To illustrate the advantages of healthful duties and self-esteem, and
the evils following want of occupation, I will give the experience of
an old friend, a former resident of this State. For convenience I will
call her Mrs. Hosmer.
This daughter of an orderly and peaceful home, in Western New York,
became engaged when quite young to an intelligent young man, who
afterward became foreman in her father’s iron-works. Several years
elapsed before the young man felt at liberty to take on himself the
cares and expenses of a family. He sought to expedite matters by
obtaining a California agency from a large hardware establishment. This
took him from home, and pending the decision, he became intimately
acquainted with another young woman possessing marked personal
attractions, different entirely from those of his long time _fiancée_.
News of his supposed disloyalty reached his betrothed simultaneously
with his return to his native town with the agency in his pocket--ready
for the ceremony, and removal to California. The beauty, and alert,
independent ways of the young woman in question, were set forth to the
betrothed in a manner calculated to depress her own self-esteem, and
raise a doubt of her lover’s satisfaction in her, but not enough doubt,
she thought, to justify an explanation, or to impede the marriage,
which therefore took place at once.
In San Francisco, Mrs. Hosmer found herself in what are considered most
fortunate circumstances, _i. e._, she had nothing to do, and had no
need of doing anything. She was a born housekeeper and a skillful cook,
but in a boarding-house these talents remained unexercised. She was a
neat and swift seamstress, but her mother having supplied her with the
usual superfluity of garments included in a wedding outfit, her talent
lay dormant in this direction also. Then she was amongst strangers,
shy, and unacquainted with others needing assistance. So, while her
husband was at his place of business, her sole thought was--bearing in
mind her imaginary rival--Is Martin satisfied with me? Is he happy?
Will he think this dress becoming to me?
Mr. Hosmer went and came, wholly ignorant of the doubt in his wife’s
mind. He was now jovial and unreserved, now abstracted and anxious, as
business promised success or failure; but always gentle and considerate
with his wife. The latter was a sisterly rather than a wifely person.
There was, therefore, a lack of spontaneity in the union, yet no real
unhappiness on either side.
In due time a babe was born--a girl--my acquaintance with whom
commenced when she was about eighteen; a fair, graceful creature,
with a small head on a large, well-proportioned body, soft, helpless,
imploring blue eyes, a rosebud mouth, and a peculiar, plaintive tone in
her speaking voice.
She had just left a private school, where for years she had gone through
books mechanically, coached for examinations by her good-natured,
brighter companions. She wrote a neat hand and a limited amount of
correct English. But she could never explain a page of her natural
philosophy or algebra, and could not _reason_ on any subject more
profound than the making of a dress or the dressing of her hair. She was
an amiable, affectionate, incapable, timid girl, who always leaned on
others for support.
Now, this weak-minded girl had a sister two years her junior, as
unlike, except in the color of her hair, eyes, and complexion, as
any two persons could be. Where Rosy was insignificantly pretty,
Charlotte was commandingly handsome. Firmness, courage, self-reliance,
reasoning faculty, she had in marked measure. She was already through
the high-school studies, taking a year’s rest between that and the
university, while her mother made the long-wished-for visit East;
delighted to be mistress of the house, since she was practically
skilled in domestic arts herself.
Having previously learned the circumstances that had so impressed
themselves on Rosa, I longed to understand how Mrs. Hosmer was situated
before the birth of her second daughter.
“Were you still boarding when you were pregnant with Charlotte?” I
asked, one day. “She carries herself with so much dignity, she has so
much conscious power that it does not seem as if she could be related
to Rosy.”
“Bless you, no,” she replied, laughing. “We were keeping house then,
and I had the sole care of Captain Rimes’ three children. Their
mother had died, you remember. Father sent me our old Nora, and she
was a great help to me. Still, I had plenty of responsibility, and
not a little labor besides. But I had gotten over all my fears about
Martin’s not being happy. He fairly worshiped Rosy, and was so proud
when people called her a fairy, as they always did. People said we were
the handsomest couple that walked up the aisle in Starr King’s church.
Then, principally, I had no time to _make_ trouble by analyzing my face
in the glass and proving to myself that I was a fright, as I used to
do.”