparted to enjoyments when we can share them with one whom we fondly
love, and by whom we are fondly loved in return. Sympathy renders such
communion ecstatic, but if that is taken away, the remains are but the
hollow mockery of pleasure, vanity, and vexation of spirit.
A clever female writer thus speaks of marriage—“Many a marriage begins
like the rosy morning, and then falls away like a snow-wreath. And why?
Because the married pair neglect to be as well pleasing to each other
after marriage as before. Endeavour always to please one another; but at
the same time keep God in your thoughts.—Lavish not all your love on
to-day, for remember that marriage has its to-morrow, likewise, and its
day after to-morrow, too. Spare, as one may say, fuel for the
winter.—Deceive not one another in small things or in great. One little
lie has, before now, disturbed a whole married life.—A small cause has
often great consequences.—Fold not the hands together and sit idle.
‘Laziness is the devil’s cushion!’ Do not run much from home. ‘One’s own
hearth is gold-worth.’—The married woman is her husband’s domestic
faith; in her hands he must be able to confide house and family; be able
to entrust to her the key of his heart, as well as the key of his
eating-room. His honour and his home are under her keeping; his
well-being is in her hand. Think of this, oh wife!—Young men, be
faithful husbands and good fathers of families. Act so that your wives
shall esteem and love you. Read the word of God industriously; that will
conduct you through storm and calm, and safely bring you to the haven at
last.”
Much happiness may result from the state of matrimony. The good man
beholds his children rising around him, like olive branches; he feels
himself strengthened and encouraged to fulfil the responsibilities
devolving upon him; and he had before no idea of the fountain of joy
that was in the word “father.” It appears to him as if his boyish days
were returned, when he is surrounded by two or three of the pledges of
his affection, witnessing their youthful gambols, and listening to their
clear ringing shouts of glee and delight as they scamper up and down
before him. He takes a pride in his children. No toil or trial appears
harassing which is endured for their benefit. He indulges in bright
anticipations regarding their future career, and prays and hopes that
they will be a comfort and honour to his declining years; and he
endeavours to train them up in the way they should go, trusting that
when they are old, they will not depart from it. And this is not a
selfish feeling; he is well aware that the man who gives a brave son or
a virtuous daughter to society, has conferred an inestimable blessing on
society. When declining age approaches, and the partner of his joys and
sorrows manifests the effects of time’s corroding blight on the fair
structure which won his youthful affections,—still the flame of love
burns as pure if not as ardent, as when they stood before the hymeneal
altar. The aged pair are still happy in each other’s smile; and the
reflection that they have led their children in that good path which
shall make their memory blessed, sustains and comforts them in life’s
closing scene.
An old divine says, “They that enter into marriage, cast a die of the
greatest contingency, and yet of the greatest interest in the world,
next to the last throw for eternity. Life or death, felicity or lasting
sorrow, are in the power of marriage.—A woman, indeed, ventures most;
for she hath no sanctuary to retire to.—The man can run from many hours
of sadness, yet he must return to it again, and when he sits among his
neighbours, he remembers the dejection that is in his bosom, and sighs
deeply.—After the hearts of the man and wife are endeared and
strengthened, by a mutual confidence and experience longer than artifice
and presence can last, there are a great many remembrances, and some
things present, that dash all little unkindnesses in pieces.—Let man and
wife be careful to stifle little things, that as fast as they spring
they be cast down and trod upon; for if they be suffered to grow, by
numbers, they make the spirits peevish, and the society troublesome, and
the affections loose and easy by an habitual aversion. Some men are more
vexed with a fly than with a wound; and when the gnats disturb our
sleep, and the reason is disquieted but not perfectly awakened, it is
often seen that he is fuller of trouble than if, in the day-light of his
reason he were to contest with a potent enemy. In the frequent little
accidents of a family a man’s reason cannot always be awake; and when
the discourses are imperfect, and a trifling trouble makes him yet more
restless, he is soon betrayed to the violence of passion.—Let them be
sure to abstain from all those things which by experience and
observation, they find to be contrary to each other.—Let the husband and
wife avoid a curious distinction of _mine_ and _thine_; for this hath
caused all the laws, and all the suits, and all the wars of the
world.—Let them who have but one purse, have but one interest.—There is
nothing that can please a man without love; for nothing can sweeten
felicity itself but love.—No man can tell, but he that loves his
children, how many delicious accents make a man’s heart dance in the
pretty conversations of those dear ones; their childishness, their
stammering, their little angers, their innocence, their imperfections,
their necessities, are so many little emanations of joy and comfort to
him that delights in their persons and society.—A man should set a good
example to his wife.—Ulysses was a prudent man, and a wary counsellor,
sober and severe; and he formed his wife into such imagery as he
desired; and she was chaste as the snows upon the mountains; diligent as
the fatal sisters; always busy and always faithful, she had a lazy
tongue and a busy hand.—A husband’s chastity should be unspotted, his
faith inviolable, for this is the “Marriage Ring;” it ties two hearts by
an eternal band; it is like the cherubim’s flaming sword, set for the
guard of paradise.”
“Let a man love his wife even as himself,” and “be not bitter against
her.” Marcus Aurelius said, that “a wise man ought often to admonish his
wife, to reprove her seldom, but _never_ to lay his hands on her.” The
marital love is infinitely removed from all possibility of such
rudeness; it is a thing pure as light, sacred as a temple, lasting as
the world.
There is nothing can please a man without love; and if a man be weary of
the wise discourses of the Apostles, and of the innocency of an even and
private fortune, or hates peace or a fruitful year, he has reaped thorns
and thistles from the choicest flowers of paradise, “for nothing can
sweeten felicity itself, but love;” but when a man dwells in love, then
the breasts of his wife are pleasant as the droppings upon the hill of
Hermon, her eyes are fair as the light of heaven, she is a fountain
sealed, and he can quench his thirst, and ease his cares, and lay his
sorrow down in her lap, and can retire home to his sanctuary and
refectory, and his gardens of sweetness and chaste refreshment.