HUSBANDS AND WIVES by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Nov 23, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 46.

HUSBANDS AND WIVES.

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

By MRS. L. D. AVERY-STUTTLE.

I FEAR it is quite common for married people to think that the marriage ceremony renders null and void all the little courtesies of life; that, because they are married, the bars may be let down and the gate opened to all manner of discourtesy and petty meanness. Is it any reason that because a man has become your husband you are at liberty to treat him with less respect than if he were a mountebank or a charlatan?

My brother, does it logically follow that because you have promised to love and protect one woman above all others, and because she has become your wife, you may annoy and persecute and harass her,—that you may give her less attention both in private and in public than you do any other woman of your acquaintance? or that you are to treat her in a way that you would never have dreamed of doing before you took the solemn oath to love and protect her? O how many ardent and attentive lovers become cold and heartless husbands!

But it need not be so. Let the public press unite in educating the people upon this point. Let society frown upon the nagging and discourteous husband or wife; but, above all, let parents instil into the minds of their sons and daughters, both by precept and example, respect for the sanctity of the marriage relation.

O, I wish most earnestly that I could whisper into the ear of every newly-wedded couple a few simple and plain truths and maxims for every-day conduct, which, if lived up to conscientiously, would bring into the home such peace and love and joy as is characteristic only of the true home.

In the first place I should say, Look out for jealousy. This is the green-eyed monster which has wrecked more homes, and cursed and blighted more lives, than can be estimated. "But," you say, "how can I endure to see my husband show such familiarity toward that hateful Miss Blank." "Or," says some one else, "I can not stand quietly by and see my wife smilingly accept the attentions of that profligate man, and say nothing about it. I admit I am jealous,—and, positively, I will not endure it."

Now, I want you to listen to reason; you are both of you reasonable people, I am sure. In the first place, let me assure you that neither a wife nor a husband would be apt to do anything in the very presence of his or her own lawful companion which, either considered wrong. It is the deed done in secret, hidden from the accusing and criticizing eye of husband or wife or gossiping public,—it is the deed done, or the word spoken with the self-accusing blush of shame upon the cheek, that, in the eye of God, condemns one. So, should you notice any little departure from what you deem strict integrity, I beg of you, don't brood over it in secret, don't hide it in your heart as Achan hid the golden wedge in his tent, or it will prove to your soul also a snare and an "accursed thing." At the very first opportunity talk it over,—husband and wife together. It will need but a few tactful, tender, earnest words to effect a perfect reconciliation. O, don't brood,—talk it over; not accusingly and suspiciously, but frankly and trustingly. Believe me, there are few husbands and few wives but will respect your feelings, and love you the better. Next,—and let me whisper this in your ear especially, my sister—look out how you are tempted to speak disparagingly of your husband even to your most trusted friend. It will in the end prove to you as gall and wormwood and bitterness. If you have heartache, whisper it to no human ear. Tell it to the pitying One who alone can understand and help you.

"O, but I must tell my mother, sometimes. John was so cruel to me last evening. He even refused to kiss me when he went down-town. I cried all night, and I told my mother in the morning."

Well, but did the dear mother help you any? "O, I don't know as she did,—she couldn't, you see, but she sighed, and said she was afraid John didn't half appreciate me."

Well, now candidly, don't you think it would have been better to have talked it over with John? And then, besides, I am afraid poor John had what he considered a good reason for omitting his usual kiss. But you admit that even your mother can't really help you any in such matters, so why worry her with it at all. She loves you, yes, but her wisdom may be at fault; and even tho in her best judgment and her mother-love she be perfect, she must have more than human strength to be able to give you aid in times of such testing. Go to the Mighty One. His love and tenderness are greater than a mother's, and His ear is always open.

I know a dear little woman who has seen such sorrow as would have called for loud reproaches from less faithful lips,—whose husband has caused her many a bitter heartache, many a sleepless night, and many a tear-stained pillow. But her lips are closed, even to her most intimate friends. O, I say, God bless that noble, faithful woman! True as steel, good as gold, faithful unto death.

Again let me whisper, Try to be first to ask forgiveness of the other in any little misunderstanding. It is a noble thing to acknowledge one's self in the wrong. But I have seen people who would not do it, no matter how hard conscience pricked with her self-accusing needles,—and it is because they were not taught to do it when they were children.

O, how sad that poor, feeble, imperfect mortals will not humble themselves enough to acknowledge a fault committed even against their best loved!

We must learn to bear and forbear. Oftentimes the revelation comes to us shortly after marriage that we have not chosen the perfect man or woman that we supposed we had. Then we must remember that we also are dust. It ill becomes us to look for perfection in others. Then, tho the halo of glory with which we had invested the head of our best beloved gives place at times to a "pillar of cloud," let us remember that we, too, have caused the chill of disappointment in the loving heart of one who loves us fondly, despite our mistakes,—and remembering this, let us be forgiving and tender, and forget not that the marriage vow is sacred, and that it requires a constancy which reaches to the grave, and lasts until death folds the loving hands, and covers the gentle eye with his filmy veil.

O wife, be thou kind and gentle, And husband, be true and brave, For no kind word can e'er be heard 'Neath the clods of the silent grave.