Delicacy of the topic. Love, how regarded. As a Mystery. Burns’ lament. As an Illusion. An Impulse. A Weakness. A Disease. Romantic views of Love. A Fatalism. “Matches made in Heaven.” Some say, “Love can be Suppressed.” Associated with Lower Propensities. A theme for Jesting and Sport. Quotation, shewing its holy nature. The mind not to dwell constantly upon it.

In approaching the topic named at the head of this chapter, I am by no means insensible of its difficulties and its delicacy. But no one can contemplate its bearings on the happiness of woman, without feeling that a work, treating of her duties and prospects, in which this subject is studiously avoided, must be regarded as essentially defective. It is the remark, I think, of Madam de Stael, that “love, which is but an episode in the life of man, is the whole history of woman.” Without subscribing to this opinion in full, we must still contend that the destiny of her affections is to her a theme of vital interest. She cannot but reflect much upon it; and since her views may affect so deeply her ultimate decision in reference to a matrimonial connection, is he a true friend who fails to give her all the light, and counsel, and guidance in his power, on this point?

It is well known that not a few among the insane of this sex have been made so by their erroneous ideas relative to the exercise of the affections. I may be pardoned for adverting, in this place, to some of the many and various views entertained in regard to the sentiment of love.

One considers it a Mystery, something with which the understanding has no concern, and which is never to be reasoned upon, although we may exercise that prerogative on all other subjects. Hence, according to the Roman mythology, Amor, the God of love, is represented as blind-folded. His arrows inflict wounds, it is said, of which the sight can take no cognizance. The language of the poet records the bitter experience of woman, often consequent on this delusive impression:

The opinion under consideration is egregiously erroneous. Woe to her who abandons the helm of judgment, in forming that connection, which is to decide her whole fortune for life. Ill-fated must she be, who concludes that the head and heart must be divorced, before she can experience that sentiment, which binds human souls in the sacred tie of marriage.

Another believes love to be an Illusion. She thinks it a subject fit only for the fevered imagination of the poet, or for tales of fiction and romance. With the realities of life it has no concern. In this plain, matter-of-fact, working-day world, there is no room, she thinks, for this creature of the brain. Therefore does she determine to fortify herself against its approaches. Others may pursue the phantom, if they will, but she is resolved to be never so cheated, as to “fall in love” with a man.

The enthusiast may subject herself to severe disappointments, and may find ultimately that the husband she loved and married, under the sway of the blind god, falls far short of that mysteriously exalted being she deemed herself connected with for life. But far more to be deplored is her fate, who entered the matrimonial state with the Stoical faith that love was all an “illusion.” What sympathy can those, thus joined, but not wedded, feel in the season of sorrow? How little will they share, or even imagine, those joys which spring up between hearts that have been pledged, exchanged, and cemented.

There are those, who regard love as of necessity a mere Impulse; a thing not subject in any wise to human control, but fitful, an outbreaker, a tyrant. They can govern other emotions and sentiments. Anger, envy, jealousy, resentment, pride, they believe capable of being moderated, if not wholly suppressed. But love is lawless. Its mandates must be obeyed, and that instantly; they may not be opposed, no, not even questioned.

Who has not seen some young woman of talent and virtue sacrifice herself to this mistaken impression? The plume of the soldier, the gay air of the debauchee, the flippant beau, the half-insane tippler, could she not have seen her doom in being affianced to one of these poor pageants of humanity? Ah, but “she loved; she could not help loving;” she gave herself a victim at the profane shrine, because she always thought she must love where and whom, her unbidden, irresponsible, feelings should direct her to love.

There are others, who deem this sentiment a Weakness. If a lady find herself inclined to it, she should at once strive to subdue it. Much as one, whose face is marked by disease or accident, would fain conceal the blemish, so would she hide, even from a mother or sister, any experience of affection for a particular individual. Love is, in her view, a thing to be ashamed of, an infirmity, which, if one have not power wholly to escape, she should yet lock with eternal secrecy in her own bosom.

Now I ask, why should we blush for emotions, of which the God of nature implanted the germs within us? Is it weak to indulge a sentiment so productive of happiness as this, so essential to the wellbeing of the holiest bond on earth? Love is not a folly; in its purity, it is a noble, unselfish thing, the inspirer and friend of moral excellence. When I see a young woman pining over a hidden grief, which might have been spared, had she imparted her feelings to a friend; when I witness the mental powers tried, and at length overcome, by the struggles of a pent-up fire in the soul, I lament the sad error, to which these mournful consequences can be so directly traced. Why, if the object, especially, of her affection deserve and requite it, why should she bury it as a weakness in her soul? The cases are very rare, in which there is no one to whom a secret of this description may with propriety, and ought, to be frankly confided. The peril lies in concealment.

Some esteem love a Disease. They look upon her, who indulges it, as in an unsound condition. It is as if a member of the body were amputated, or maimed. The individual, on whom its visitations have been inflicted, is an object of compassion. Hence its approaches are actually dreaded. She who entertains this theory, instead of receiving cordially the advances of a gentleman, even a favorite, shrinks from the thought of it, and repels the intimations of any special attention on his part.

Is this well? Is it right so to deal with a sentiment common to the sex? Were it a disease, we should form exceptions to the rule. But since it is so almost universally experienced, why should one avert it from the heart? She who does this, misinterprets the human constitution. Let her study the purposes of Providence, and no more will she refuse the admission of this sentiment, when circumstances justify its encouragement, than she will decline taking food, lest it cause sickness and death. The laws of nature, she will see, extend over the spirit, no less than the body.

There are not a few who cherish Romantic ideas concerning the affections. They regard “marriage,” in the words of another, “as an occasion to be preceded by fears, and hopes, and love’s stratagems, by love-letters, passionate vows, sudden crosses, and intense joys.” It is to transform the individual subject to its power, to fill her with sensations, which she cannot now even imagine. With this transcendental view of that passion, a young woman is likely to conclude that, for herself, she shall never see the person whom she can love. No angelic being, in human form, will ever cross her path, and therefore she shall always remain single. Anon she dreams of going into a nunnery,—“to pine away and die.”

Now we cannot too early set about correcting these false imaginings and vain expectations. Poets may sing of love as convulsing the frame, and rending the heart, and transmuting a human sentiment into divine extasies. But in the sober experience of life, such rapturous emotions are exceedingly rare. Indeed all the deep feelings of our nature are tranquil. It is the shallow stream only, which dashes, and sparkles, and deafens us by its noise. If you ever know the power of genuine love, you will find it as calm as it is intense. It will be in harmony with your other pure sentiments. Never will it subjugate, and tyrannize over, and do violence to, your whole nature.

We have seen those,—and we suspect they belong to a numerous class,—who conceive that true love is attended by a Fatalism. It is first assumed, that every one must love some individual of the opposite sex. A necessity is laid on us all, it is thought, to bestow the affections in marriage. The question may not so much as be raised, “Is it certain that I shall ever meet with one to whom I can give my heart?” No, woman was made to love and to be married, that is her unalterable destiny. All that is to occupy her thoughts in this respect, is, “Who shall the individual be, on whom I must place my affections?”

This opinion is surely erroneous. For Providence has so arranged the circumstances of human life and of society, that some females are absolutely precluded from forming the matrimonial connection. Ill-health,—to name no other cause,—sometimes positively debars one from this relation. There are abundant reasons, indeed, for which every one, ordinarily situated, should contemplate marriage. It is the design of our physical and moral constitution, and the spring of unsullied enjoyments, social and spiritual; and no one should voluntarily exclude herself from this bond, save for imperious considerations. Yet let no young woman predetermine that hers may not be an exception to the general law. The inquiry should at least arise in her mind, “May I not be of those, whose usefulness and happiness do not absolutely require their entering the marriage state?”

But our friend thinks there is a fatalism not only in regard to her marriage, but in reference to the particular companion, with whom she must be associated for life. “Matches are made,” say some, “in Heaven.” Prudence has no concern with this matter. A young woman fixes her affections on some individual, and believes that it is decreed she should love and should marry him. If circumstances appear unpropitious to their intimacy, she is perfectly wretched. And this, not simply because she loves him so ardently, but because she believes a decree of Heaven will be violated, if their union fail of consummation. “Our presentiments,” it is said “often work their own fulfilment.” I cannot doubt, that, in the formation of the marriage bond, at least, they often do, and that with the saddest results.

What an idea is this, if one will steadily contemplate it. That the heart is not subject, in the slightest degree, to our dominion? That we must love, and love, too, one whom perhaps accident alone threw in our way! Are you, indeed, obliged by a physical or moral necessity, to marry this person, because he is an inmate of your father’s household, or because you were both born in the same village, or because he has something in his countenance that tells you,—before a word has been exchanged between you,—that he must be your lover, and your husband? The picture needs but be presented one moment before a calm, dispassionate eye, to force on us the conviction that, if in any human transaction we are free to accept, and free to reject the offers of another, we are clearly so in this.

There are those who, passing to the opposite extreme, entertain the opinion that love is a sentiment, not only subject to human control, but capable of being entirely suppressed. They deem it altogether optional with themselves, whether they shall know anything of the affection between the sexes, or not.

Did this notion extend only to the relative power of the sexes, or the direction we may give to our hearts, it would be less objectionable. For doubtless love, though more essential to woman than to man, can be more easily controlled by her than by him. A person of a strong will may bring herself, for prudential considerations, to prefer in marriage one who will be “a good match” with her, as the phrase is, to another whom she sincerely loves. And she may succeed in subduing, to no ordinary degree, her affection for the rejected one. But to eradicate from the heart the powerful principle of love is not given, I believe, to woman. She may substitute another object for that which ought to have engaged this class of her affections. A mother, or sister, or a friend, may be installed in that place. Nay, I have known a mere animal to be caressed and apparently loved, as it could not have been, had the affections been properly bestowed on a human being. We can regulate and direct, but we cannot destroy, in the heart, the sentiment of love.

Some, again, associate with the thought of love the idea of our Lower Propensities. They regard it as an animal passion, and as debasing to the character. With false notions of delicacy, they determine to shun its snares, and hence strive to banish the impure thing from their minds, and to steel themselves against its access.

How unworthy of our nature, and of the Being who formed us, is this view. To those who entertain it, we must say, “what God hath cleansed, that call not thou common, or unclean.” Far, indeed, are they, to whom we allude, from the elevated and true idea of that sacred tie, which joins the pure in heart. A better knowledge of their race would acquaint them with multitudes, who have proved marriage to be “honorable,” and to whom love has been the chief refiner of their souls. That it may be perverted, we cannot, of course, deny. But that its legitimate tendency, is any other than to exalt, ennoble, and sanctify the spirit, we do not believe. So thorough is our persuasion of this, that we would commend the marriage relation to a seeker of moral excellence. We would say, that, in the hallowed sympathies of love are incitements to purity and piety. To her who earnestly desires to become spiritual, we would present the association in marriage with one spiritually minded, as, above all adventitious means, friendly to her holy purpose.To how many is love a theme for Jesting and Sport. The ancients represented Cupid under the aspect of a boy engaged in amusement. He appears driving a hoop, throwing a quoit, playing with a nymph, catching a butterfly, or flying with a bright torch in his hand, shewing, in each case, that love is a subject for sport. Let heathenism, if it must, so regard it; but the Christian ought never to trifle with this sacred interest. The rite of marriage is a solemn thing. Who would jeer, and jest, as she stood before the altar, and pledged fidelity unto death to her betrothed partner? And why, I would ask, should the preliminaries of marriage be treated as a theme fit only for levity and merriment? It is said that we Americans are peculiar for banter on this subject. One scarcely hears it alluded to in society, except with a laugh, or a jest. As a natural consequence of this state of feeling, and this style of conversation relative to the affections, it is not easy to know when one speaks as he means on this topic. Not “seriously,”—for the matter is all sport,—not in “sober earnest” may you take what is said, since soberness is supposed to be wholly irrelevant to so light a subject.

And then too the effect of this practice on the feelings and deportment of the parties most nearly concerned, even during their engagement,—if this take place amid the bandying of jests,—is often unhappy. The same levity pervades their conversation and manners toward one another; and there is scarcely one sober sentiment, or calm thought, associated with their interviews.

So also has this habit a blighting influence upon the views with which the individuals are at length joined in marriage. What was commenced in gaiety and sport, and has been continued in the same spirit, is consummated in thoughtlessness. It is only when these scenes of mutual delusion and folly are over, and the two beings are united by an inseparable bond, and begin to feel the pressure of real duty and actual life, that they look on each other as rational creatures ought. The words, sacred, and principle, the thought of responsibility to God, ideas of solemnity, are now for the first time associated with marriage. Can this condition of mind be other than deleterious to the virtue, peace and happiness, of the parties involved in its effects? “O there is nothing holier, in this life of ours, than the first consciousness of love,—the first rising sound and breath of that wind, which is so soon to sweep through the soul, to purify, or to destroy!” So let every young maiden deem of this sentiment. None will then banter words with her upon her sacred affections; for there will be that in her air and language, when this topic is referred to, which shall convince every one that she holds it a consecrated theme.

In summing up my general remarks on the view to be taken of love, I would say, talk little with your companions about it; and resolve, if the topic can only be introduced by a jest, that you will preserve upon it a profound silence. This would at first make you appear singular. But such a course would soon commend itself to every considerate friend and acquaintance in your circle. Or, if some should persist in importuning and teazing you in regard to it, you would be sustained by the consciousness of exerting all your influence for the elevation of society in their views, and conversation, on the most holy of human connections.

Nor should the mind be permitted to dwell constantly upon this subject. Some are perpetually imagining themselves in love; others are dreaming over the philosophy of the affections, and wasting precious hours upon that which adds nothing to their happiness, and does little to prepare them for married life. Let the mind be kept tranquil on this subject; the heart will then be preserved in its soundness. No good affection will die or decay, but, in the time and method ordained by Providence, advances will be made, and the heart addressed, and the hand solicited for marriage. Let the young maiden bide the passing months in cheerfulness, and prepare herself for a Christian life. A character thus matured will give hope of the happiest results in new relations, and amid all the coming and unknown scenes that await her.