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.”