She Is Unkind to Her Mother.
“My son,” said an aged father to his promising boy, as he discovered his increasing interest in the daughter of his neighbor,—“Weigh well this matter. I am an old man, and have not been an idle observer of the human family during my long life. One misstep taken now may ruin your prospects of happiness for this life; or so mar it as to render life almost undesirable. Many young men have made shipwreck of their peace by unadvisedly and injudiciously contracting an alliance of matrimony with women of bad dispositions.” “Why, father,” interrupted Charles, “you are putting me quite aback by speculating in so serious a manner, upon what I thought so agreeable a subject, as to excite my apprehensions and awaken my fears. I have not designedly kept anything secret from you; my visits to neighbor B.’s have all been known, and never disapproved of to my knowledge.” “No, my son,” continued the father, “you have not acted covertly or unfilially in this matter. This gives me increasing confidence in you. I have noticed, and with pain too, your oft-repeated visits to Mr. B.’s, and have as often desired to caution you, but have been waiting a suitable opportunity. The best evidence, I think, a father can give to his son of his love, and his confidence in him, is the plainness and candor with which he makes known to him his mind upon all subjects. To be honest, then, you must allow me to say that you are mistaken in Miss B.’s worthiness of your affections. She is not the young lady your imagination has painted. I am sure that you would not, upon this or any other subject, act in direct opposition to sentiments you have habitually expressed.” “Why, father,” exclaimed Charles, “you seem more and more serious.” “Have I not, my son, again and again heard you say that you would not marry any young lady who was unkind to her mother, or who was disrespectful to her?” “Yes, father,” hastily answered Charles, “those are my sentiments, and always will be; but I was not aware that there could be any application of them in the present case. Miss B. has always appeared exceedingly mild and pleasant when in my company, and always treated her mother, for aught I knew, with propriety.” “Ah, my son, your affection has thrown a mantle over her conduct. She has wounded her own mother’s feelings in the presence of us all. Old people look at these things dispassionately. Your mother and myself have often spoken, when alone, of Miss B.’s unkind treatment of her mother. We have seen her give her mother glances with her eyes, and make such tart answers, when she was not suited, as to cause our hearts to ache. Miss B. has too much sense, and values our esteem too much to come right out before us, and tell her mother to ‘hold her tongue;’ or that ‘she does not know what she is talking about;’ and such like. But her natural good sense had not power enough over her bad natural disposition to suppress those glances, those intonations of voice, and those short answers which her too sensitive mother understood.” “But, father, Mary has much to contend with. Her mother, you know, is not the most intelligent woman in the world; and this sometimes is very mortifying to her daughter. Mary, having been sent abroad, and becoming educated in a very superior manner, finds it sometimes a very difficult task to put up with her mother’s lack of modern improvements.” “That argument, Charles,” rejoined the father, “if of any weight, goes directly against Miss B., because she should be the more tender and forbearing, kind and respectful to her mother, so as to hide, if possible, her imperfections. It is a hard case, my son, that a daughter, because she has had superior advantages, and become more accomplished than her mother, should set herself above her. In those very advantages and accomplishments should be laid the basis of heartfelt gratitude, respect and affection. What! treat her own mother with unkindness and neglect in company, especially before those in whose eyes she should endeavor to exalt her? Who was it, Charles, that watched over Mary from her earliest infancy, bore with the fretfulness and troublesomeness of her early childhood? Who was it that guarded her health, watched over her by day and by night, and often again, with maternal tenderness and anxiety, listened whether she breathed in health? Who was it, that wept when Mary’s skin was hot, her breath feverish, and her pulse quick and hard? Who was it that bathed her temples, prepared for her every little delicacy, and hung over her as an angel ministering to her wants? Whose eyes were those that beamed with delight as Mary gradually arose from her sick bed, and became restored to health? And last, though not the least, who was it that bowed with Mary at the throne of grace, when her little lips could scarcely articulate, and taught her to lisp the name of Jesus? Was it not her own mother? The same mother she can now treat with neglect and unkindness. Beware, my son! We know Miss B. is unquestionably a young lady of fine talents, and superior education. She has a fine, commanding person. She is of a highly respectable genteel family. All these things are desirable. But she lacks one thing, an amiable disposition—she is unkind to her mother; and my experience has always taught me that an unkind daughter habitually makes an unkind wife.”