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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Female affection
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the
laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.
Language: English
LONDON:
J. BOHN, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND.
MDCCCXLV.
LONDON:
WILLIAM STEVENS, PRINTER, BELL YARD,
TEMPLE BAR.
TO HIS DEAR EDITH, FROM HER
AFFECTIONATE GRANDFATHER.—B. M.
PREFACE.
There are certain properties of the female mind upon which doubt
has existed, and may, possibly, long exist.
1. Women are said to be fond of ornament—an evil against which
they were thus warned by St. Paul—“I will that women adorn
themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety,
not with embroidered hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array, but
which becometh women professing godliness, with good works.”
2. Women are said to be fond of gaiety:
“Some men to business, some to pleasure take,”—
but the ruling passion of woman is not the love of business.
3. It is said that women act more from impulse than from foresight:
“Men have many faults, women have only two,—”
of which the want of foresight is one.
4. Women, it is said, are variable:
——“Varium et mutabile semper
Fœmina.”
Women are fond of intellect, of courage, of virtue; and are capable of
the most heroic acts.
Such are properties of the female mind, upon which doubt may be
entertained; but there is one property upon which doubt cannot exist
—it is the nature of woman to be affectionate.
B. M.
FEMALE AFFECTION.
GRIFFITH.
“On the northern side of the plain we had just entered, was a large
encampment of these people. Being in absolute want of milk, I
determined to solicit the assistance of these Turcomans.
Approaching their tents, with gradual step, and apparent
indifference, I passed several, without observing any probability of
succeeding: children, only, were to be seen near the spot where I
was, and men with their flocks, at a certain distance; advancing still
farther, I saw a woman, at the entrance of a small tent, occupied in
domestic employment. Convinced that an appeal to the feelings of
the female sex, offered with decency, by a man distressed with
hunger, would not be rejected, I held out my wooden bowl, and
reversing it, made a salutation according to the forms of the country.
The kind Turcomannee covered her face precipitately, and retired
within the tent. I did not advance a step; she saw me unassuming,—
my inverted bowl still explained my wants. The timidity of her sex,
the usages of her country, and, even the fear of danger, gave way to
the benevolence of her heart: she went to the tent again; returned
speedily with a bowl of milk, and, advancing towards me with a
glance more than half averted, filled my bowl to the brim, and
vanished.”
LEDYARD.
“I never addressed myself in the language of decency and
friendship to a woman, whether civilized or savage, without receiving
a decent and friendly answer. With man it has often been otherwise,
—in wandering over the barren plains of inhospitable Denmark,
through honest Sweden, frozen Lapland, rude and churlish Finland,
unprincipled Russia, and the wide-spread regions of the wandering
Tartar, if hungry, dry, cold, wet, or sick, woman has ever been friendly
to me,—and uniformly so; and to add to this virtue, so worthy the
appellation of benevolence, these actions have been performed in so
kind a manner, that if I was dry, I drank the sweet draught,—and if
hungry, ate the coarse morsel with a double relish.”
PHARAOH’S DAUGHTER.
“And there went a man of the house of Levi, and took to wife a
daughter of Levi. And the woman conceived, and bare a son: and
when she saw him that he was a goodly child, she hid him three
months. And when she could not longer hide him, she took for him
an ark of bulrushes, and daubed it with slime and with pitch, and put
the child therein; and she laid it in the flags by the river’s brink. And
his sister stood afar off, to wit what would be done to him. And the
daughter of Pharaoh came down to the river; and her maidens
walked along by the river’s side; and when she saw the ark among
the flags, she sent her maid to fetch it. And when she had opened it,
she saw the child: and, behold, the babe wept. And she had
compassion on him, and said,—This is one of the Hebrews’ children.
Then said his sister to Pharaoh’s daughter, ‘Shall I go and call to
thee a nurse of the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the child for
thee?’ And Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, ‘Go.’ And the maid went
and called the child’s mother. And Pharaoh’s daughter said unto her,
‘Take this child away, and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy
wages.’ And the woman took the child, and nursed it.”
§ II.
DIFFERENT FORMS OF FEMALE
AFFECTION.
The nature of female affection may be seen in a variety of forms,—in
Infancy, in the sweet love of Youth, of a Wife, of a Mother, of a
Daughter, of a Widow.
INFANCY.
The following is an account which I somewhere read of Nell Gwynn,
when a child:—“My first love, you must know, was a link-boy,”—“A
what?”—“’Tis true,” said she, “for all the frightfulness of your what!—
and a very good soul he was, too, poor Dick! and had the heart of a
gentleman; God knows what has become of him, but when I last saw
him he said he would humbly love me to his dying day. He used to
say that I must have been a lord’s daughter for my beauty, and that I
ought to ride in my coach; and he behaved to me as if I did. He, poor
boy, would light me and my mother home, when we had sold our
oranges, to our lodgings in Lewknor’s Lane, as if we had been ladies
of the land. He said he never felt easy for the evening ’till he had
asked me how I did, then he went gaily about his work; and if he saw
us housed at night, he slept like a prince. I shall never forget when
he came flushing and stammering, and drew out of his pocket a pair
of worsted stockings, which he brought for my naked feet. It was
bitter cold weather; and I had chilblains, which made me hobble
about ’till I cried,—and what does poor Richard do but work hard like
a horse, and buy me these worsted stockings? My mother bade him
put them on; and so he did, and his warm tears fell on my chilblains,
and he said he should be the happiest lad on earth if the stockings
did me any good.”
When the Commissioners visited the Penitentiary at Lambeth, where
the prisoners are punished by solitary confinement, they found in
one cell a little girl, between eleven and twelve years of age. This
child must have spent many hours every day in the dark; was poorly
clad, and scantily fed, and her young limbs were deprived of all the
joyous modes of playful exercise, so necessary and so pleasant to
that age: she asked neither for food, nor clothes, nor light, nor liberty,
—all she wished for was “a little doll, that she might dress and nurse
it.” Her innocent and child-like request put an end to this cruel
punishment for children.
“I yesterday took my dear grand-daughter to see Westminster Abbey.
She is between seven and eight years of age, and is one of the
sweetest angels that ever existed on earth. It was a bitter cold
morning: on the tomb of Mrs. Warren, who was a mother to poor
children, there is a beautiful statue of a poor half-clothed Irish girl,
with her little naked baby in her arms;—my dear little child looked up
at me, and, through her tears, earnestly said, ‘How I should like to
nurse that little baby!’”
YOUTH.
Of the influence of love upon youth and inexperience, it can scarcely
be necessary to adduce any instances. I must, however, mention
one fact which occurred during the rebellion in ’45.
“When I was a young boy, I had delicate health, and was somewhat
of a pensive and contemplative turn of mind: it was my delight in the
long summer evenings, to slip away from my companions, that I
might walk in the shade of a venerable wood, my favourite haunt,
and listen to the cawing of the old rooks, who seemed as fond of this
retreat as I was.
“One evening I sat later than usual, though the distant sound of the
cathedral clock had more than once warned me to my home. There
was a stillness in all nature that I was unwilling to disturb by the least
motion. From this reverie I was suddenly startled by the sight of a tall
slender female who was standing by me, looking sorrowfully and
steadily in my face. She was dressed in white, from head to foot, in a
fashion I had never seen before; her garments were unusually long
and flowing, and rustled as she glided through the low shrubs near
me as if they were made of the richest silk. My heart beat as if I was
dying, and I knew not that I could have stirred from the spot; but she
seemed so very mild and beautiful, I did not attempt it. Her pale
brown hair was braided round her head, but there were some locks
that strayed upon her neck; altogether she looked like a lovely
picture, but not like a living woman. I closed my eyes forcibly with my
hands, and when I looked again she had vanished.
“I cannot exactly say why I did not on my return speak of this
beautiful appearance, nor why, with a strange mixture of hope and
fear, I went again and again to the same spot that I might see her.
She always came, and often in the storm and plashing rain, that
never seemed to touch or to annoy her, looked sweetly at me, and
silently passed on; and though she was so near to me, that once the
wind lifted those light straying locks, and I felt them against my
cheek, yet I never could move or speak to her. I fell ill; and when I
recovered, my mother closely questioned me of the tall lady, of
whom, in the height of my fever, I had so often spoken.
“I cannot tell you what a weight was taken off my spirits when I learnt
that this was no apparition, but a most lovely woman; not young,
though she had kept her young looks,—for the grief which had
broken her heart seemed to have spared her beauty.
“When the rebel troops were retreating after their total defeat, a
young officer, in that very wood I was so fond of, unable any longer
to endure the anguish of his wounds, sunk from his horse, and laid
himself down to die. He was found there by the daughter of Sir
Henry Robinson, and conveyed by a trusty domestic to her father’s
mansion. Sir Henry was a loyalist; but the officer’s desperate
condition excited his compassion, and his many wounds spoke a
language a brave man could not misunderstand. Sir Henry’s
daughter with many tears pleaded for him, and promised that he
should be carefully and secretly attended. And well she kept that
promise,—for she waited upon him (her mother being long dead) for
many weeks, and anxiously watched for the first opening of eyes,
that, languid as he was, looked brightly and gratefully upon his
young nurse. You may fancy, better than I can tell you, as he slowly
recovered, all the moments that were spent in reading, and low-
voiced singing, and gentle playing on the lute; and how many fresh
flowers were brought to one whose wounded limbs would not bear
him to gather them for himself; and how calmly the days glided on in
the blessedness of returning health, and in that sweet silence so
carefully enjoined him. I will pass by this, to speak of one day, which,
brighter and pleasanter than others, did not seem more bright or
more lovely than the looks of the young maiden, as she gaily spoke
of ‘a little festival, which (though it must bear an unworthier name)
she meant really to give, in honour of her guest’s recovery;’—‘and it
is time, lady,’ said he, ‘for that guest, so tended and so honoured, to
tell you his whole story, and speak to you of one who will help him to
thank you—may I ask you, fair lady, to write a little note for me,
which, even in these times of danger I may find some means to
forward?’ To his mother, no doubt, she thought, as with light steps
and a lighter heart she seated herself by his couch, and smilingly
bade him dictate: but, when he said ‘My Dear Wife,’ and lifted up his
eyes to be asked for more, he saw before him a pale statue, that
gave him one look of utter despair, and fell (for he had no power to
help her) heavily at his feet. Those eyes never truly reflected the
pure soul again, or answered by answering looks the fond inquiries
of her poor old father. She lived to be as I saw her,—sweet, and
gentle, and delicate always, but reason returned no more. She
visited, ’till the day of her death, the spot where she first saw that
young soldier, and dressed herself in the very clothes he said so well
became her.”
WIFE.
Let us now consider affection where it appears in one of its sweetest
forms,—in the love of a wife,—love, in the strength of which, hoping
all things, she does not hesitate to quit her father and her mother
and all dear to her to share the joys and sorrows of her husband. In
prosperity she delights in his happiness, in sickness she watches
over him, feeling more grief than she shows.
A young soldier, thus speaks of the affection of his wife:—
“For five campaigns
Did my sweet Lucy know
Each hardship and each toil
We soldiers undergo.
Nor ever did she murmur,
Or at her fate repine,
She thought not of her sorrow,
But how to lessen mine:
In hunger, or hard marching,
Whate’er the ill might be,
In her I found a friend,
Who ne’er deserted me:
And in my tent when wounded,
And when I sickening lay,
Oft from my brow with trembling hand,
She wiped the damps away.
And when this heart, my Lucy,
Shall cease to beat for thee,
Oh! cold, clay cold,
Full sure this heart must be.”
THE ROBBER.
“A friend of mine who had long struggled with a dangerous fever,
approached that crisis on which his life depended, when sleep,
uninterrupted sleep might ensure his recovery;—his wife, scarcely
daring to breathe, sat by him; her servants, worn out by watching,
had all left her; it was past midnight,—the room door was open for
air; she heard in the silence of the night a window thrown open
below stairs, and soon after footsteps approaching; in a short time, a
man came into the room—his face was covered with a black crape:
she instantly saw her husband’s danger; she pointed to him, and,
pressing her finger upon her lip to implore silence, held out to the
robber her purse and her keys: to her great surprise he took neither;
he drew back, and left the room,—whether he was alarmed, or
struck by this courage of affection cannot now be known; but, without
robbing a house sanctified by such strength of love—he departed.”
SENECA.
How well did the artist to whom we are indebted for the celebrated
picture of the Death of Seneca, understand this deep feeling of
female affection! It may be said of Seneca, as he said of a friend, “I
have applied myself to liberal studies, though both the poverty of my
condition, and my own reason might rather have put me upon the
making of my fortune. I have given proof, that all minds are capable
of goodness; and I have illustrated the obscurity of my family by the
eminency of my virtue. I have preserved my faith in all extremities,
and I have ventured my life for it. I have never spoken one word
contrary to my conscience, and I have been more solicitous for my
friend, than for myself. I never made any base submissions to any
man; and I have never done any thing unworthy of a resolute, and of
an honest man. My mind is raised so much above all dangers, that I
have mastered all hazards; and I bless myself in the providence
which gave me that experiment of my virtue: for it was not fit,
methought, that so great a glory should come cheap. Nay, I did not
so much as deliberate, whether good faith should suffer for me, or I
for it. I stood my ground, without laying violent hands upon myself, to
escape the rage of the powerful; though under Caligula I saw
cruelties, to such a degree, that to be killed outright was accounted a
mercy, and yet I persisted in my honesty, to show, that I was ready to
do more than die for it. My mind was never corrupted with gifts; and
when the humour of avarice was at the height, I never laid my hand
upon any unlawful gain. I have been temperate in my diet; modest in
my discourse; courteous and affable to my inferiors; and have ever
paid a respect and reverence to my betters.”
Such was the man whom the tyrant murdered. He is represented by
the artist, bleeding to death, the punishment to which he was