That love which gathers strength from perfect intimacy is deep and true.
“More hearts pine away in secret anguish for unkindness from those who should be their comforters, than for any other calamity in life.”
For the Girls to Read. – A young gentlemen happened to sit at a church in a pew adjoining one in which sat a young lady for whom he conceived a violent passion, and was desirous of entering into courtship on the spot. – But the place not suiting a formal declaration, the exigency of the case suggested the following plan: -
He marked the text and handed the Bible to her, 2nd Epistle to John, 5th verse:
‘And now, I bessech thee, lady, not as though I wrote a new commandment unto thee, but that which we have from the beginning, that we love one another.’
She returned the book pointed to Ruth 2nd 10th
‘Why should I find grace in thine eyes, that though shouldst take knowledge of me, seeing I am a stranger?’ –
He again returned it, pointing to the third of John, 13th verse –
“I have many things to write, but I will not with pen and ink write unto thee – but I trust I shall shortly see thee and then we shall speak face to face.”
They were united in marriage soon after.
It has neither reason, religion, common sense, or experience to recommend it. While there are reasons many and mighty to justify its total and immediate abolition. – It sours the temper of the children; so that one thorough scolding prepares the way for two or three more. It sours your temper provided it is sweet, which is a question if you are prone to scold; and thus the more you scold, the more you will have to scold, and because you have become crosser, and your children likewise.
Scolding alienates the hearts of your children. Depend upon it, they cannot love you as well after you have berated them as they did before. You may reproach them with firmness and decision, you may punish with severity adequate to he nature of their offences, and they will feel the justice of your conduct, and love you notwithstanding all. But they hate scolding. It stirs up the bad blood, while it discloses your weakness, and lowers you in their esteem. Especially at night, when they are about to retire, their hearts should be melted and moulded with voices of kindness, that they may go to their slumbers with thoughts of love stealing around their souls, and whispering peace.
Crushed Affections. How many suffer unreturned affection! They are attached strongly to those who return them cold words, indifferent looks, and even avoid their presence. A word, that might not otherwise be noticed, often sinks deeply in the heart of one whose life is bound up in another. When an object is cherished, each motion is watched with solicitude and a smile gives exquisite pleasure, while a frown sends a dagger to the heart. There is no greater sin than to crush the warm affections gushing freely from a generous heart. It dries up the fountain of the soul – fades the smile on the cheek, and casts a shade over every bright and glorious prospect.
—Factory Girls Album
Lowell, Feb. 13, 1846
From the Valentine Offering
Dear Angelic Girl:
You may be surprised that I should dare to address your angelic goodness, being almost an entire stranger to you; but be assured I have long known and adored you. Who that has a soul capable of appreciating true worth and real goodness, could behold so much shrouded in a form divinely fair, and not become entangled in the criss-cross net of love, his heart bleeding at every pore, pierced with Cupid's mortal darts? Do not be angry, and cast this letter from you with disdain; but I pray you condescend to hear me graciously.
Dear girl! on your answer will my future happiness (and perhaps life) depend. To make a long story short. I am head and ears over in love with your own dear self, and cannot, nay, will not, attempt to conceal it. Perhaps you would like to know something of my standing and occupation in life, before you give me an answer. Well, my father is a wealthy manufacturer—lives in the most aristocratic style—keeps a number of white servants, who are never allowed to see the front door, or speak unless when some question is put to them; it being decidedly vulgar for servants to presume to converse on any subject except their work. As to myself. I am a gentleman—I spend my time in talking politics, smoking cigars, dressing and dancing. A merry life you see for me. All that is want- ing to complete my happiness is a wife. Now my dear creature, I will pop the question. Will you marry me? Please answer immediately.
Yours , until death—if it comes in tolerable season,
Lowell, Feb. 14, 1846
Mr. Gentleman Keezer,
Sir —I would take the first opportunity to answer your very kind and very interesting letter of the 13th. As to marrying a gentleman, bless my stars! I have never even presumed to think on such an act for one moment. What could I do with a gentleman? I could not live on cigars and politics, and dance the rest of the time. I have been instructed by my poor but honorable parents, to make myself useful to others, by acting well my part in the great drama of life—and not like an idle drone, live on the hard earned goods of the worthy laborer. I could not if I would—nay, I would not, if I could—love a man who thus lived, though he possessed the riches of Golconda, or the talents of an Oberlin! This, then, is my frank and decisive answer. No, I will not!
P.S. I will just say that if you would complete your happiness, do it, not by marrying, but by reforming in your vicious habits, and seeking to make yourself worthy of the name of MAN. This advice is given gratis, by one who wishes well to all.
Voice of Industry, February 27, 1846
–From the Valentine Offering
Our visit among you, this long famed eve is an errand of love. We have long desired to have an interview with you upon this all important subject. Nature teaches us to love—on the morrow, (according to ancient mythology) her feathered minstrelsy consummates this highest aspiration of their instinctive powers. Love is divine—it causes the snow to whiten the face of the earth, and the frosts to congeal them into a happy union. Love causes the clouds to weep tears of joy, and melt away the snow into the bosom of the earth, from which the flowers spring up as tokens of their more perfect affection. Love sends down the dews of heaven to cold sweet communion with the verdure of earth, and love in return, throws back a sweeter fragrance to seal the floral bond. Love causes the stars to dwell in concord above and gaily smile upon the sons of toil. Love overshadows the vale with darkness, brings peaceful repose to the slumberers, and bathes the hills in morning light. Love uplifts the down trodden, bears consolation to the afflicted, and smooths the pillow of the sick. Love "breaks the yoke of the bondman, and lets the oppressed go free"—gives bread to the hungry and fresh water to the thirsty. Love does good to an enemy and does violence to none. Love chimes on the breezes, and invites the faint and weary to the fountains of health and rest. Love gives "every good and perfect gift," reigning supreme throughout the works of creation, and centering in the great fountain of all love— "God Is Love."
But, dearly beloved, Love does not fill the land with wars and tumults causing bloodshed, devastation, and ruin Love does not enslave men physically, morally, or mentally. Love does not adorn this beautiful earth for a favored few to monopolize and enjoy its blessings, while the many stay in want and misery. Love does not give stones when bread is asked for, or serpents when fish is wanted. Love does not turn the blessings of Heaven into curses for men— the bubbling waters are full of love, but with the engines of oppression which degrade humanity, love has no fellowship. Love never builds factories where beauty and health are sacrificed upon the altar of mammon—where her own fair household is plundered of many of its fairest jewels by the ruthless hand of avarice. The luxuriant harvests are never converted into liquid death by love. When the stately oak which adorns the forest, is hewn down and reared into the hideous, heathen monster Gallows—love is not there. Love knows no evil and knows no ill. And now, dear lovers, we present you this little "Offering" on this joyous eve, in manifestation of our love for you. We frankly and hopefully ask your "hands and hearts"—on your decision rests all that is lovely, great, and good. Do not disappoint us, but may we soon be united in the holy Heavenly bonds of Love—love to God and love to man.
Around the idea of one’s mother, the mind of man clings with fond affection. it is the first dear thought stamped upon our infant hearts, when yet soft and capable of receiving the most profound impressions, and all the after feelings are more or less light in comparison. Our passions and our willfulness may lead us far from the object of our filial love; we may become wild, headstrong, and angry at her counsels or oppositions; shut when death has stilled her monitory voice, and nothing but calm memory remains to recapitulate her virtues and good deeds, affection, like a flower beaten to the ground by a rude storm, raises up her head and smiles amongst her tears. Round that idea, as we have said the mind clings with fond affection; and even when the earlier period of our loss forces memory to be silent, fancy takes the place of remembrance, and twines the image of our departed parent with a garland of graces, and beauties, and virtues, which we doubt not she possessed.
Well may the hours of childhood be termed the sweetest and happiest of our life. Like the evening star, which is the most beautiful in the firmament, the first to set but not the soonest forgotten. Even in those blessed hours we anticipate happier moments and sweeter enjoyments. But, alas! time with all his promises, will never yield us a joy that will half repay us for the innocent ones of childhood he so wantonly steals away. – How dear is our childhood’s home! How sacredly we cherish its memory, and the pleasing scenes connected with it, as a fairy dream never again to be realized. With what mournful pleasure we repeat the prayer that was then breathed at a mother’s knee. Again we feel the touch of her hand as it was gently laid upon our heads, while she softly breathed a blessing. We hear her lips pronounce the sweet “good night,” accompanied with a kiss that mother’s fond, earnest kiss! It seems to linger still upon the time-worn brow with all the purity and truth with which it was there enstamped in childhood.
In youth, we may not notice these little endearments, but we find them in after life printed upon the heart in undying letters; and as we fondly dwell upon the sacred thoughts, our eyes are filled with tears of regret. Our hearts were then light and careless as the gay summer bird whose [cry] we tried to imitate. We know of no sorrow that the first gush of tears could not sweep away. Oh! we were happy then! And the scenes that made us so, linger o’er the path of after life like the rays of the setting sun, and the night of age is brightened with their remembrance.
—Manchester Saturday Messenger
Love. Tupper, in his new work, republished in this country, furnishes the following among other beautiful passages: “Love is the weapon which Omnipotence reserved to conquer rebel man, when all the rest had failed. Reason he parries; fear he answers blow to blow; future interest he meets with present pleasure; but love, that sun, against whose melting beams winter cannot stand, which wrestles down the giant, there is not one human being in a million, whose clay heart is hardened against love.”
Be careful how you get crossed in love – The way to prevent it is, to love moderately till you are sure of the object, and then to let in all you know!
The following, from Every One’s Book, contains some suggestions on a subject in respect of which, good advice is particularly desirable:
There is nothing more appalling to a modest and sensitive young man, than asking the girl he loves to marry him, and there are few who do not find their moral courage tasked to the utmost.
Many a man who would lead a forlorn hope, mount a breach, and ‘seek the bubble reputation even at the cannon’s mouth,’ trembles at the idea of asking a woman to question which is to decide his fate. Ladies may congratulate themselves that nature and custom have made them in the responding party.
In a matter which men have always found so terrible, yet which, in one way or other they have always contrived in some awkward way to accomplish; it is not easy to give instructions suited to every emergency.
A man naturally conforms to the disposition of the woman he admires. If she be serious, he will approach the awful subject with due solemnity – if gay and lively, he will make it an excellent joke – if softly and sentimental, he must woo her in a strain of high wrought romance, and if severely practical, he relies upon straight forward common sense.
In the notice of Leigh Hunt’s Men, Women and Books, is the following exquisite rondeau, which has, says the reviewer, beside its own excellence, the additional interest of being the offspring of a real impulse, and of chronicling the loving audacity of one of the most charming of women:
Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair sat in;
Time, you thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in,
Say I’m weary, say I’m sad.
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I’m growing old but add…
Jenny kissed me.
I am glad the world is full of children. To me, earth, with all its other charms, were a gloomy waste without them. I love to feel as a child. There is no solace in affliction so sweet as the sympathy of children; there is no music so enchanting as their unaffected joyous laugh. I am never so happy, and the gentle spirit of humanity never breathes so freshly and cheeringly into my heart, as when I am surrounded by a company of affectionate merry children.
How beautiful are these words of Longellow:
One by one the objects of our affections depart from us. But our affections, remain, and like the vines stretch forth their broken wounded tendrils for support. The bleeding heart needs a balm to heal it; and there is none but the love of the kind – none by the affection of the human heart.
Love—Love does not awake in the heart of a virtuous woman those violent feelings, the offspring of a delirious imagination. It does not at once occupy her soul, it steals into it. It is not like a devouring fire; but as the genial warmth of spring, it animates and fertilizes. It is so timid and unassuming that it appears abashed, it is so generous that it resembles friendship.