Chapter 2
"_She will do him good and not evil all the days of his life_." It would distinctly do him evil if she did his work for him! This is a great temptation of capable people; it is so much easier to do a thing yourself than to see others bungling over it; but remember, that _not to do other people's duties is as much a duty as it is to do your own_. Unselfish people are often selfish in the harm they do husbands, and brothers, and sisters, and unconscionable friends, by doing their duties for them. You recognize that you yourself are on a downward path when you leave duties undone. You have no right to help any one else to tread that path. It is much pleasanter to spoil your brothers than to make them take their fair share of family burdens; it is much pleasanter to be popular,--but if your brother grows up selfish, three-fourths of the sin will be on your head. You will have to be very careful to convince him that you are not selfish by sacrificing yourself on every occasion when it is not bad for him, but if you are to do him good and not evil all the days of his life, you must remember that you are your brother's keeper in this matter.
"_She worketh willingly with her hands_." The idea is going out that, to be like a lady, you must sit with your hands before you. I heard of a village tea the other day where a curate's maid-of-all-work was boasting that her mistress was a real lady who could not do a thing! "Dear! how strange," said an old servant; "my first mistress taught me, with her own hands, all the house-work I know." "Ah! she couldn't have been a _real_ lady," said the other. "Perhaps not," said the old woman reflectively; "I can't tell, but I know she was an Earl's daughter." If you knew anything of Colonial life in old uncivilized days, you would know how invariably it turned out that those settlers were nobody at home who talked there about what they were "accustomed to," and how they could not do this or that,--while the real ladies laughed and buckled to. I do not believe in a woman being thoroughbred if she cannot do what comes to her to do; she may have little bodily strength, but if she is of the right sort, spirit carries her through, just as you often find uneducated people, unnerved by pain or fright, crying and pitying themselves: a real lady has nerve for it all, though she is ten times more sensitive, and, till the occasion arises, she may lie on the sofa all day, and believe herself quite unable to do a thing!
People sometimes seem to think it the mark of a sensitive, high-bred, refined nature to be unable to conquer fads, and fancies, and fears. You hear them say, with an air of modest pride, "I _can't_ eat this or that;" "I _can't_ touch spiders:" very likely they suffer if they do, and I do not see that they need be always forcing themselves to do it, but they should feel the power to do it _if need be_; if you are not master of yourself, there is bad blood about you somewhere; _noblesse oblige_ applies preeminently to such things.
And I think _noblesse oblige_ ought to teach us another lesson in this matter of work. So many often say, or feel, "It's not my duty to do this or that; why should I? it's just as much _her_ business,--why shouldn't _she_ do the dirty work?" The true lady says, "_Somebody_ must do the dirty work, and why not I as well as another?" And so she worketh willingly with her hands; for "common household service" is
"The wageless work of Paradise."
"_She bringeth her food from afar_." She is foreseeing and businesslike: she is not obliged to get inferior articles because she is driven at the last moment and cannot send to the best shop; she is never unable to match her dress because she has not thought about new gloves till the very afternoon that she wants them; she does not forget till half-past six that dinner has not been ordered, and then, in despair, order in ready-cooked things from a shop.
"_She riseth while it is yet night_." Early rising is a great trial to some, but I think those who are conscientious often make a mistake between sloth and conscientious care of health: and the Virtuous Woman should be very careful of her health. Some girls think it fine not to be; they say, "Oh, well, I shall only die the sooner! Better to wear out than rust out!" and they feel--and so do some of their friends--that they are very noble characters, and accordingly these tragedy queens stalk picturesquely through wet grass when they could quite well keep on the gravel. I hope none of you will develop into tragic heroines. I have no patience when I see girls with perfectly prosperous lives inventing tragedies for themselves. They have no right "to take in vain the sacred name of grief." If there is nothing else to romance about, they fall back on being "misunderstood," which generally means that their mother understands them a great deal too well to please them. I dare say you will not see this in yourselves or in your friends, but it will strike you very much in your acquaintances, and you will, in time, recognize your own share of human nature, for we all do, undoubtedly, enjoy being sorry for ourselves, though I suspect life is much happier for all of us than we deserve.
But to return to the question of health. If you could go out like the flame of a candle, well and good! the world would probably be well rid of you if you were going through life tragically, longing for death, but you will not "wear out" in consequence of carelessness about wet feet and want of sleep, and over-fatigue, and fancifulness about eating. These things destroy, not your life, but your nerves and temper, and all that makes your life a comfort to others; "wearing out" yourself means that you will wear out others, and require from them much time and nursing and good temper.
Now, sleep is a most important consideration in such a nervous generation as ours: every woman ought to have eight hours' sleep, and more if she needs it, but she should not wake up and then go to sleep again; that second sleep, which is so pleasant, is the sleep of the sluggard. I would like to give her "a chamber deaf to noise and blind to light," and never let her be woke, but she should get up the moment she wakes of her own accord, or, at most, spend ten minutes in the process of waking.
"_She planteth a vineyard_." I should like my Virtuous Woman to be fond of gardening, and at all events read in Bacon's Essays how God Almighty first planted a garden.
"_She strengthened her arms_." This verse makes us fancy the Virtuous Woman as being unpleasingly strong, but we should guard against being purposely weak, with an idea of its being pleasing; Thackeray's Amelia is hardly a good model, and Patient Grizzel did her husband an infinity of harm!
"_Her candle goeth not out by night_." But the Virtuous Woman must be self-denying in the matter of sitting up, now that modern life makes so many more demands upon her brain. You know it is self-indulgence when you sit up late; you were not bound to be so sociable as all that; you only hinder yourself and others from proper time for prayer and sleep; if you made a move after a reasonable amount of talk, the others would be sensible too. And so you repent and force yourself to get up very punctually the next morning, not seeing that this is on the principle that two wrongs make a right. It is your duty to get up in good time, but it is also a duty to get sufficient sleep. I know you have a more comfortable feeling when you have punished yourself,--you feel that you took the self-indulgence and you want to pay for it. This sounds fair and honest, but it is not, because you pay for it with the health and strength that God gave you to use for Him. Instead of the satisfactory scourge and hair shirt of rising betimes next morning, try the more commonplace penance of going to bed in proper time the next night, without any dawdling. So many girls do things in a dreamy, dawdling way, that must be a sore trial to those about them: if a thing has to be done, you should do it in a quick, purpose-like way, and not waste your own time and other people's temper. A girl will placidly tell you, "I'm always slow, it's my way," never realizing that "ways" may be very objectionable. We think it dishonest in workmen that there should be a difference between a man who works by time and one who works by the piece: you blame the workman who spends twice as much of his master's time as he need, but, when you dawdle, you spend _your_ Master's time: getting through with things quickly and "deedily" is a matter of habit, and the Virtuous Woman practises it in everything she does.
"_Her hands hold the distaff_." The Virtuous Woman will not be satisfied until she knows how to make a dress and do plain work; not that, having acquired the knowledge, she will necessarily use it, for a woman with brains and education can employ her time to more purpose, and can give employment to poorer women at her gate, by putting out her work. It is burying her talent in the ground if she employs, in making her children's frocks, the time which should be spent in cultivating her mind, so as to be fit to educate them when they are older.
"_She stretcheth out her hand to the poor_." The "classes" are poor and needy, as well as the "masses:" read Mozley's "University Sermon" on "Our Duty to our Equals," and learn to see that they also need a stretched-out hand. We may be very kind in our district; are we as kind to social bores? We may be very energetic in school feasts; are we as careful to provide amusements of other kinds for people who, in rank or brains, are slightly our inferiors?
"_She is not afraid of the snow for her household, for all her household are clothed with scarlet_" (marg., double garments). She looks after the health of other people as well as her own; she does not keep her maid sitting up night after night, or overwork her dressmaker. She is as considerate for the flyman waiting for her on a rainy night as she would be for her father's coachman and horses, remembering that the flyman is quite as liable to catch cold as the coachman, and has fewer facilities for curing himself.
"_Her clothing is silk and purple_." She dresses suitably, richly if occasion demand it, but never showily. If she has to walk as a rule, she will not buy dresses that look fit only for a carriage: she will not wear, in church, a brilliant dress that would be suitable at a flower-show.
"_Her husband is known in the gates_." There was doubtless a great difference among the husbands at the gate, and I feel sure that this one took a specially large and public-spirited view of the business there discussed. The Virtuous Woman would not usurp his office, just because she had the power of speaking well,--she would remember the Russian proverb, "The Master is the Head of the House, while the Mistress is its Soul," and she would be a very high-souled mistress, and care greatly that her master should not only be a good husband and a father, but should also serve his generation as a good citizen and a true patriot. When the public good demanded sacrifices, she would not drag him back by insisting on his duty to his family, nor would she persuade him to rob the public stores, or time, by taking little perquisites or shortening his office hours. She would feel with De Tocqueville, who says, "A hundred times I have seen weak men show real public virtue, because they had by their sides women who supported them--not by advice as to particulars, but by fortifying their feelings of duty, and by directing their ambition. More frequently, I must confess, I have observed the domestic influence gradually transforming a man, naturally generous, noble, and unselfish, into a cowardly, commonplace, place-hunting, self-seeker, thinking of public business only as the means of making himself comfortable; and this simply by daily contact with a well-conducted woman, a faithful wife, an excellent mother, but from whose mind the grand notion of public duty was entirely absent."
The husband of "a superior woman" is usually much to be pitied, but surely the reason is that the woman is not superior enough. She has capabilities and knowledge, and has learnt to value them, and is right in so doing, but she has not learnt the next page of Life's Lesson Book, which is, the relative insignificance of her own acquirements, and the value of the qualities she has not got,--qualities which her husband very likely possesses, only he has not the feminine power of expression. How often a woman's seeming superiority lies in this gift of words, which, as George Eliot says, is in her, "often a fatal aptitude for expressing what she neither believes nor feels." The man often silently knows, and _lives_, the noble sentiment, which the woman fluently utters, imagining herself to be its discoverer and prophet. Another point to remember in this matter is that women are apt to overvalue intellect, perhaps because it is only during the last few years that intellectual advantages have been within their reach. Sydney Smith looked forward hopefully to a day when French would be a common accomplishment, and women would be no more vain of possessing it than of having two arms and legs! Perhaps when, not only French, but still higher education becomes more generally diffused, we may learn the proportions, and realize that, though intellect is a good gift, many others are to be preferred before it. The more we know, the wider our horizon grows, and the smaller we ourselves seem relatively to the wider expanse around us. "Man's first word is, No: his second, Yes: and his third is, No, again." We start with ignorance and are necessarily humble, in a negative way: then comes the schoolroom, when we prize highly the knowledge so laboriously acquired; and then comes the schoolroom of life, which sends us back again to humility, though of a larger and nobler kind.
(The tendency of the day is to overvalue education, rather than the reverse, so I need not dwell on the necessity laid upon the modern Virtuous Woman, of developing her intellect, more than Solomon required from his ideal.)
"_She maketh fine linen and selleth it_." She is reliable and punctual, and clear in business arrangements. How much charitable work of the present day requires good arithmetic and a clear business head! She will not miss her train, and she will write a clear legible hand, especially when names and addresses are concerned. A good handwriting is a matter of patience and self-discipline, and a truly unselfish person would force herself to acquire it, because she can thereby, in small ways, be of so much use and comfort to others.
"_She shall rejoice in time to come_." She is not likely to do this, unless she learns to rejoice in the present also. Rejoicing is a habit like most other virtues, and if we fail in this, it is probably ourselves and not our circumstances that need to be changed. "The aids to _happiness_ are all within," and the Virtuous Woman will take life bravely and cheerfully, like the heroes of old, and will think it a poor thing to pity herself and to go about with a long face. She
"Welcomes and makes hers Whate'er of good though small the present brings-- Kind greetings, sunshine, song of birds, and flowers, With a child's pure delight in little things; And of the griefs unborn will rest secure, Knowing that mercy ever will endure."
"_She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness_." Perhaps few things have done so much harm in the world as sympathy! Are we not all conscious of having perpetually allowed the kindness of our tongue to be divorced from wisdom, so that our affectionate sympathy has weakened our friend and done more harm than good? It is so much pleasanter to both when we join in her discontent or irritation, instead of being to her a second and a better self, aiding her to see things wisely, as she would see them when she grew calmer. "A book," said Dr. Johnson, "should teach us either to enjoy life, or to endure it," and so should a friend.
"_The law of kindness_." It may seem a small thing that the Virtuous Woman should never lose an opportunity of saying a kind word, but, if we all did this, the world would be revolutionized; how it lowers our moral temperature when some needless criticism is made, or some disparaging remark is repeated to us! The Virtuous Woman would set herself to be a non-conductor of these "stings and arrows," while, in "a voice ever soft, gentle, and low," she would pass on to us the pleasant things our friends say, which make us feel "on the sunny side of the wall." What was said of St. Theresa will be true of her--"it came to be understood that absent persons were safe where she was. It would be hard to exaggerate the power of influence for good which the confidence she had thus won must have given her. Her nobility felt the treachery which always lies in detraction, the kind of advantage taken, as it were, of the unprotectedness of the absent."
Some separate wisdom and kindness in another way; they are so anxious to help others that they stretch a point of conscience, and persist in a forbidden friendship, in order to help the friend. Now you may be unjustly treated in being told to give up your friend, and you may feel, and rightly, that it is very cruel to him or her. Perhaps so, but your want of principle, in being disobedient or deceitful, must harm your friend infinitely more than any amount of your good advice can do her good. _Acting on principle always helps others_: it is the most catching thing in the world, whereas our words and our personal influence do not help them one bit, unless God is speaking through us, and making us His instruments, which He will not do if we are behaving wrongly.
"_She looketh well to the ways of her household_." She gives her servants full work, and insists on its being done, at the right time and in the right way, but she is careful never to overwork them, and to remember that servants have rights and feelings; she is not only kind, but _considerate_, which involves far more sympathy and thought.
"_She eateth not the bread of idleness_." But she never does her servants' work, or spoils them. Of course, if she is very poor, and has few servants, she will lend a helping hand, but she will be wise in her industry, and understand that riches are a call, not to idleness, but to another kind of work--overseeing and directing, but not doing. "One good head is worth a hundred good hands," but the head must know how things should be done, and therefore the Virtuous Woman will make it a point of conscience to know how to cook, and equally a point of conscience not to do it, if she has servants who ought to see to it.
"_Her children shall rise up and call her blessed, her husband also, and he praiseth her_." My Virtuous Woman may never marry, but she will be a mother in Israel in spite of that. Every woman finds scope for motherliness if it is in her; one way or another she will find children looking to her for love and help, and she must fit herself to educate those children, for this is a woman's main duty in life; she should never be satisfied till she has earned a right to the compliment which Steele paid his wife--that "to know her was a liberal education," until
"Men at her side Grow nobler, girls purer, and, through the whole town, The children are gladder that pull at her gown."
"_A woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised_." I may seem to have made my last words to you consist of merely worldly-wise counsels, and to have left out of sight "the one thing needful," but in many other Scripture lessons we have spoken of that Prayer, and Bible reading, that "going in the strength of the Lord God," which is the only source of strength for man or woman.
I have tried to give a few practical counsels for everyday life, believing, as I do firmly, that the best part of this world's wisdom is really one with Christianity, and that the fruits of dutifulness, common sense, and kindliness, cannot be produced unless there is the root of real religion. Solomon takes that root for granted, only at the close reminding us of its necessity; and, in picturing our ideal woman, I am sure we all see her with
"A brow serene Speaking calm hope and trust within her, whence Welleth a noiseless spring of patience, That keepeth all her life so fresh, so green And full of holiness, that every look, The greatness of her woman's soul revealing, Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling As when I read in God's own Holy Book."
Making Plans.
_Holidays_.--This is the time to show if school has done you any good.
At school you are reminded constantly of Prayer, hard work, tidiness, regularity, self-control: you are practised in these things, and the great underlying principles of life are brought before you so that not one of you has any excuse for being careless and unconscientious in the holidays. Also you are most of you communicants, and you know that it is impossible to be a communicant and to "let yourself go" in these ways.
You have duties in the holidays as well as in school time. It is wrong to spend two months in self-indulgence without any self-discipline. You must open your eyes to your duties,--practising, sensible reading, tidiness, and daily unselfishness.
It may be no one's business to remind you in the holidays, and your mother may let you alone a good deal, from wishing you to have "a good time;" but you alter very considerably during two months, and it is your part to see that you alter for the better.
Two months means two Communions with definite resolves, two definite upward stages in life. If you let yourself go till you get back to the crutches of school, you will have gone two very definite stages downhill.
Some of you are tidy here, but at home your temptation is to plaster some neatly folded garment or sash over the recesses of an untidy drawer, or to use anything that comes to hand, any racquet, or croquet-mallet, or oil-can, or thimble; your own cannot be found--you take the nearest and then leave that also lying about.
Do you think these things do not matter? You would think it mattered very much if you grew up an unreliable, unconscientious woman, and yet, I do not know in what lesson-book you can learn to be thorough and reliable and conscientious, except in the daily lesson-book of these trifles.
You each know that daily practise is a duty, if your mother wishes you to learn music. A daily duty neglected, or a daily duty done, means a very considerable difference in the person by the end of two months.
There are one or two further points in your holiday and grown-up life which I should like to talk about to-day.
_Visits_.--Enrich your life with them, instead of letting them be times when you slip back morally. Take your conscience with you (but do not wear it outside), and be very careful to keep your rules, your prayers, your home standard of right and wrong, your quietness and self-control. Do not "let yourself go," and do silly things for fun. A great many leave their sense of responsibility at home, whereas our visits are part of the regular course of that life for which God will judge us. And keep your mind open, get new ideas, read the books in the house, instead of taking a store with you.