Married Life; Its Shadows and Sunshine

IS MARRIAGE A LOTTERY?

"I AM afraid to marry," said a young lady, half jesting and half in earnest, replying to something a friend had said.

"Why so, Ella?" asked one of the company, who had thus far chosen rather to listen than join in the conversation of half a dozen gay young girls. She was a quiet, matronly-looking individual, some few years past the prime of life.

"For fear of being unhappy, Mrs. Harding," replied the first speaker.

"What an idea!" exclaimed a gay damsel, laughing aloud at the singular fear expressed by Ella. "For my part, I never expect to be happy until I am married."

"If marriage should make you any happier than you are now, Caroline, the result will be very fortunate. Your case will form an exception to the rule."

"Oh, no, Ella, don't say that," spoke up the one who had replied to her first remark. "Happiness is the rule, and unhappiness the exception."

"Then it happens strangely enough," returned Ella, smiling, "that we are more familiar with the exceptions than the rule."

"No, my dear, that cannot for a moment be admitted. Far more of happiness than misery results from marriage."

"Look at Ellen Mallory," was answered promptly, "and Mrs. Cummings, and half a dozen others I could name."

"The two you have mentioned are painful instances, I must admit, and form the exceptions of which I spoke; but the result is by no means one that should excite our surprise, for it is a natural consequence flowing from an adequate cause. If you marry as unwisely as did the persons you mention, I have no doubt but you will be quite as wretched as they are—it may be more so."

"I am sure Mr. Mallory is an elegant-looking man," said one of the company, "and might have had his pick among a dozen more attractive girls than ever Ellen Martine was."

"All as thoughtless and undiscriminating as she," remarked Mrs. Harding, quietly.

"Ellen is no fool," returned the last speaker.

"In the most important act of her whole life, she has certainly not shown herself to be a wise woman," said Mrs. Harding.

"But how in the world was she to know that Mr. Mallory was going to turn out so badly?" spoke up Ella.

"By opening her eyes, and using the ability that God has given her to see," was answered by Mrs. Harding.

"Those eyes are wondrous wise, I ween,

That see what is not to be seen,"

the maiden replied.

"Do you then really think, Ella," said Mrs. Harding, "that a young lady cannot make herself as thoroughly acquainted with a man's real qualities as to put any serious mistake in marriage entirely out of the question?"

"To me, I must confess that marriage seems very much like a lottery," answered Ella. "We may get a prize, but there are ten chances to one of our getting a blank."

"If you choose to make it a lottery, it will no doubt become so; but if entered into from right motives, there is no danger of this being the case."

"I don't know what you call right motives," said one; "but I'll tell you a necessary pre-requisite in the man who is to make me a husband."

"Well, child, what is it?"

"Plenty of money. I'm not going to be a poor man's wife, and work myself to death, all for love—no, not I!"

"I'll have a handsome man for a husband, or none," remarked another.

"Give me splendid talents," said a third.

"And what must you have, Ella?" asked Mrs. Harding, turning to the one she addressed.

"All three, if I can get them," replied Ella.

"Beauty, wealth, and talents. These you think would satisfy you?"

"Oh, yes; I should be rather hard to please if they did not."

"Let me relate to you the histories of two friends of mine who married young," said Mrs. Harding, without remarking upon what had just been declared. "Perhaps they may contain lessons that it will be of use for you all to get by heart."

"Oh, yes, do!" said the young ladies, gathering around Mrs. Harding, who, after a short pause, related what follows.

"In my younger days," began Mrs. Harding, "I had two intimate friends, to whom I was warmly attached. I loved them for their many good qualities, and particularly for their unselfishness. To make others happy, always appeared to give them a double pleasure. They were nearly of the same age, and possessed equal external advantages; but their characters were very different. Sarah Corbin, who was a few months older than her friend and almost constant companion, Harriet Wieland, was quiet, thoughtful, and observant; while Harriet, who had great personal attractions, never appeared to look beneath the surface. She believed every thing to be true that bore the semblance of truth, to her all that glittered was gold. Like you, and most other young ladies, we sometimes talked of marriage, and the qualifications desirable in a good husband. Harriet, whether in a gay or sober mood, always declared, like Ella here, that he who won her heart must have riches, manly beauty, and brilliant talents. These she called man's cardinal virtues. Sarah never had much to say on these matters, and, when we asked her opinion, she generally replied evasively.

"A young man named Eaverson, answering pretty nearly to the beau ideal of Harriet Wieland, came from a neighbouring city to reside in this. He was connected with a wealthy and highly respectable family, was really a handsome man, and possessed very fine abilities. He had studied law, and opened his office here for the purpose of pursuing it as a regular profession; but, not meeting with much practice at first, he occupied a large portion of his time in literary pursuits, writing for the magazines and reviews. He also published a small volume of poetry, which contained many really brilliant specimens of verse.

"Circumstances threw Eaverson into the circle of which we formed a part, and we were consequently introduced to him. In the course of time, he began to pay rather marked attentions to Sarah Corbin, at which I felt a little surprised, as he had met Harriet Wieland quite as often, and she was far more beautiful and showy, and more likely, it seemed to me, to attract one like him than the other. Either Sarah was unconscious that his attentions were more marked in her case, or she did not wish her observation of the fact to be known, for all our allusions to the subject were evaded with a seeming indifference that left our minds in doubt. Such were our impressions at first; but the sequel showed that she had marked his first advances with lively interest, and understood their meaning quite as well as we did.

"About Eaverson there was every thing to attract the heart of a maiden not well guarded; and Sarah found that it required the fullest exercise of her reason to prevent her from letting every affection of her mind go out and attach itself to an object that seemed, at first sight, so worthy of her love. But by nature and from education she was thoughtful and observant; and a wise mother had taught her that in marriage external accomplishments and possessions were nothing, unless united with virtuous principles and well-regulated passions. The brilliant attractions of Eaverson strongly tempted her to take his moral fitness for granted; but wiser counsels prevailed in her mind; and with a vigorous hand laid upon her heart to keep down its errant impulses, she exercised, with coolness and a well-balanced mind, the powers of discrimination which God had given for her guidance through life."

All the time that this process was going on in her mind, we remained in ignorance of the fact that she ever thought of the young man, except when he was present, or his name introduced by others. To her, all that related to marriage was too serious to form the theme of ordinary conversation, light jests, or idle chit-chat. Rarely indeed would she have any thing to say, when others spoke lightly or jested on the subject. This being the case, now that her own mind had become deeply interested in a matter of most vital importance to her future welfare, she had no one to disturb the even balance of her reflections by a thoughtless word, an untimely jest, or a false opinion flowing from inexperience or a want of ability to read human nature aright. Silently, freely, and with no biassing influence, in the unapproachable chambers of her own thoughts did she weigh the real character of Eaverson, as far as she could understand it, against what was merely external and personal. The more marked the attentions of the young man became, the more earnestly did she seek to comprehend his real character. Every word he uttered in her presence, every sentiment he expressed, every action and every look were closely scanned, and their meaning, as having reference to principles in the mind, sought to be understood. Such careful scrutiny did not go unrewarded. When Eaverson, soon after her mind was made up in regard to him, made an offer of his hand, the offer was unhesitatingly declined. Sarah had seen enough to satisfy her, that with all his talents, beauty, and wealth, he was wanting in virtuous principles and a high sense of honour.

"I confess, that, with others, I was greatly surprised when the fact of Sarah's having declined the hand of Eaverson became known. The selection of her by one like him seemed so high a preference, and such a marked tribute to her worth and virtue, that it was scarcely credible that she could have remained indifferent to his love. But she saw deeper than we did."

"'I cannot understand the reason of your refusal to accept Mr. Eaverson's offer?' I said to Sarah, one day, when the conversation took a turn that gave me an opportunity of alluding to the subject. 'Do you know any thing against him?'

"'Nothing further than the conclusions of my own mind, arising from a careful observation of his sentiments, manners, and unguarded expressions,' she replied.

"'Was it from such conclusions that you declined his offer?'

"'From these alone, for I know nothing of his history before he came to this city, and nothing of his life since he has been here.'

"'May you not possibly be mistaken?'

"'No. From the moment he seemed in the least pleased with me, I commenced observing him closely. It was not long before I heard him utter a sentiment, while speaking to another, that showed him to possess very false views of life in at least one particular. This I noted, and laid it by in my memory for comparison with any thing else I might see or hear.'

"'But you would not condemn a man for having erroneous views of life?' said I.

"'Oh, no; not if his principles be pure. But if false views arise from a perverted heart, then I would condemn the man. What I heard, I noticed in order to determine, if possible, from what source it came. A very long time did not pass, before I saw something that told me very plainly that the false view which I have mentioned depended more upon a perversion of the heart than an error in the understanding. I likewise discovered, very soon, that when in conversation with me, he was, evidently, more upon his guard, as to what sentiments he declared, than he was when in conversation with others. But I need not state particularly the whole process by which I arrived at conclusions sufficiently clear to warrant my full and prompt rejection of his suit.'

"'In what estimation do you hold him?' I asked.

"'As a man without honour or virtue,' she said, decidedly.

"'That is a broad and severe judgment,' I replied.

"'So it is. I have made it for myself. Of course, I cannot expect others to view him in the same light; nor do I believe many others would form this conclusion from the evidences that were presented to my mind. But, as for me, I have no doubt on the subject. Rather than become his wife, I would suffer death; for a union with him would be, to me, the depth of misery.'

"The seriousness with which Sarah spoke satisfied me that she believed all she said, and had, at some cost of feeling, rejected an offer of marriage that would have been an exceedingly desirable one, had the character of the man who made it been fully approved.

"A short time after the rejection of his suit by Miss Corbin, I noticed that Eaverson appeared more inclined to keep company with Harriet Wieland than before. I could not help feeling regret at this, for, notwithstanding I thought Sarah had judged the young man rather severely, I was yet satisfied that there must be some ground for her conclusions in regard to his character. Slight attentions, encouraged by Harriet, soon became the bold advances of a lover. A few months after his suit had been declined by Sarah, he offered himself to her friend, and was unhesitatingly accepted.

"In the mean time, a young man, whom I will call Williamson, had met Sarah occasionally, and showed a disposition to win, if possible, her favourable regard. His exterior was by no means elegant; his literary attainments were not great; nor was he in the enjoyment of any thing beyond a moderate income. Place him and Eaverson in almost any company, and the latter would nearly hide him from view. But, with the most moderate pretensions, and unattractive exterior, Williamson's character was formed upon a ground-work of good sense and virtuous principles. He had little facility of expression, but he thought clearly, and, in most things, acted from a sound judgment. He was much pleased with Sarah before Eaverson attempted to gain her affections; and noticed his advances. For the result he looked with some interest. When it became clearly apparent that she had thrown him off, Williamson was satisfied that she was a girl of discrimination and sound sense, and immediately resolved that he would know her better. The oftener he met her, and the nearer he observed her, the more excellent did her character seem in his eyes. The result was an offer of marriage, which was accepted by Sarah, as much to our surprise as was her rejection of Eaverson.