Love without Dissimulation, and Faith Unfeigned.
[The following article, by Mrs. H. W. Beecher, is too good to be lost. Every family ought to read it. I therefore send it for insertion in the Review.—D. M. C.] True happiness can never be fully realized in married life if the husband and wife begin by concealing little cares and anxieties—little plans and troubles—little mistakes and follies—any of the little things which, of necessity, fill up the hours of each day. We do not mean that every time they meet, they should, as it were, come to the confessional, and feel bound to repeat all trivial things that transpire in the few hours of separation between their meals; but we do mean, that nothing, however small, should be said or done, by husband or wife, which they would shrink from their companion’s knowing. In every act, take care that you are doing nothing that would give offense—weaken confidence—or waken the first emotion of doubt, or jealousy. Let every act be so true and honest, that though it may not be deemed of sufficient importance to repeat, when together, yet it shall not, in the least, disturb you if it happens to be revealed; but, on the contrary, will increase your happiness to know that the smallest item of your life is shared by your other self. In business—in pleasure—in social life, be open and above board in every act. The wife more often suffers from the husband’s reticence. He, usually, has a more extended acquaintance, and little, very little acts—which to his thought are quite insignificant—are concealed; such as transpire in the haste or spur of the moment, and which in his own heart he would quite as soon his wife should never know—nothing especially wrong—only fun, or temper. The moment either is at all conscious that they have done or said that which they would prefer to hide from the other, they may be sure that they are taking, at least, one wrong step—planting one small seed that, like the tiny mustard, may spring up in a short time, to the dimensions of a vigorous tree—and the fruit, from such small beginning, may be more deadly than the Upas tree. Oh! how many wives there are, this day, who carry in their hearts a bitter, constant pain—a sore that is eating out all the sweetness and joy of home life—which pain they were too proud to reveal when it was a little thing, and as the minute items are accumulating every day, to the pride is added the first emotions of doubt, and they go to the grave, perhaps, with the distress untold, and with the beauty of their faith and trust forever tarnished or destroyed—loving yet doubting—because their nearest and dearest, from mere carelessness, it may be, concealed many small things, which came to the wife at second hand. Ah! that was the bitterest drop of all. The awakening in the next world will reveal many things which had better have been first known in this. Lack of entire confidence between husband and wife, is the canker-worm that has destroyed the domestic peace of thousands. The discovery that there has been a secret, naturally excites suspicion and tends to weaken the affection on either side. Jealousy is a mean, miserable emotion, from which the trusty, loving and honest heart shrinks as from disgrace; and even when so unfortunate as to be assured of ample cause, it is usually with the greatest reluctance that its presence is acknowledged. But it lies dormant in every heart—though with some it shoots into vigorous growth on very slight occasions—and every one plays a hazardous game, who thoughtlessly, from foolish reticence, or sport, ventures by the slightest act to rouse it from its slumbers. Do not keep your troubles in your own heart, even from a wish to avoid giving pain. In what does the union between husband and wife differ from any other friendship, if they are not to share each other’s sorrows and perplexities, as well as to participate in each other’s joys? Let the wife reveal all her troubles—all her follies, even, to her husband—and if he is worthy of that sacred title, he will assist her out of them, or by sympathy help her bear the trouble, or overcome and abstain from the folly. Why should she fear (for it is fear oftener than anything else, which tempts the wife to conceal), if she has the least confidence in his love? When their lives were united, both were equally certain that they had no right to look for perfection in each other. He is her other self, not her judge or master. On the other hand, if a man confides in his wife, her penetration and quick wit will often see difficulties and their remedies which would escape him. He is in the world, or over books, all day—his mind occupied by many details; but she, at home, often alone, or with only an infant companion, will think over what he has told her, and see it in every possible light, and thus be prepared to judge. She has often the time and quiet to ponder and reflect, which he needs, but in the rush and noise of business, cannot secure. There can be no true union, when through pride, fear, or the consciousness of wrong doing, one party conceals from, or attempts to deceive, the other, or holds back from any motive that which each have a right to share mutually. Of course we except professional men—lawyers, physicians, and clergymen,—in so far as they withhold the affairs of others committed to their care, professionally—not a step further. In all else, they who practice concealment, even in business matters, lose half the joy and blessedness that God designed marriage should bestow, besides defrauding their partner of a just right, and laying the foundation of mistrust and misery. Wretched indeed are they who, having taken a companion “for better or for worse,” find that, like a sieve, they are incapable of keeping that which is committed to their love and honor. But until all hope is vain, and you have been compelled to relinquish the last vestige of confidence, have no concealments. The very fact of one party having secrets, is very likely to engender deceit and concealment on the other side; and a companion naturally open and true, may, by a sense of wrong and injustice, be transformed into a very unlovely and deceitful character, saying, in excuse, like Shylock, “The villainy you teach me I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.” Every day brings to light examples where married life is begun with every promise of harmony, but where the happiness of both parties has been utterly wrecked—the mischief begun by “just one” trifling concealment; this followed by another, and another, with shorter intervals, till, step by step, bickerings, heart-burnings, and hatred, fill the home where the light and purity of love once held undisputed sway. After the novelty of marriage has worn off, concealment, and want of confidence, on the part of the husband is more frequently practiced from the foolish and mistaken idea that, by confiding truly in his wife, she will learn to exact it. So his pride takes the alarm, lest, trusting to his other and often better self, he may risk his boasted independence. The wife is often tempted to concealment, and, alas! too often to deceit and falsehood, through fear of her husband’s anger, or, worse, from dread of his ridicule. She may have erred in judgment, or done some weak, foolish, but not wicked thing—and having learned too soon that his tones are not always of the gentlest, feels, instead of guiding her to a clearer light, and higher life, he will probably sit in stern judgment on her mistake; or, that which is the hardest for a loving heart to endure, will ridicule her weakness. Rather than face either of these, she sins against her own conscience, and conceals her fault, though with an uneasy conscience. But successful in this, the next step is easier and less repugnant, or if conscience lifts a warning voice, she silences it by the plea that all the blame should rest with him, who, if he had been gentle, loving, and confiding, she would so joyfully have accepted for her guide and head.