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.