Two aspects of the Future. Extravagant Anticipations. Calm, and rational ones. We should disclose our true and entire Character. The great error of the Betrothed. Disclosure of Faults. Esteem and Respect to be secured. Sacredness of our Plighted word. Implied engagement. Dismissing a Suitor. A noble example of constancy. Sad fate of Mrs. Hemans. Preparation for marriage. Duration of engagement. Testimony from PÈre Lachaise. Short engagements usually most desirable.

After mature deliberation, and in accordance with the sacred impulse of love, you are now, let us conceive, pledged to one, who anticipates a future consummation with you, of the dearest relation which man can form. What views ought you to take of your present situation? and how should you deport yourself in your intercourse with this near friend?

There are two aspects, under which the future may, from this point, be regarded. It may be to you a region of dreams, and extravagant Anticipations. The mind may easily be allowed so to dwell on its scenes, that imagination shall take the place of reality. Circumstances often warrant but moderate expectations; yet amid the most arid waste you see, like the deceived traveller in the deserts of Zahara, the enchanting mirage, a beautiful lake of deep, refreshing, inexhaustible waters.

A moment’s reflection might teach such an one the delusiveness of these prospects. Let it be that your lover has every good quality you ascribe to him, that he is quite perfection; you must know, from the experience of other anticipated enjoyments, that the possession of an object tends naturally to moderate our feelings in regard to it. The heart, which beat feverish pulsations beneath the summer of expectation, becomes calm, when autumn’s tranquil days have arrived. There is a wide chasm between the illusions of sleep and all we can call

There is a joy, it is true, in the marriage bond greater even than we once anticipated. But it comes from an unlooked-for source. It is not that very thing we imagined; in that we are often disappointed. It consists in the shining forth of new and before undiscovered traits. But when were extravagant anticipations ever yet realized, and that too in the precise objects, on which they had fastened?

Another view a lady who is engaged may take of coming life, is, that of the calm and Rational description. She may strive to see her lover in the true light; she may pray that her heart be not betrayed into false hopes, and resolve that she will never abandon her judgment, in so momentous a transaction. Such an one looks at the world as it is, a chequered scene; a place in which “one thing is set over against another;” a mart in which a just price must be paid for every article we obtain. This aspect of life may be less pleasing than its opposite. It may render what is termed “Courtship” something else beside a golden age; yet, in the end, who can doubt, it will prove a rich source of substantial happiness?

If it be desirable that a young woman see her lover in his genuine character, so is it that she disclose to him every feature of her own. Why should she wish to keep any thing concealed? What is the purpose of that period, which passes between the engagement of two individuals, and the consummation of their marriage? If it have any rational meaning, it must be to afford an opportunity for a thorough mutual acquaintance. The parties do not,—ostensibly, at least, this is the case,—they do not, pass hours and months in the society of one another, except the better to understand, and hence the more truly to sympathize with, each other.Not, surely, does the suitor enter the presence of his friend, to exalt himself into an unnatural position. He is not striving to pass with her for some creature of romance, some hero, or god. No, the ostensible purpose of their interviews is, that he may exhibit himself to her more and more truly as he is, in heart, principle, character, and life. So is it designed, by these acts and conversations, that the lady should present her true phases before him. To suppose that she arrays her person, or frames her speech, with a view to concealing her real feelings, and thoughts, and dispositions, from him, is a mockery of the most sacred relation on earth.

One would imagine that nothing would give an individual such pain, in this situation, as the fear that her too partial admirer might conceive of her as a divinity, instead of a mere woman, inheriting the common frailties of our nature. Her chief solicitude would be, we should think, to guard against his forming too high expectations of her future character. Rather would she that he undervalue her merits, and so leave her room to rise in his estimation, than so heighten her charms, as to render the fruition of his hopes impossible.

Is this the usual tenor of feeling in the hearts of the betrothed? It would argue little practical knowledge of the world to contend that it is. On the contrary, there seems a systematic endeavor, on the part, too often, of both individuals, to disguise their real sentiments, cloak their sincere opinions, and throw a mist over their daily principles and habits. The gentleman usually exhibits only his Sunday exterior and manner, aiming studiously to veil his face, in the company of his affianced one. And instead of encouraging her to speak out her true thoughts, and show her ordinary disposition, he burns before her the incense of flattery, until she is constrained to force herself up to unnatural heights of goodness, in appearance and expression, lest her lover be compelled to lower his conception of his paragon, and at length see her, a poor, unadorned sharer of humanity, just as she is.

Who can wonder, amid this utter want of frankness, and these pasteboard forms, that the foundation is laid for sure disappointment and misery, when the masks are thrown off, and the two individuals stand, a mere man and a mere woman, before one another? Human ingenuity could not devise a system more completely adapted to entail sorrow and suffering on our race, than this.

It may be said that I exaggerate the case, that the parties do not mean to deceive each other, but do really feel all that they now mutually express. In one sense this may be correct. The circumstances in which they are placed tend, I know, to foster kind feelings, and create courteous manners; and to the manifestation of these, all that flow spontaneously at the moment, I do not object.

But is not more also expressed? Or rather,—for the error lies chiefly in restraint,—is not much suppressed, that ought, in all wisdom and ingenuousness, to be distinctly avowed? Suppose I have faults,—and who has not?—why should they be cautiously concealed from my nearest friend? I am, by nature, and indulgence also, peevish and ill-humored; ought I to seek to pass for all that is opposite to this? Contentiousness is a besetting sin of my character. Shall I strive to appear, always and only, one of the most yielding of my sex? My temper is violent, or sullen, why should this fact be kept from my lover, until some outbreak after our marriage day? Ought I not to speak decidedly, and unequivocally, of this my infirmity? I am addicted to occasional depression of spirits and gloom; by what right, or on what principle of religion, or expediency, shall I labor to keep up an unnatural cheerfulness? If I am extravagant, is it wise or just to be always sounding the praises of economy? Why profess a taste for reading, when I loathe the sight of a sober volume? Why force myself up to a pitch of neatness, when my wardrobe would, by a single glance, prove me a slattern?It is hard, it seems cruel, to require these painful disclosures, to roll clouds over the sun of the matrimonial sky. But is not even this better than to suffer a dense mass to accumulate, which shall at length break in storm, and thunder, and desolation, upon the devoted pair? We are both weak and wicked, if we deliberately lay a train, that must at length explode, and cause decrepitude, if not matrimonial death, to one, who is about committing his entire happiness to our hands.

No marriage can be consummated, with a fair prospect of good, except between individuals, who have made it a point of principle to disclose to each other their entire characters. New scenes may develope new dispositions unfriendly to perfect harmony. But these can be met and successfully encountered, if there were no intentional deception, if there were an earnest desire and effort to show frankly every fault, that did really exist before marriage. Any efforts to engage the affections of another by false appearances will inevitably abate thus much from the future happiness of those who make, or are misled by, them. All that is termed “Courting,” so far as that word implies assumption, pretence, and flattery,—and it too often means nothing more,—should be sacredly avoided. Nature alone can lay the basis of an enduring superstructure; art, affectation, disguise, and concealment, are but a sure presage of bitter regrets.

The intercourse we describe would be pervaded by mutual Esteem and Respect. It would prevent the habit of trifling on the concerns of the affections, and render the conversation worthy of the holy relation now contemplated, and such as could be reviewed with satisfaction. From their taking just views of one another, there would be sincerity, confidence, and a rational, ever-growing, attachment, between the individuals thus situated. Their most private hours would be marked by perfect delicacy, modesty, and propriety, of deportment. In public, no occasion would be given for remarks on their silly and sentimental airs, while all would perceive evidence of a mutual and deep interest between them, and predict, as they ought, that their future connection would be auspicious of the happiest results.

Where a true understanding of each other’s characters, and an esteem, sustained by self-respect, exists, the communications, however conducted, whether by personal interviews, or by correspondence, will be of a rational description. The letters will not be crowded with nauseating compliments, with nonsense and vanity, but will contain good thoughts, no less than the expression of pure feeling, and generous sentiments. There will be nothing of insincerity, nor what would lead a stranger, who perused them, to say that they were mere folly and illusions.

A lady should feel bound, from the moment of her engagement, to be true to her plighted word. She is forbidden, by every dictate of Honor, from pursuing any course of conduct that will give pain to her friend. There is a steadiness of feeling and purpose, under these circumstances, which cannot be too highly commended. “What state could fall,” asks a recent writer, “what liberty decay, if the zeal of man’s noisy patriotism was as pure as the silent loyalty of woman’s love.” Erring,—all human as she is, to others,—God gifts her with a thousand virtues, to the one she loves; it is from that love, that she drinks her nobler nature;—it gives her the meekness of a dove, the devotion of a saint. In his danger, she has the sagacity of the serpent, and the courage of the lioness. Like the chivalrous knight, she who thus feels, will “avoid no foe, forsake no love.”

There are those who apparently enjoy the opposite of this course. They consent to receive marked attentions from others in company. A French author says he has known individuals among his countrywomen, “who unconsciously, actuated by a thirst for emotion, provoked very lively scenes with their lovers, solely to obtain for themselves the pleasure of tears, reproaches, and reconciliations.” This luxury is one, in which no lady of principle will indulge herself. Agreeable as an occasional conquest, or flirtation, might be to her, she will sacredly abstain from every act that tends in this direction. The sure possession of one true heart, one affianced protector, and unalterable friend, will suffice her desires.

Nor is it enough to refrain from encouraging the open attentions of others, the truly loyal one will not allow herself to cherish a secret feeling or preference toward any other. Her every affection will be true as steel to the magnet. She will know no wayward inclinations, nor give way to whims and fancies, and undefinable emotions, to feelings, which she would blush to betray to her lover.

This true-heartedness will operate not less where an engagement is implied and understood between the parties, than if a formal pledge had been given. It is what we conceive another to expect from us, and what we have encouraged him to expect, more than any set speeches and written promises, that binds the conscientious mind. Some, indeed, are never formally engaged, before the day of their marriage. The trust which such instances manifest, is a beautiful trait, and will be fostered by every pure heart.

But, it will be asked, if a lady is never to change her mind in relation to a gentleman; if she must always love where her affections have been once placed, and have no power of breaking off an engagement. This I do not contend. There are, doubtless, cases, where one is not only permitted, but bound, to dismiss a suitor. If he have intentionally deceived her in respect to any circumstances, which he well knew would have prevented her consenting to an engagement, had they been disclosed, she ought, at once to refuse any further intimacy with him. Or, if his character change decidedly for the worse, during their acquaintance, if he become a disbeliever in religion, or a known profligate, let her immediately dismiss him.

If on the other hand, he be merely visited with misfortune, by adversities, to be traced clearly to the hand of Providence, then should she not, for a moment, cherish the desire to dissolve their engagement. A noble instance of moral principle, as well as true love, under a change of circumstances, occurred in England but a few years since.

Sir Robert Barclay, who commanded the British squadron in the battle of Lake Erie, was horribly mutilated by the wounds he received in that action, having lost his right arm and one of his legs. Previously to his leaving England, he was engaged to a young lady, to whom he was tenderly attached. Feeling acutely, on his return, that he was a mere wreck, he sent a friend to the lady, informing her of his mutilated condition, and generously offering to release her from her engagement. “Tell him,” replied the noble girl, “that I will joyfully marry him, if he has only enough of body left to hold his soul.” This is marrying for the gem, and not for the casket. It is true constancy.

I would not have a young woman insensible to any fault in her lover. Many persist in being blind to the least moral blemish in the loved. We are told that the lamented Mrs. Hemans was a victim to a passion of this nature. She was warned by her friends of the unsuitableness and dangers of her intended connection. Yet neither this admonition, nor a three years’ separation from her lover, could quench her affection for him. The soldier and hero of her glowing imagination had power to captivate, and then ruin, her noble spirit.

When a dismission becomes inevitable, let it be given with decision, yet kindly. Never should the event be made matter of public remark, nor should a letter or line of the former correspondence be rudely exposed. Let oblivion rest on the whole transaction. But so painful an issue should, if possible, be averted. For no freak of fancy, still less for the gibes and jests of others, should so important a connection be frustrated. The cause should be one that sober judgment will approve, to your latest day.

A most trying lot is hers, who is deserted by one, who had given a solemn pledge to be hers through life. It is no credit to steel one’s self against the sorrows of such a lot. There are those, who would well nigh offer their life to gain a lover, and yet could think of a faithless one only with emotions of indignation or anger. Such can possess but an apparent affection. I speak of that which is true and deep. When this is thus wounded, let the sufferer preserve a calm temper, if possible, a calm exterior always, and turn from human faithlessness to that Love which is a perennial fountain.

As regards the Preparation to be made for marriage, where it is contemplated with fair prospects of certainty, little need here be said. The whole previous life should be one act of preparation. The school-room should train the wife and the mother. Fidelity to home, to parents, brothers, sisters, and all the inmates of the paternal roof, is among the best qualifications for married life. If these duties have been hitherto neglected, be assured that the marriage ceremony will do little to supply the deficiency.

The Duration of an engagement should ordinarily be brief, at least, not needlessly protracted. We are told that no tomb in PÈre Lachaise is so often decorated with chaplets of fresh flowers as that of Abelard and HÉloise. This shows how large is the number of thwarted and disappointed lovers who visit that cemetery. Not a few of these crossing elements would be averted by less prolonged engagements. There are those, I am aware, who maintain that early and long continued engagements are desirable. Applied to those cases where the parties reside near one another, and are placed under similar influences, this doctrine may be true. The earliest attachments are sometimes most happy and permanent. But how often does it occur, that the condition and character of two individuals become completely changed, in a few short years. Suppose a young man to leave a farm, and take up his abode in a city, as a merchant, or to commence a course of study with a view to a liberal profession. The girl, who, as a child, won his affections, has not, as a young woman, improved in her tastes, and character, like himself. His choice of a companion, if now to be made, would fall on one quite unlike her. There is something of this evil often attendant on protracted engagements. The affections may be biased by enlarged intercourse with the world. There are innumerable perils that beset a long acquaintance of this nature. The safe avoiding of them all comes usually from short engagements, from those in which the character and tastes of the parties are much the same at marriage as at the moment of the first decided intimacy.

There is one topic more which I cannot pass over in this connection. It is that of Spiritual Sympathy. How many are there, who never exchange one thought or feeling upon religion, until after their marriage. It is not until they are constrained to do it, in the bitterness of bereavement perhaps, that they communicate with one another on this momentous subject. Were it not wiser to weave a chaplet early, to their joint remembrance of Christ, rather than hang the first consecrated wreath on the tomb? How would it assuage their mingling tears, could they sorrow, “not as those without hope,” but in the long cherished spirit of a common faith and submission. They are musing on future joys. With what heightened charms and new anticipations would they enter the marriage state, if they had pledged their united hearts, before the Eternal One. They would then feel, that the bond which joined them was not one of a few fleeting years, but imperishable as their cemented souls. Shall they, can they, maintain a midnight silence upon all Heavenly themes, until “the evil days” overtake them?