Part 3

Such is the tenderness, such the intensity of the love of innocence. It has for ever existed, and will for ever exist,--from Eve, on the first day of her creation, to the many whose hearts at this moment beat with affection and love:

“All thoughts, all passions, all desires, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame.”

WIFE.

Let us now consider affection where it appears in one of its sweetest forms,--in the love of a wife,--love, in the strength of which, hoping all things, she does not hesitate to quit her father and her mother and all dear to her to share the joys and sorrows of her husband. In prosperity she delights in his happiness, in sickness she watches over him, feeling more grief than she shows.

A young soldier, thus speaks of the affection of his wife:--

“For five campaigns Did my sweet Lucy know Each hardship and each toil We soldiers undergo. Nor ever did she murmur, Or at her fate repine, She thought not of her sorrow, But how to lessen mine: In hunger, or hard marching, Whate’er the ill might be, In her I found a friend, Who ne’er deserted me: And in my tent when wounded, And when I sickening lay, Oft from my brow with trembling hand, She wiped the damps away. And when this heart, my Lucy, Shall cease to beat for thee, Oh! cold, clay cold, Full sure this heart must be.”

THE ROBBER.

“A friend of mine who had long struggled with a dangerous fever, approached that crisis on which his life depended, when sleep, uninterrupted sleep might ensure his recovery;--his wife, scarcely daring to breathe, sat by him; her servants, worn out by watching, had all left her; it was past midnight,--the room door was open for air; she heard in the silence of the night a window thrown open below stairs, and soon after footsteps approaching; in a short time, a man came into the room--his face was covered with a black crape: she instantly saw her husband’s danger; she pointed to him, and, pressing her finger upon her lip to implore silence, held out to the robber her purse and her keys: to her great surprise he took neither; he drew back, and left the room,--whether he was alarmed, or struck by this courage of affection cannot now be known; but, without robbing a house sanctified by such strength of love--he departed.”

SENECA.

How well did the artist to whom we are indebted for the celebrated picture of the Death of Seneca, understand this deep feeling of female affection! It may be said of Seneca, as he said of a friend, “I have applied myself to liberal studies, though both the poverty of my condition, and my own reason might rather have put me upon the making of my fortune. I have given proof, that all minds are capable of goodness; and I have illustrated the obscurity of my family by the eminency of my virtue. I have preserved my faith in all extremities, and I have ventured my life for it. I have never spoken one word contrary to my conscience, and I have been more solicitous for my friend, than for myself. I never made any base submissions to any man; and I have never done any thing unworthy of a resolute, and of an honest man. My mind is raised so much above all dangers, that I have mastered all hazards; and I bless myself in the providence which gave me that experiment of my virtue: for it was not fit, methought, that so great a glory should come cheap. Nay, I did not so much as deliberate, whether good faith should suffer for me, or I for it. I stood my ground, without laying violent hands upon myself, to escape the rage of the powerful; though under Caligula I saw cruelties, to such a degree, that to be killed outright was accounted a mercy, and yet I persisted in my honesty, to show, that I was ready to do more than die for it. My mind was never corrupted with gifts; and when the humour of avarice was at the height, I never laid my hand upon any unlawful gain. I have been temperate in my diet; modest in my discourse; courteous and affable to my inferiors; and have ever paid a respect and reverence to my betters.”

Such was the man whom the tyrant murdered. He is represented by the artist, bleeding to death, the punishment to which he was condemned,--his wife stands by and supports him to his last moment; such is the affection of a wife.

DAUGHTER.

To understand the depth of female affection, as it is manifested in a daughter’s love, it is necessary rightly to understand a law of affection to which as much consideration seems not often to be given as its importance demands.

It is a law, which has been a frequent subject of meditation by observers of the human mind--the law is, that it is the nature of affection to descend, seldom to ascend.

A few extracts from different authors will explain this law:--

Du Moulin, in his excellent little volume upon Peace and Content, says, “Of children expect no good, but the satisfaction to have done them good, and to see them do well for themselves. For in this relation, the nature of beneficence is to descend, seldom to remount.”

So Bishop Taylor, in his Life of Christ, when speaking of mothers who do not nurse their own children, says, “And if love descends more strongly than it ascends, and commonly falls from the parents upon the children in cataracts, and returns back again up to the parents but in small dews,--if the child’s affection keeps the same proportions towards such unkind mothers, it will be as little as atoms in the sun, and never expresses itself but when the mother needs it not,--that is, in the sunshine of a clear fortune.”

So Fuller says, in his chapter on Moderation, the silken string that runs through the pearl chain of all the virtues, “yea as love, doth descend, and men doat most on their grand-children.”

The same sentiment, with the reason in which the truth originates, has been noticed by our poets.

The sweet poet, Barry Cornwall, says,--

“The love of parents, hath a deep still source, And falleth like a flood upon their child. Sometimes the child is grateful, then his love Comes like the spray returning.”

In Thomson’s “Spring,” the same sentiment, containing the reason of this provision of nature, is beautifully explained. Having described the bird’s nest, and the mother stealing from the barn a straw, ’till “soft and warm the habitation grew,” and having described the little birds in their nest,--

“Oh what passions then, What melting sentiments of kindly care Do the new parents’ seize; away they fly Affectionate, and undesiring bear The most delicious morsel to their young, Which equally distributed, again The search begins.”

And when the little birds are able to fly, the poet thus proceeds,--

“But now the feather’d youth their former bounds Ardent, disdain, and weighing oft their wings Demand the free possession of the sky: This one glad office more, and then dissolves Parental love at once, now needless grown,-- Unlavish wisdom never works in vain.”

He has expressed the same sentiment in his description of the eagle,--

“High from the summit of a craggy cliff Hung o’er the deep, The royal eagle draws his vigorous young Strong-pounced, and ardent with paternal fire; Now fit to raise a kingdom of their own He drives them from his fort, the tow’ring seat For ages, of his empire: which in peace Unstained he holds, while many a league to sea, He wings his course and preys in distant isles.”

Such is the nature of affection in general; but in a daughter it is so powerful, that it never quits her.