UNMARRIED WOMEN.ByL. MARIA CHILD.SSocietymoves slowly toward civilization, but when we compare epochs half a century, or even a quarter of a century apart, we perceive many signs that progressismade. Among these pleasant indications is the fact that the phrase “old maid” has gone wellnigh out of fashion; that jests on the subject are no longer considered witty, and are never uttered by gentlemen. In my youth, I not unfrequently heard women of thirty addressed something in this style: “What, not married yet? If you don’t take care, you will outstand your market.” Such words could never be otherwise than disagreeable, nay, positively offensive, to any woman of sensibility and natural refinement; and that not merely on account of wounded vanity, or disappointed affection, or youthful visions receding in the distance, but because the idea of being inthemarket, of being acommodity, rather than an individual, is odious to every human being.I believe a large proportion of unmarried women are so simply because they have too much conscience and delicacy of feeling to form marriages of interest or convenience, without the concurrence of their affections and their taste. A woman who is determined to be married, and who “plays her cards well,” as the phrase is, usually succeeds. But how much more estimable and honorable is she who regards a life-union as too important and sacred to be entered into from motives of vanity or selfishness.To rear families is the ordination of Nature, and where it is done conscientiously it is doubtless the best education that men or women can receive. But I doubt the truth of the common remark that the discharge of these duties makes married people less selfish than unmarried ones. The selfishness of single women doubtless shows itself in more petty forms; such as being disturbed by crumbs on the carpet, and a litter of toys about the house. But fathers and mothers are often selfish on a large scale, for the sake of advancing the worldly prosperity or social condition of their children. Not only is spiritual growth frequently sacrificed in pursuit of these objects, but principles are trampled on, which involve the welfare of the whole human race. Within the sphere of my own observation, I must confess that thereis a larger proportion of unmarried than of married women whose sympathies are active and extensive.I have before my mind two learned sisters, familiar with Greek, Latin, and French, and who, late in life, acquired a knowledge of German also. They spent more than sixty years together, quietly digging out gold, silver, or iron from the rich mines of ancient and modern literature, and freely imparting their treasures wherever they were called for. No married couple could have been more careful of each other in illness, or more accommodating toward each other’s peculiarities; yet they were decided individuals; and their talk never wanted“An animated No,To brush its surface, and to make it flow.”Cultivated people enjoyed their conversation, which was both wise and racy; a steady light of good sense and large information, with an occasional flashing rocket of not ill-natured satire. Yet their intellectual acquisitions produced no contempt for the customary occupations of women. All their friends received tasteful keepsakes of their knitting, netting, or crocheting, and all the poor of the town had garments of their handiwork. Neither their sympathies nor their views were narrowed by celibacy. Early education had taught them to reverence everything that was established; but with this reverence they mingleda lively interest in all the great progressive questions of the day. Their ears were open to the recital of everybody’s troubles and everybody’s joys. On New Year’s day, children thronged round them for books and toys, and every poor person’s face lighted up as they approached; for they were sure of kindly inquiries and sympathizing words from them, and their cloaks usually opened to distribute comfortable slippers, or warm stockings of their own manufacture. When this sisterly bond, rendered so beautiful by usefulness and culture, was dissolved by death, the survivor said of her who had departed: “During all her illness she leaned upon me as a child upon its mother; and O, how blessed is now the consciousness that I never disappointed her!” This great bereavement was borne with calmness, for loneliness was cheered by hope of reunion. On the anniversary of her loss the survivor wrote to me: “I find a growing sense of familiarity with the unseen world. It is as if the door were invitingly left ajar, and the distance were hourly diminishing. I never think ofheras alone. The unusual number of departed friends for whom we had recently mourned seem now but an increase to her happiness.”I had two other unmarried friends, as devoted to each other, and as tender of each other’s peculiarities as any wedded couple I ever knew. Without being learned, they had a love of generalreading, which, with active charities, made their days pass profitably and pleasantly. They had the orderly, systematic habits common to single ladies, but their sympathies and their views were larger and more liberal than those of their married sisters. Their fingers were busy for the poor, whom they were always ready to aid and comfort, irrespective of nation or color. Their family affections were remarkably strong, yet they had the moral courage to espouse the unpopular cause of the slave, in quiet opposition to the prejudices of beloved relatives. Death sundered this tie when both were advanced in years. The departed one, though not distinguished for beauty during her mortal life, had, after her decease, a wonderful loveliness, like that of an angelic child. It was the outward impress of her interior life.Few marriages are more beautiful or more happy than these sisterly unions; and the same may be said of a brother and sister, whose lives are bound together. All lovers of English literature know how charmingly united in mind and heart were Charles Lamb and his gifted sister; and our own poet, Whittier, so dear to the people’s heart, has a home made lovely by the same fraternal relation of mutual love and dependence.A dear friend of mine, whom it was some good man’s loss not to have for a life-mate, adopted the orphan sons of her brother, and reared them with more than parental wisdom and tenderness, caringfor all their physical wants, guiding them in precept and example by the most elevated moral standard, bestowing on them the highest intellectual culture, and studying all branches with them, that she might in all things be their companion.Nor is it merely in such connections, which somewhat resemble wedded life, that single women make themselves useful and respected. Many remember the store kept for so long a time in Boston by Miss Ann Bent.Her parents being poor, she early began to support herself by teaching. A relative subsequently furnished her with goods to sell on commission; and in this new employment she manifested such good judgment, integrity, and general business capacity, that merchants were willing to trust her to any extent. She acquired a handsome property, which she used liberally to assist a large family of sisters and nieces, some of whom she established in business similar to her own. No mother or grandmother was ever more useful or beloved. One of her nieces said: “I know the beauty and purity of my aunt’s character, for I lived with her forty years, and I never knew her to say or do anything which might not have been said or done before the whole world.”I am ignorant of the particulars of Miss Bent’s private history; but doubtless a woman of her comely looks, agreeable manners, and excellent character, might have found opportunities to marry,if that had been a paramount object with her. She lived to be more than eighty-eight years old, universally respected and beloved; and the numerous relatives, toward whom she had performed a mother’s part, cheered her old age with grateful affection.There have also been many instances of single women who have enlivened and illustrated their lives by devotion to the beautiful arts. Of these none are perhaps more celebrated than the Italian Sofonisba Angusciola and her two accomplished sisters. These three “virtuous gentlewomen,” as Vasari calls them, spent their lives together in most charming union. All of them had uncommon talent for painting, but Sofonisba was the most gifted. One of her most beautiful pictures represents her two sisters playing at chess, attended by the faithful old duenna, who accompanied them everywhere. This admirable artist lived to be old and blind; and the celebrated Vandyke said of her, in her later years: “I have learned more from one blind old woman in Italy, than from all the masters of the art.”Many single women have also employed their lives usefully and agreeably as authors. There is the charming Miss Mitford, whose writings cheer the soul like a meadow of cowslips in the springtime. There is Frederica Bremer, whose writings have blessed so many souls. There is Joanna Baillie, Maria Edgeworth, Elizabeth Hamilton,and our own honored Catherine M. Sedgwick, whose books have made the world wiser and better than they found it.I am glad to be sustained in my opinions on this subject by a friend whose own character invests single life with peculiar dignity. In a letter to me, she says: “I object to having single women called aclass. They areindividuals, differing in the qualities of their characters, like other human beings. Their isolation, as a general thing, is the result of unavoidable circumstances. The Author of Nature doubtless intended that men and women should live together. But, in the present state of the world’s progress, society has, in many respects, become artificial in proportion to its civilization; and consequently the number of single women must constantly increase. If humanity were in a state of natural, healthy development, this would not be so; for young people would then be willing to begin married life with simplicity and frugality, and real happiness would increase in proportion to the diminution of artificial wants. This prospect, however, lies in the future, and many generations of single women must come and go before it will be realized.“But the achievement ofcharacteris the highest end that can be proposed to any human being, and there is nothing in single life to prevent a woman from attaining this great object; on the contrary, it is in many respects peculiarly favorable to it.The measure of strength in character is the power to conquer circumstances when they refuse to cooperate with us. The temptations peculiarly incident to single life are petty selfishness, despondency under the suspicion of neglect, andennuifrom the want of interesting occupation. If an ordinary, feeble-minded woman is exposed to these temptations, she will be very likely to yield to them. But she would not be greatly different in character, if protected by a husband and flanked with children; her feebleness would remain the same, and would only manifest itself under new forms.“Marriage, under favorable circumstances, is unquestionably a promoter of human happiness. But mistakes are so frequently made by entering thoughtlessly into this indissoluble connection, and so much wretchedness ensues from want of sufficient mental discipline to make the best of what cannot be remedied, that most people can discover among their acquaintance as large a proportion of happy single women as they can of happy wives. Moreover, the happiness of unmarried women is as independent of mere gifts of fortune, as that of other individuals. Indeed, all solid happiness must spring from inward sources. Some of the most truly contented and respectable women I have ever known have been domestics, who grew old in one family, and were carefully looked after, in their declining days, by the children of those whom they faithfully served in youth.“Most single women might have married, had they seized upon the first opportunity that offered; but some unrevealed attachment, too high an ideal, or an innate fastidiousness, have left them solitary; therefore, it is fair to assume that many of them have more sensibility and true tenderness than some of their married sisters. Those who remain single in consequence of too much worldly ambition, or from the gratification of coquettish vanity, naturally swell the ranks of those peevish, discontented ones, who bring discredit on single life in the abstract. But when a delicate gentlewoman deliberately prefers passing through life alone, to linking her fate with that of a man toward whom she feels no attraction, why should she ever repent of so high an exercise of her reason? This class of women are often the brightest ornaments of society. Men find in them calm, thoughtful friends, and safe confidants, on whose sympathy they can rely without danger. In the nursery, their labors, being voluntary, are less exhausting than a parent’s. When the weary, fretted mother turns a deaf ear to the twenty-times-repeated question, the baffled urchins retreat to the indulgent aunt, or dear old familiar friend, sure of obtaining a patient hearing and a kind response. Almost everybody can remember some samples of suchPenates, whose hearts seem to be too large to be confined to any one set of children.“Some of my fairest patterns of feminine excellencehave been of the single sisterhood. Of those unfortunate ones who are beacons, rather than models, I cannot recall an individual whose character I think would have been materially improved by marriage. The faults which make a single woman disagreeable would probably exist to the same degree if she were a wife; and the virtues which adorn her in a state of celibacy would make her equally beloved and honored if she were married. The human soul is placed here for development and progress; and it is capable of converting all circumstances into means of growth and advancement.“Among my early recollections is that of a lady of stately presence, who died while I was still young, but not till she had done much to remove from my mind the idea that the name of ‘old maid’ was a term of reproach. She was the daughter of Judge Russell, and aunt to the late Reverend and beloved Dr. Lowell. She had been one of a numerous family of brothers and sisters, but in my childhood was sole possessor of the old family mansion, where she received her friends and practised those virtues which gained for her the respect of the whole community. Sixty years ago, it was customary to speak of single women with far less deference than it now is; and I remember being puzzled by the extremely respectful manner in which she was always mentioned. If there were difficulties in the parish, or if any doubtfulmatters were under discussion, the usual question was ‘What is Miss Russell’s opinion?’ I used to think to myself, ‘She is an old maid, after all, yet people always speak of her as if she were some great person.’“Miss Burleigh was another person of whom I used to hear much through the medium of mutual friends. She resided with a married sister in Salem, and was the ‘dear Aunt Susan,’ not only of the large circle of her own nephews and nieces, but of all their friends and favorites. Having ample means, she surrounded herself with choice books and pictures, and such objects of Art or Nature as would entertain and instruct young minds. Her stores of knowledge were prodigious, and she had such a happy way of imparting it, that lively boys were glad to leave their play, to spend an hour with Aunt Susan. She read to her young friends at stated times, and made herself perfectly familiar with them; and as they grew older she became their chosen confidant. She was, in fact, such a centre of light and warmth, that no one could approach her sphere without being conscious of its vivifying influence.“‘Aunt Sarah Stetson,’ another single lady, was a dear and honored friend of my own. She was of masculine size and stature, gaunt and ungainly in the extreme. But before she had uttered three sentences, her hearers said to themselves, ‘Here is a wise woman!’ She was the oldest of thirteenchildren, early deprived of their father, and she bore the brunt of life from youth upward. She received only such education as was afforded by the public school of an obscure town seventy years ago. To add to their scanty means of subsistence, she learned the tailor’s trade. In process of time, the other children swarmed off from the parental hive, the little farm was sold, and she lived alone with her mother. She built a small cottage out of her own earnings, and had the sacred pleasure of taking her aged parent to her own home, and ministering with her own hands to all her wants. For sixteen years, she never spent a night from home, but assiduously devoted herself to the discharge of this filial duty, and to the pursuance of her trade. Yet in the midst of this busy life, she managed to become respectably familiar with English literature, especially with history. Whatever she read, she derived from it healthful aliment for the growth of her mental powers. She was full of wise maxims and rules of life; not doled out with see-saw prosiness, but with strong common sense, rich and racy, and frequently flavored with the keenest satire. She had a flashing wit, and wonderful power of detecting shams of all sorts. Her religious opinions were orthodox, and she was an embodiment of the Puritan character. She was kindly in her feelings, and alive to every demonstration of affection, but she had a granite firmness of principle, which rendered her awful toward deceivers andtransgressors. All the intellectual people of the town sought her company with avidity. The Unitarian minister and his family, a wealthy man, who happened to be also the chief scholar in the place, and the young people generally, took pleasure in resorting to Aunt Sarah’s humble home, to minister to her simple wants, and gather up her words of wisdom. Her spirit was bright and cheerful to the last. One of her sisters, who had been laboring sixteen years as a missionary among the southwestern Indians, came to New England to visit the scattered members of her family. After seeing them in their respective homes, she declared: ‘Sarah is the most light-hearted of them all; and it is only byherfireside that I have been able to forget past hardships in merry peals of laughter.’“During my last interview with Aunt Sarah, when she was past seventy years of age, she said, ‘I have lived very agreeably single; but if I become infirm, I suppose I shall feel the want of life’s nearest ties.’ In her case, however, the need was of short duration, and an affectionate niece supplied the place of a daughter.“Undoubtedly, the arms of children and grandchildren form the most natural and beautiful cradle for old age. But loneliness is often the widow’s portion, as well as that of the single woman; and parents are often left solitary by the death or emigration of their children.“I am tempted to speak also of a living friend,now past her sixtieth year. She is different from the others, but this difference only confirms my theory that the mind can subdue all things to itself. This lady is strictly feminine in all her habits and pursuits, and regards the needle as the chief implement of woman’s usefulness. If the Dorcas labors performed by her one pair of hands could be collected into a mass, out of the wear and waste of half a century, they would form an amazing pile. In former years, when her health allowed her to circulate among numerous family connections, her visits were always welcomed as a jubilee; for every dilapidated wardrobe was sure to be renovated by Aunt Mary’s nimble fingers. She had also a magic power of drawing the little ones to herself. Next to their fathers and mothers, she was the best beloved. The influence which her loving heart gained over them in childhood increased with advancing years. She is now the best and dearest friend of twenty or thirty nephews and nieces, some of whom have families of their own.“A large amount of what is termed mother-wit, a readiness at repartee, and quickness in seizing unexpected associations of words or ideas, rendered her generally popular in company; but the deep cravings of her heart could never be satisfied with what is termed success in society. The intimate love of a few valued friends was what she always coveted, and never failed to win. For several years she has been compelled by ill health to live entirelyat home. There she now is, fulfilling the most important mission of her whole beneficent life, training to virtue and usefulness five motherless children of her brother. Feeble and emaciated, she lives in her chamber surrounded by these orphans, who now constitute her chief hold on life. She shares all their pleasures, is the depositary of their little griefs, and unites in herself the relations of aunt, mother, and grandmother. She has faith to believe that her frail thread of existence will be prolonged for the sake of these little ones. The world still comes to her, in her seclusion, through a swarm of humble friends and dependants, who find themselves comforted and ennobled by the benignant patience with which she listens to their various experiences, and gives them kindly, sympathizing counsel, more valuable to them than mere pecuniary aid. Her spirit of self-abnegation is carried almost to asceticism; but she reserves her severity wholly for herself; toward others she is prodigal of indulgence. This goodly temple of a human soul was reared in these fair proportions upon a foundation of struggles, disappointments, and bereavements. A friend described her serene exterior as a ‘placid, ocean-deep manner’; under it lies a silent history of trouble and trial, converted into spiritual blessings.“The conclusion of the matter in my mind is, that a woman may make a respectable appearance as a wife, with a character far less noble thanis necessary to enable her to lead a single life with usefulness and dignity. She is sheltered and concealed behind her husband; but the unmarried woman must rely upon herself; and she lives in a glass house, open to the gaze of every passer-by. To the feeble-minded, marriage is almost a necessity, and if wisely formed it doubtless renders the life of any woman more happy. But happiness is not the sole end and aim of this life. We are sent here to build up acharacter; and sensible women may easilyreconcile themselves to a single life,since even its disadvantages maybe converted into means ofdevelopment of all thefaculties with whichGod has endowedthem.”Youare “getting into years.” Yes, but the years are getting into you; the ripe, mellow years. One by one, the crudities of your youth are falling off from you; the vanity, the egotism, the bewilderment, the uncertainty. Every wrong road into which you have wandered has brought you, by the knowledge of that mistake, nearer to the truth. Nearer and nearer you are approaching yourself.—Gail Hamilton.
UNMARRIED WOMEN.ByL. MARIA CHILD.
Societymoves slowly toward civilization, but when we compare epochs half a century, or even a quarter of a century apart, we perceive many signs that progressismade. Among these pleasant indications is the fact that the phrase “old maid” has gone wellnigh out of fashion; that jests on the subject are no longer considered witty, and are never uttered by gentlemen. In my youth, I not unfrequently heard women of thirty addressed something in this style: “What, not married yet? If you don’t take care, you will outstand your market.” Such words could never be otherwise than disagreeable, nay, positively offensive, to any woman of sensibility and natural refinement; and that not merely on account of wounded vanity, or disappointed affection, or youthful visions receding in the distance, but because the idea of being inthemarket, of being acommodity, rather than an individual, is odious to every human being.
I believe a large proportion of unmarried women are so simply because they have too much conscience and delicacy of feeling to form marriages of interest or convenience, without the concurrence of their affections and their taste. A woman who is determined to be married, and who “plays her cards well,” as the phrase is, usually succeeds. But how much more estimable and honorable is she who regards a life-union as too important and sacred to be entered into from motives of vanity or selfishness.
To rear families is the ordination of Nature, and where it is done conscientiously it is doubtless the best education that men or women can receive. But I doubt the truth of the common remark that the discharge of these duties makes married people less selfish than unmarried ones. The selfishness of single women doubtless shows itself in more petty forms; such as being disturbed by crumbs on the carpet, and a litter of toys about the house. But fathers and mothers are often selfish on a large scale, for the sake of advancing the worldly prosperity or social condition of their children. Not only is spiritual growth frequently sacrificed in pursuit of these objects, but principles are trampled on, which involve the welfare of the whole human race. Within the sphere of my own observation, I must confess that thereis a larger proportion of unmarried than of married women whose sympathies are active and extensive.
I have before my mind two learned sisters, familiar with Greek, Latin, and French, and who, late in life, acquired a knowledge of German also. They spent more than sixty years together, quietly digging out gold, silver, or iron from the rich mines of ancient and modern literature, and freely imparting their treasures wherever they were called for. No married couple could have been more careful of each other in illness, or more accommodating toward each other’s peculiarities; yet they were decided individuals; and their talk never wanted
“An animated No,To brush its surface, and to make it flow.”
“An animated No,To brush its surface, and to make it flow.”
“An animated No,To brush its surface, and to make it flow.”
“An animated No,
To brush its surface, and to make it flow.”
Cultivated people enjoyed their conversation, which was both wise and racy; a steady light of good sense and large information, with an occasional flashing rocket of not ill-natured satire. Yet their intellectual acquisitions produced no contempt for the customary occupations of women. All their friends received tasteful keepsakes of their knitting, netting, or crocheting, and all the poor of the town had garments of their handiwork. Neither their sympathies nor their views were narrowed by celibacy. Early education had taught them to reverence everything that was established; but with this reverence they mingleda lively interest in all the great progressive questions of the day. Their ears were open to the recital of everybody’s troubles and everybody’s joys. On New Year’s day, children thronged round them for books and toys, and every poor person’s face lighted up as they approached; for they were sure of kindly inquiries and sympathizing words from them, and their cloaks usually opened to distribute comfortable slippers, or warm stockings of their own manufacture. When this sisterly bond, rendered so beautiful by usefulness and culture, was dissolved by death, the survivor said of her who had departed: “During all her illness she leaned upon me as a child upon its mother; and O, how blessed is now the consciousness that I never disappointed her!” This great bereavement was borne with calmness, for loneliness was cheered by hope of reunion. On the anniversary of her loss the survivor wrote to me: “I find a growing sense of familiarity with the unseen world. It is as if the door were invitingly left ajar, and the distance were hourly diminishing. I never think ofheras alone. The unusual number of departed friends for whom we had recently mourned seem now but an increase to her happiness.”
I had two other unmarried friends, as devoted to each other, and as tender of each other’s peculiarities as any wedded couple I ever knew. Without being learned, they had a love of generalreading, which, with active charities, made their days pass profitably and pleasantly. They had the orderly, systematic habits common to single ladies, but their sympathies and their views were larger and more liberal than those of their married sisters. Their fingers were busy for the poor, whom they were always ready to aid and comfort, irrespective of nation or color. Their family affections were remarkably strong, yet they had the moral courage to espouse the unpopular cause of the slave, in quiet opposition to the prejudices of beloved relatives. Death sundered this tie when both were advanced in years. The departed one, though not distinguished for beauty during her mortal life, had, after her decease, a wonderful loveliness, like that of an angelic child. It was the outward impress of her interior life.
Few marriages are more beautiful or more happy than these sisterly unions; and the same may be said of a brother and sister, whose lives are bound together. All lovers of English literature know how charmingly united in mind and heart were Charles Lamb and his gifted sister; and our own poet, Whittier, so dear to the people’s heart, has a home made lovely by the same fraternal relation of mutual love and dependence.
A dear friend of mine, whom it was some good man’s loss not to have for a life-mate, adopted the orphan sons of her brother, and reared them with more than parental wisdom and tenderness, caringfor all their physical wants, guiding them in precept and example by the most elevated moral standard, bestowing on them the highest intellectual culture, and studying all branches with them, that she might in all things be their companion.
Nor is it merely in such connections, which somewhat resemble wedded life, that single women make themselves useful and respected. Many remember the store kept for so long a time in Boston by Miss Ann Bent.
Her parents being poor, she early began to support herself by teaching. A relative subsequently furnished her with goods to sell on commission; and in this new employment she manifested such good judgment, integrity, and general business capacity, that merchants were willing to trust her to any extent. She acquired a handsome property, which she used liberally to assist a large family of sisters and nieces, some of whom she established in business similar to her own. No mother or grandmother was ever more useful or beloved. One of her nieces said: “I know the beauty and purity of my aunt’s character, for I lived with her forty years, and I never knew her to say or do anything which might not have been said or done before the whole world.”
I am ignorant of the particulars of Miss Bent’s private history; but doubtless a woman of her comely looks, agreeable manners, and excellent character, might have found opportunities to marry,if that had been a paramount object with her. She lived to be more than eighty-eight years old, universally respected and beloved; and the numerous relatives, toward whom she had performed a mother’s part, cheered her old age with grateful affection.
There have also been many instances of single women who have enlivened and illustrated their lives by devotion to the beautiful arts. Of these none are perhaps more celebrated than the Italian Sofonisba Angusciola and her two accomplished sisters. These three “virtuous gentlewomen,” as Vasari calls them, spent their lives together in most charming union. All of them had uncommon talent for painting, but Sofonisba was the most gifted. One of her most beautiful pictures represents her two sisters playing at chess, attended by the faithful old duenna, who accompanied them everywhere. This admirable artist lived to be old and blind; and the celebrated Vandyke said of her, in her later years: “I have learned more from one blind old woman in Italy, than from all the masters of the art.”
Many single women have also employed their lives usefully and agreeably as authors. There is the charming Miss Mitford, whose writings cheer the soul like a meadow of cowslips in the springtime. There is Frederica Bremer, whose writings have blessed so many souls. There is Joanna Baillie, Maria Edgeworth, Elizabeth Hamilton,and our own honored Catherine M. Sedgwick, whose books have made the world wiser and better than they found it.
I am glad to be sustained in my opinions on this subject by a friend whose own character invests single life with peculiar dignity. In a letter to me, she says: “I object to having single women called aclass. They areindividuals, differing in the qualities of their characters, like other human beings. Their isolation, as a general thing, is the result of unavoidable circumstances. The Author of Nature doubtless intended that men and women should live together. But, in the present state of the world’s progress, society has, in many respects, become artificial in proportion to its civilization; and consequently the number of single women must constantly increase. If humanity were in a state of natural, healthy development, this would not be so; for young people would then be willing to begin married life with simplicity and frugality, and real happiness would increase in proportion to the diminution of artificial wants. This prospect, however, lies in the future, and many generations of single women must come and go before it will be realized.
“But the achievement ofcharacteris the highest end that can be proposed to any human being, and there is nothing in single life to prevent a woman from attaining this great object; on the contrary, it is in many respects peculiarly favorable to it.The measure of strength in character is the power to conquer circumstances when they refuse to cooperate with us. The temptations peculiarly incident to single life are petty selfishness, despondency under the suspicion of neglect, andennuifrom the want of interesting occupation. If an ordinary, feeble-minded woman is exposed to these temptations, she will be very likely to yield to them. But she would not be greatly different in character, if protected by a husband and flanked with children; her feebleness would remain the same, and would only manifest itself under new forms.
“Marriage, under favorable circumstances, is unquestionably a promoter of human happiness. But mistakes are so frequently made by entering thoughtlessly into this indissoluble connection, and so much wretchedness ensues from want of sufficient mental discipline to make the best of what cannot be remedied, that most people can discover among their acquaintance as large a proportion of happy single women as they can of happy wives. Moreover, the happiness of unmarried women is as independent of mere gifts of fortune, as that of other individuals. Indeed, all solid happiness must spring from inward sources. Some of the most truly contented and respectable women I have ever known have been domestics, who grew old in one family, and were carefully looked after, in their declining days, by the children of those whom they faithfully served in youth.
“Most single women might have married, had they seized upon the first opportunity that offered; but some unrevealed attachment, too high an ideal, or an innate fastidiousness, have left them solitary; therefore, it is fair to assume that many of them have more sensibility and true tenderness than some of their married sisters. Those who remain single in consequence of too much worldly ambition, or from the gratification of coquettish vanity, naturally swell the ranks of those peevish, discontented ones, who bring discredit on single life in the abstract. But when a delicate gentlewoman deliberately prefers passing through life alone, to linking her fate with that of a man toward whom she feels no attraction, why should she ever repent of so high an exercise of her reason? This class of women are often the brightest ornaments of society. Men find in them calm, thoughtful friends, and safe confidants, on whose sympathy they can rely without danger. In the nursery, their labors, being voluntary, are less exhausting than a parent’s. When the weary, fretted mother turns a deaf ear to the twenty-times-repeated question, the baffled urchins retreat to the indulgent aunt, or dear old familiar friend, sure of obtaining a patient hearing and a kind response. Almost everybody can remember some samples of suchPenates, whose hearts seem to be too large to be confined to any one set of children.
“Some of my fairest patterns of feminine excellencehave been of the single sisterhood. Of those unfortunate ones who are beacons, rather than models, I cannot recall an individual whose character I think would have been materially improved by marriage. The faults which make a single woman disagreeable would probably exist to the same degree if she were a wife; and the virtues which adorn her in a state of celibacy would make her equally beloved and honored if she were married. The human soul is placed here for development and progress; and it is capable of converting all circumstances into means of growth and advancement.
“Among my early recollections is that of a lady of stately presence, who died while I was still young, but not till she had done much to remove from my mind the idea that the name of ‘old maid’ was a term of reproach. She was the daughter of Judge Russell, and aunt to the late Reverend and beloved Dr. Lowell. She had been one of a numerous family of brothers and sisters, but in my childhood was sole possessor of the old family mansion, where she received her friends and practised those virtues which gained for her the respect of the whole community. Sixty years ago, it was customary to speak of single women with far less deference than it now is; and I remember being puzzled by the extremely respectful manner in which she was always mentioned. If there were difficulties in the parish, or if any doubtfulmatters were under discussion, the usual question was ‘What is Miss Russell’s opinion?’ I used to think to myself, ‘She is an old maid, after all, yet people always speak of her as if she were some great person.’
“Miss Burleigh was another person of whom I used to hear much through the medium of mutual friends. She resided with a married sister in Salem, and was the ‘dear Aunt Susan,’ not only of the large circle of her own nephews and nieces, but of all their friends and favorites. Having ample means, she surrounded herself with choice books and pictures, and such objects of Art or Nature as would entertain and instruct young minds. Her stores of knowledge were prodigious, and she had such a happy way of imparting it, that lively boys were glad to leave their play, to spend an hour with Aunt Susan. She read to her young friends at stated times, and made herself perfectly familiar with them; and as they grew older she became their chosen confidant. She was, in fact, such a centre of light and warmth, that no one could approach her sphere without being conscious of its vivifying influence.
“‘Aunt Sarah Stetson,’ another single lady, was a dear and honored friend of my own. She was of masculine size and stature, gaunt and ungainly in the extreme. But before she had uttered three sentences, her hearers said to themselves, ‘Here is a wise woman!’ She was the oldest of thirteenchildren, early deprived of their father, and she bore the brunt of life from youth upward. She received only such education as was afforded by the public school of an obscure town seventy years ago. To add to their scanty means of subsistence, she learned the tailor’s trade. In process of time, the other children swarmed off from the parental hive, the little farm was sold, and she lived alone with her mother. She built a small cottage out of her own earnings, and had the sacred pleasure of taking her aged parent to her own home, and ministering with her own hands to all her wants. For sixteen years, she never spent a night from home, but assiduously devoted herself to the discharge of this filial duty, and to the pursuance of her trade. Yet in the midst of this busy life, she managed to become respectably familiar with English literature, especially with history. Whatever she read, she derived from it healthful aliment for the growth of her mental powers. She was full of wise maxims and rules of life; not doled out with see-saw prosiness, but with strong common sense, rich and racy, and frequently flavored with the keenest satire. She had a flashing wit, and wonderful power of detecting shams of all sorts. Her religious opinions were orthodox, and she was an embodiment of the Puritan character. She was kindly in her feelings, and alive to every demonstration of affection, but she had a granite firmness of principle, which rendered her awful toward deceivers andtransgressors. All the intellectual people of the town sought her company with avidity. The Unitarian minister and his family, a wealthy man, who happened to be also the chief scholar in the place, and the young people generally, took pleasure in resorting to Aunt Sarah’s humble home, to minister to her simple wants, and gather up her words of wisdom. Her spirit was bright and cheerful to the last. One of her sisters, who had been laboring sixteen years as a missionary among the southwestern Indians, came to New England to visit the scattered members of her family. After seeing them in their respective homes, she declared: ‘Sarah is the most light-hearted of them all; and it is only byherfireside that I have been able to forget past hardships in merry peals of laughter.’
“During my last interview with Aunt Sarah, when she was past seventy years of age, she said, ‘I have lived very agreeably single; but if I become infirm, I suppose I shall feel the want of life’s nearest ties.’ In her case, however, the need was of short duration, and an affectionate niece supplied the place of a daughter.
“Undoubtedly, the arms of children and grandchildren form the most natural and beautiful cradle for old age. But loneliness is often the widow’s portion, as well as that of the single woman; and parents are often left solitary by the death or emigration of their children.
“I am tempted to speak also of a living friend,now past her sixtieth year. She is different from the others, but this difference only confirms my theory that the mind can subdue all things to itself. This lady is strictly feminine in all her habits and pursuits, and regards the needle as the chief implement of woman’s usefulness. If the Dorcas labors performed by her one pair of hands could be collected into a mass, out of the wear and waste of half a century, they would form an amazing pile. In former years, when her health allowed her to circulate among numerous family connections, her visits were always welcomed as a jubilee; for every dilapidated wardrobe was sure to be renovated by Aunt Mary’s nimble fingers. She had also a magic power of drawing the little ones to herself. Next to their fathers and mothers, she was the best beloved. The influence which her loving heart gained over them in childhood increased with advancing years. She is now the best and dearest friend of twenty or thirty nephews and nieces, some of whom have families of their own.
“A large amount of what is termed mother-wit, a readiness at repartee, and quickness in seizing unexpected associations of words or ideas, rendered her generally popular in company; but the deep cravings of her heart could never be satisfied with what is termed success in society. The intimate love of a few valued friends was what she always coveted, and never failed to win. For several years she has been compelled by ill health to live entirelyat home. There she now is, fulfilling the most important mission of her whole beneficent life, training to virtue and usefulness five motherless children of her brother. Feeble and emaciated, she lives in her chamber surrounded by these orphans, who now constitute her chief hold on life. She shares all their pleasures, is the depositary of their little griefs, and unites in herself the relations of aunt, mother, and grandmother. She has faith to believe that her frail thread of existence will be prolonged for the sake of these little ones. The world still comes to her, in her seclusion, through a swarm of humble friends and dependants, who find themselves comforted and ennobled by the benignant patience with which she listens to their various experiences, and gives them kindly, sympathizing counsel, more valuable to them than mere pecuniary aid. Her spirit of self-abnegation is carried almost to asceticism; but she reserves her severity wholly for herself; toward others she is prodigal of indulgence. This goodly temple of a human soul was reared in these fair proportions upon a foundation of struggles, disappointments, and bereavements. A friend described her serene exterior as a ‘placid, ocean-deep manner’; under it lies a silent history of trouble and trial, converted into spiritual blessings.
“The conclusion of the matter in my mind is, that a woman may make a respectable appearance as a wife, with a character far less noble thanis necessary to enable her to lead a single life with usefulness and dignity. She is sheltered and concealed behind her husband; but the unmarried woman must rely upon herself; and she lives in a glass house, open to the gaze of every passer-by. To the feeble-minded, marriage is almost a necessity, and if wisely formed it doubtless renders the life of any woman more happy. But happiness is not the sole end and aim of this life. We are sent here to build up a
character; and sensible women may easilyreconcile themselves to a single life,since even its disadvantages maybe converted into means ofdevelopment of all thefaculties with whichGod has endowedthem.”
Youare “getting into years.” Yes, but the years are getting into you; the ripe, mellow years. One by one, the crudities of your youth are falling off from you; the vanity, the egotism, the bewilderment, the uncertainty. Every wrong road into which you have wandered has brought you, by the knowledge of that mistake, nearer to the truth. Nearer and nearer you are approaching yourself.—Gail Hamilton.
Youare “getting into years.” Yes, but the years are getting into you; the ripe, mellow years. One by one, the crudities of your youth are falling off from you; the vanity, the egotism, the bewilderment, the uncertainty. Every wrong road into which you have wandered has brought you, by the knowledge of that mistake, nearer to the truth. Nearer and nearer you are approaching yourself.—Gail Hamilton.