University of Virginia Library

45. LETTER TO FEMALES.

We, my dear friends, to whom are intrusted the structure
of domestic life, and the framework of families, are the
natural and interested guardians of temperance and purity.
Without these, there can be for us neither happiness nor
safety. Presiding not only over the rites of hospitality,
but over those seasons of refreshment around the household
board, which return as duly as morn, noontide, and
evening vary the sky and landscape, are we fully aware
of the responsibilities of our office?

Home, that green, sheltered islet, amid the great waves
of an unquiet world, is our blessed province. Have we
considered the dignity of the sphere in which we are thus
placed?—a realm, whose antiquity is coeval with the creation;
whose foundation and laws are the work of almighty
wisdom; whose constitution consults both the necessity
and the highest good of its subjects; whose chief ministers
are of kindred interests and kindred blood; whose
reverence is drawn from the deepest, least fluctuating resources

of humanity, and the results of whose policy are
as sublime and boundless as eternity?

Is it not important that we should correctly estimate
our position, and its influences? The keen eye of philosophy
long since discerned, that to have power over
the senses, was to hold the key of the mind. “Let me
make the songs of a nation,” said a wise man, “I care
not who makes the laws.”

Has the ear then such authority? and has not power
over it been delegated to those who rule a household?
Is not his ear ours, who has installed us as the presiding
spirit over his hearth and home? Is it not ours for the
melody of hallowed sentiment?—for the eloquent interchange
of knowledge?—for the charms of music?—for
that highest of all harmonies to man's heart,—the voice
of love?

Are not all in the domestic department, thus modified?
The infant, who, being a part of the mother, draws in
her tones with the food that sustains, and the smile that
cheers it; the child, who perchance will take onward to
gray hairs, or to the grave, her voice, as the only unforgotten
lesson; the daughter, whose dawn of womanly
beauty is heightened by the docility with which she listens
to her beloved guide; the son, who, going forth to
the trials of the world, lingers for one more accent of her
perfect affection;—even the servant, watchful of words,
as well as of example,—the guest,—the stranger within

the gates,—each and all are thus influenced:—how
much, another world will more clearly unfold.

Can we, then, be too careful of tones?—of things uttered?—of
the spirit-harp, on which we are permitted to
play? Lest, peradventure, our careless touch might untune
it for the brief concert of earth,—the purer melody
of heaven!

If, by the respect due to our station, the ear is subjected
to us, is not the eye ours also?—ours, for the
charm of a cheerful countenance,—for the fascinations of
grace and kindness,—for the beauties of a well-ordered
home,—for that symmetrical adjustment of economy with
comfort, which those who fill the throne of a household
should be able to exhibit?

There are some apartments, which, from the carpet to
the pictures on the wall, are a lesson of refined taste and
harmony of color. There are others, unadorned by aught
save neatness, which, in the absence of all ornament, are
still more admirable to an accurate observer, from their
fitness, and the balance of circumstance with duty. The
arrangements, and costume of the mistress of the family,
may display elegance, but if they go beyond the finances
of her husband, they lose that beauty of adaptation which
is necessary to please a clear-judging mind. Indeed,
where ornament may be allowed without improper expenditure,
simplicity, rather than gorgeousness, has more
complete power over a true taste, and longer retains it.

The attraction of flowers, within and around a habitation,

is in accordance with His plan, “whose touch perfumes
them, and whose pencil paints.” This makes the
cottage-homes of England sweet to their inmates, and a
pleasant memory to the passing traveller. The simple
plants require little labor of culture, and a good spirit
seems to prevail where they are reared. It is beautifully
designated by the Germans, as the “angel of the flowers.”
Its ministry is to charm the senses, and teach the
heart a lesson of His love, who thus deigns to make even
the field and the wayside beautiful.

If it has been felt, that the eye and ear are such powerful
ambassadors to the soul, that Devotion has appealed
to them in the Gothic arch, the storied window, and the
solemn organ, and War labored to enlist them by pomp
and circumstance; and if these two direct avenues are
open to woman, will she not enter them, bearing the symbols
of temperance and of virtue? When such power
was delegated by civilized society to the weaker hand,
was there not an expectation that it would be made an
ally of those principles that give to that civilized society
permanence and peace?

The eye and the ear, then, it would seem, are among
the legitimate subjects of those who rule home wisely.
Are not the appetites, also, a part of their legislation?
“The way to a man's heart is through his stomach,” said
a caustic writer. Without fully indorsing the sentiment
of the satirist, it is evident, that by supervision of the
table, the elements that refresh weariness, cheer depression,

sustain physical vigor, and minister to social delight,
are among the perquisites of our sex. Mighty instruments,
in this our combination of matter with mind. Let
us see how they are applied.

Thou, who spreadest the household board, say, why is
this or that alluring condiment and perilous beverage
added? To show how cunningly agents unfriendly to
health, may be disguised by culinary chemistry?—how far
indulgence may go, yet stop short of actual inebriation?
Or to test and trouble the feeble virtue of children, by
bidding them abstain from what they see others partake?
and disturb their trust in your own Christian sincerity,
by setting an example which they are forbidden to follow?
Yet even where there is no allurement to absolute
intemperance, the effect of habitual absorption in the
pleasures of the table, and their preference to intellectual
enjoyments, are so pernicious to the young, that the ultimate
ruin of families may be frequently traced to that
source.

But, if any strangely fancy that they possess the power,
ad libitum, to weaken the body, or darken the minds of
those, who, by the structure of the family state, are committed
to their care and love; by what right or edict do
they exercise this Circæan policy over strangers and
guests?

Thou, who makest a feast, whence this increased activity
in the mixture of dangerous elements?—this array
of excitement and the means of intoxication? What evil

hath the stranger done, that thou shouldst send the physician
to his lodgings?—or perhaps deepen in him that
plague-spot which no physician can heal?

The invited guest came trustingly under thy roof, beguiled
by words of courtesy. Send him not away sickened
or sorrowing, but cheered by that simple, safe entertainment,
which has left your own thoughts unwearied
and fresh for the social intercourse, appropriate to beings
who have a mind as well as a body. Surely, no
housekeeper, or mother, would deliberately make the
sacred rites of hospitality, or the table where her “olive-plants”
daily gather, in their blossoming hope, subservient
to gluttony and intemperance, or to the education
of habits that might lead to vices so degrading.

It is happily now, less the custom than formerly, to
press as a mark of welcome or pledge of hospitality, the
draught that may inebriate. Still, it is not extinct. And
though, in the majority of cases, it may be harmless, can
we be sure that it is so in all?—that it might never serve
as fuel to some latent taste, subdued with difficulty, and
which, but for our temptation, might possibly have been
overcome?

If it is asked, why the Christian inhabitants of a most
Christian land should choose, as the herald of their hospitality,
the pledge of their friendship, an usage as dangerous
as the sword of Damocles, we hear only the answer,—“
It is the fashion.” To the inquiry, how woman,
whose safety is so deeply involved in the moral purity

of the land, should venture to tamper with the foundations
of temperance,—still the same answer, “It is the
fashion.” It has been seriously demanded by the guardians
of virtue and religion, why she should ever be faithless
to her sacred trust, and she hath herself answered,—
“It is the fashion.”

When, to efface a stigma from national character, the
philanthropist and statesman are combining their energies,
it becomes not those of humble name or obscure station,
to remain inactive. Our sex, depending by physical
weakness as well as the structure of refined society, on
the protection of others, has immense interests at stake
in the prevalence or suppression of that lunacy, which
may transform protectors into murderers. The plea of
want of influence is not available, since far-sighted politicians
admit that no vice can obtain great preponderance
in a civilized community, without the permission of
females.

If the cause of temperance, which has made such
advances, has still a giant's labor to perform, let us
not withhold the aid that, in our province of home, it is
our part to render. Can we, whose duties and felicities
are interwoven with the conjugal and maternal relations,
be too vigilant against whatever threatens to desecrate
our sanctuary?

Sisters and friends! who in your own regulated tastes,
have no temptation to excess of animal indulgence, who
without effort abstain from all that could cloud the mind,

or inflame the passions, are you thus absolved from further
responsibility? Is not the prevention of evil in
others, according to the measure of your ability, a duty?
To the teaching of example, are we not bound to add the
weight of that influence which the courtesy of an enlightened
age, and the condescending spirit of the religion
of Jesus, has in these latter days accorded to us? Secure
in our own unfallen estate, is it not possible that regret or
remorse may in future years extort the confession,—“We
are verily guilty concerning our brother?”

If the spoiler may yet effect an entrance at the fireside,
—the household board,—the nursery,—have we nothing
to do? We, whose fondest affections take root at that
fireside,—who, at that household board have precedence
and power,—to whom that nursery is the garner of
the dearest hopes, for time and eternity, can we trace
amid those hallowed retreats the footsteps of a foe, and
not tremble?

Wife!—who by solemn vows, before men and angels,
hast entered into an union that death alone can dissolve,
has it been your fate to see the vice of intemperance
casting deadly shadow over the heart, where your highest
earthly confidence reposed? And day by day, and
hour after hour, as you watched its fearful ravages, were
you careful not to upbraid, not to provoke, not to argue
reproachfully; but to repress your own sense of suffering,—to
make home desirable,—to revivify those affections,
which are the fountains of purity and joy? Above

all, were your supplications unceasing to Him, who alone
can turn the heart, as the rivers of waters are turned?
Then, though the harvest of your toils may have perished,—though
the desolation of your peace nothing
earthly can solace,—still, you will have escaped the
rankling torture of the reflection, that you are verily
guilty concerning him who was “your more than brother,
and your next to God.”

Mother!—whose duties are laid deeper than any vow
of the lips, even in the immutable strength of a love
that cannot swerve,—did you counsel your children in
this matter, “rising early, and late taking rest?” With
the developments of character, did you strive to impress
the control of the appetites,—the excellence of pleasures
derived from intellect and benevolence,—the true
heroism of subjugating the flesh to the spirit? Did
you oppose with your authority every infraction of these
principles? Did you warn them of the infirmity of their
nature,—of the trials, the tempters that await them,—
of their need to seek help from above? At dawn, and
at the hush of midnight, was there a fervent lifting up
of your soul, that they might be “temperate in all
things?”

Still, should it be your lot to behold one whom you
had nurtured, stain the heritage of his athers, and go
down to a drunkard's grave, may it never be your fearful
doom to stand at the bar of the High Judge, and say,—
“I am verily guilty concerning”— whom? Not the

brother, whose course you might have been unable to
influence,—not the husband, whom it was never your
prerogative to control,—but the child, whom you brought
into life, and loved more than life;—the child, for the
first pencillings on whose soul you were accountable,
intrusted to you as it was, like unsullied wax, to be
stamped with the signet of Heaven.

Yet there are other evils than those that flow from
excess in drinking, which they who would be “temperate
in all things,” must avoid. There are other excitements
than those of the table, which it is our duty, both
by example and precept, to discourage.

One is the stimulus of light conversation, vernacularly
called gossip, in which the integrity of facts is too often
sacrificed to their embellishment. Our position as a sex
supplies a redundancy of such subjects, while a desire of
adding novelty, or variety to soci I intercourse, gives to
slight circumstances undue inflation and expansion. Censoriousness
springs less frequently from unkind feeling,
than from the ambition of surpassing others in pungency
of narration. The flattering verdict of possessing wit,
must be maintained, though a fair reputation suffer, or
a weak one fall. Even kindly disposed natures may be
led to this intemperate mode of serving up character, by
the tastes and habits of those around. But on the hard
heart, the tongue may sharpen itself, till one becomes a
spear, and the other a millstone.

If thou art bidden to a feast of mangled reputations,

sit not unduly long, nor lift with complacence the cup in
which thy neighbor's faults are infused. Through the
same process of fermentation thine own good name may
also pass, for at the wine-press of slander, there is no
respect of persons. The sour grape that setteth the
teeth on edge, and the rich cluster from the valley of
Eshcol, which the Lord commended,—go in alike,—and
the mingled wine is pleasant to the perverted palate.

Doth it not behoove us rather to uplift the banner of a
charity that “thinketh no evil?” For, in the words of a
fine writer, “if we are capable of showing what is good
in another, and neglect to do it, we omit a duty,—we
omit to give rational pleasure, and to conciliate right
good-will. Nay more, are we not abettors, if not aiders
in the vilest fraud,—the fraud of purloining from respect?
Being intrusted with letters of great interest, what a
baseness not to deliver them!”

The influence of words and sympathies, is seldom
fully estimated. Like the falling pebble in the stream,
they are surrounded by circles far beyond their own circumference,
which continue to widen, after the parent
cause is buried and forgotten. The words and sympathies
of woman, though moving in a narrow and secluded
sphere, have peculiar force of propagation. They are not
impeded in their action, by those pre-occupations of prejudice,
rancors of political strife, or intrigues of state, with
which the eloquence of man contends. They often fall
on soil, prepared for their reception, by the dews of infancy,—the

sunny skies of childhood,—or the tranquil
culture of friendship and affection. Can our responsibility
on their account be too strongly impressed?

In the fumes of vanity there is also a species of intoxication,
to which our sex, from their position, are exposed.
A young female,—especially if possessing beauty or accomplishments,—is
often nurtured with the food of adulation.
But, in her ultimate sphere of action, she finds a
different aliment, to which it would have been well, if
the mental appetite had been early trained. The essence
of conjugal and maternal duty, is disinterestedness. The
undue study of dress, the extravagant expenditure of time
and money, for luxuriant display, the predominance of
self as a ruling motive, should pass away, as the dawn
when the sun ariseth. The true happiness of our nature
is in doing good,—in conferring, rather than in receiving
benefits. The holy estate of matrimony is made
more holy, by its facilities for these ends. A well-ordered,
agreeable home, is both a preventive to vice and
a refuge for those who have been “hurt by the archers.”
Strength is given us here, that we may do an angel's
work.

The preponderance of pursuits comparatively trifling,
is hazardous. For though none of the employments that
minister to the comfort of domestic life, however minute
in detail, or lowly in character, should be overlooked or
despised, yet time must be reserved for the culture of
intellect, for retaining knowledge once acquired, and increasing

its store by those who would desire to maintain
durable empire over the heart. The first enthusiasm of
youthful love must suffer abatement. It has been aptly
compared to the “shadow of early morning, decreasing
as the day advances.” That in its transition it may take
the form of that more sober and sublimated affection,
which deepens till the sunset of life, and blends with the
parting smile a pledge of deathless reunion, it must be
fortified by a steadfast mental, moral, and religious progress,—an
elevation in the scale of being, which labors
to bear upward those whom best it loves.

A too excitable temperament is to be guarded against.
Its tendency is to cloud the judgment, and impair those
defences which our weakness needs. The domination of
passion, partakes of the frenzy of intemperance in drinking.
It destroys the balance of thought, and the sway
of reason. It “taketh away the armor in which we
trusted, and divideth the spoils.” The loss of clear intellectual
guidance, even for brief and long separated intervals,
is not safe for those who often find their best
wisdom inadequate to the trials and emergencies of life.
Would the helmsman, amid shoals and quicksands, occasionally
lay aside his vigilance, trusting that any error,
thus committed, might be rectified in his future course?
Should the bird of passage linger, and lose sight of its
leader, might it be sure to join the flock unscathed, when
its reverie was over? And must not she, who holds the
helm of a household, and would so pass this troubled pilgrimage,

as not to miss with them the “Better Land,”
spread the safe sail of a meek and quiet spirit, and labor
to preserve, amid blast and billow, the serenity of a self-possessed
mind?

Wealth is also said to have an inebriating tendency,
which its possessors are not always able to withstand.
Through its excitements, pride mounteth to the brain, and
the mind dwelleth only upon its own greatness, and the
heart, having no unsatisfied want, forgetteth how to sympathize,
and its alms become ostentation, and the charity, that
might have made them acceptable to God, hath no part
in the matter. Even the fine eyes of youth become so
sprinkled with the sleep of self-indulgence, as to see
dreamily, both this life and the next. Gold and silver,
like the poppy-poison, lay the heart in the grave, while
the body lives. Let those who are in danger of such
inebriations, temper the exultation of riches, by a sense
of the stewardship they involve,—the reflection how soon
they must resign them for the poverty of the grave, and
learn the philosophy that pronounced at the close of
life, nothing its own, save that which it had given away.

And now, dear friends, I take my leave, having had
pleasure in this interview. As it regards the sight of the
countenance, or sound of the voice, we may be strangers;
yet has this intercourse made you to me, as friends. Perchance,
oceans separate us; still it seemeth as if we sate
side by side. We have seen that ability is committed to us,
to make home the nursery of virtue;—and that to be

“temperate in all things,” it is not sufficient simply to
shun the wine-cup, and the glutton's feast. We have together
contemplated some of the dangers that surround
us,—some of the temptations which we must repel, for the
sake of those whom we love. Other dangers and temptations
might also have been pointed out.

But the field is broad, and time, with me is short. I
have scattered a few seeds, whose fruits may be gathered,
when I am gone;—a few hints, which you will expand
and illustrate in the beauty of your example.

“There is no service, said Lord Bacon, comparable to
good counsel,—since no man can do so much for us, as
we may do for ourselves: and good counsel helpeth us
to help ourselves.” A still greater teacher, incites us to
add to “knowledge, temperance; and to temperance,
patience; and to patience, godliness; and to godliness,
brotherly-kindness; and to brotherly-kindness, charity.”
May the spirit of this glorious climax animate and uphold
us, while we labor to grave on the signet-ring of
this fleeting life, the motto, “temperate in all things.”