XXXI.LESSONS BY THE WAYSIDE.
LOVElightens labor, and crowns Care with rosy garlands which beautify her rugged and repellant features. But when those whose presence makes labor easy are absent, Care is more likely to become a hard taskmaster. Our house being thus left unto us desolate, for a few days, we rebel, and have run away.
Seated all alone in one of those cozy little rooms in the “palace-cars,” on the banks of the Hudson, we will try for once how it feels to be free from care, and give ourselves up to the full enjoyment of the position. How beautiful is the scenery through which we are passing! Each one thinks his own native land, his own mountains and rivers, the finest in the world. This feeling often grows into a ludicrous weakness; but we are confident that our noble Hudson must be acknowledged by all as ranking among the first.
“Where will you find in foreign landSo sweet a spot, so bold a strand?”
“Where will you find in foreign landSo sweet a spot, so bold a strand?”
“Where will you find in foreign landSo sweet a spot, so bold a strand?”
“Where will you find in foreign land
So sweet a spot, so bold a strand?”
In spring-time, when every bush and tree is tipped with delicate green, from the banks of the river to the highest point that overlooks it, we call it more lovely than at any other season of the year. But in summer, when the grass is just ready for the scythe, and blossoms of fruit hang from every bough, we say this surpasses the spring. In the early fall,the orchards scattered all along the river-side, laden with the ripening fruit, in each variety of green, red, gold, or russet, and the woods on either side brilliant with every shade of color, add another charm to the wondrous beauty of the scenery. And now, in this later autumn, as we see the
“Leaves around us falling,Dry and withered, to the ground,”—
“Leaves around us falling,Dry and withered, to the ground,”—
“Leaves around us falling,Dry and withered, to the ground,”—
“Leaves around us falling,
Dry and withered, to the ground,”—
the lights and shadows on the mountains, the golden hues exchanged for deeper russet, the dark red of the Ampelopsis mingling with the rich color of the evergreens that cover the banks,—all caught by the flashing river, and thrown back in broken and fantastic reflection,—call for increasing admiration; and mid-winter, when the ground is white with snow, and the trees are strung with diamonds, will only furnish stronger cords to hold us steadfast to our allegiance. There is not “half a kiss to choose” between the seasons on the banks of our glorious Hudson. We love it always and in all its varied changes.
And thisisrest for the weary! How beautifully quiet the pretty villages, nested in among the mountains or scattered along the banks, appear! Is it possible that sickness or sorrow, heartaches or envyings, fierce passions or corroding cares, can find a harbor near this tranquil river? It must be so, no doubt; but as we fly quickly past, and cannot see it, what is it all to us? Why trouble ourselves with the thought of sorrows which we can neither alleviate nor prevent?
Ah! we may leave what we call our cares far behind; but we cannot shut our eyes to the fact that sin, and therefore sorrow, is all about us, as truly in the restful solitude of the little niche we for a few hours occupy, as in the weary round of busy life. Out of sight, but almost within reach of our hand, there is a sick child. We hear its feeble cry, and think, from the sound, it must be quite young, and nearly worn out with suffering. The mother, no doubt, tenderlyloves her child, yet long days of watching and sleepless nights have taxed her strength to the utmost, and exhausted her patience. Sharp and irritable words are spoken, and as we hear the little one, through the slight partition that separates us, turn restlessly from side to side, unable to find an easy spot, yet constantly longing for change, we know that it is not gently placed on a cooler pillow, or taken to the mother’s arms,—gathered to her bosom, and soothed with loving words. But instead we hear, “O dear! what a torment! I am tired to death! Can’t you lie still one minute?” How these tones make our heart quiver! No doubt she is very weary, and perhaps full of pain herself; but with each peevish, complaining word uttered over that frail little blossom, she is planting
“Thorns,notroses, for her reaping, by and by.”
“Thorns,notroses, for her reaping, by and by.”
“Thorns,notroses, for her reaping, by and by.”
“Thorns,notroses, for her reaping, by and by.”
If she knew that in a few days, perhaps, her babe would be forever hid from her eyes, would not the remaining hours of its short life be soothed, regardless of her own pain, by the tenderest love, and each word soft and sweet as the notes of the cushat-dove! And the father, in full health and vigor, why does he not relieve the weary, overtasked mother? Why does he not give her an hour’s rest, while the little one finds in his strong arms a grateful change? for there is no cradle so soft and soothing to a babe, sick or well, as a loving father’s arms. Instead of bearing this yoke with his wife, we hear cross, ungentlemanly, unsympathetic words of complaint addressed to her, and harsh and peevish commands to the baby. We long to step across the narrow passage that divides us, and, taking the little one into our own arms, kindly tell the parents what seeds they are sowing; to say to them, “If your child dies, each word will rise up in remembrance against you, filling your hearts with anguish. If it lives, you are sowing poisonous weeds, which will cause you life-long sorrow. The child will imitate your example,practise the lessons it is this day so early learning, and teach you how ‘the sins of the parents may be visited upon the children.’ Your own sins and failings will rise up and condemn you through your children.” Good-breeding and etiquette will not permit us to go to them with such warning; yet that this lesson may profit some one, we send it to the friends for whom we write,—the younghome-makersas well as the young housekeepers. In thus shaping your children’s future, we cannot but think that the father will be as richly blessed for instilling correct principles, or as surely condemned for wrong training and example, as the mother. We know this is treason and heresy, if judged by the prevailing idea that the mother, far more than the father, is responsible for the principles and character with which the child takes its place among men and women.
We think this bad doctrine. The parents have an equal share in their offspring, and should not hold a divided responsibility.
The nursing and care in the main is doubtless the mother’s office; but in extreme cases it should be borne together. Being naturally more with the child in early infancy, of course the mother has a closer intimacy. But in a well-organized, loving family, you will note that while the love is given to both parents alike, when questions of weight arise, even in early years, the child turns to the father for the final word which shall be infallible. The mother’s gentler, tenderer tone settles every-day questions, but there is strength and authority in the father’s voice from which they are not often tempted to appeal, and a good wife and mother recognizes this state. It is a sad house when the hearts of mother and children cannot, with love and pride, accept this as the natural and legitimate rule of home government and education. Even if the mother does not, in her own judgment, accept the father’s decision with the simple faith with whichthe child receives it, it is no evidence of tame submission if she pleasantly reserves her reasons till they are alone. All argument should be avoided between the parents before the children on matters connected with the children’s interest. If appealed to, let the reply be simply, “Father knows best,” or, “Do as father says.” By this you strengthen your husband’s hands, and nowise compromise your own conscience or influence. Then when opportunity offers compare your views and give your reasons for dissent, in all truth and gentleness.