| | | A Woman's Thoughts about Women. | | 2. The Fountain Sealed. Memoirs of Miss Methuen. | | 3. English Hearts and English Hands. | | | THE question of the condition of women and their station in the social | economy is not likely to lose its hold on popular interest when once fairly | started. It is one naturally to excite mistrust if not disgust amongst the | conservative portion of our own sex, who are so far satisfied with things | as they are, and with women as they are, that they regard any change, as | such, as an unmitigated evil. But the case is very different with the more | stirring spirits amongst women themselves. To many an excited female | imagination this same word change suggests | progress, liberty, consequence, independence, and a more equal | distribution of this world's good things than has yet been accorded to | them; and even where no personal or selfish views are entertained, the | subject, once admitted into the female intellect, | fructifies there, stimulates to thought, awakes a generous ambition, and | develops into expression, various as the temper and views of the writer, | but all proving that a chord has been struck which shall vibrate through, | and, if they can manage it, shall influence all society. For women are | peculiarly alive to the feeling of responsibility; once awake to a full sense | of their own power, and the right application of it becomes an absolute | burden on their consciences ~~ to a degree which man's more stolid nature | can hardly understand, or sympathise with. It must be allowed that the | circumstances of the times have much in them to quicken this sentiment. | For though women have always exercised a great influence in human | affairs before there | was so much talk about it, yet the public recognition of the fact, making it | one of the current topics of the day, does constitute a change. As soon as it | was found that women could wield the pen, this change was really in | operation. It is comparatively lately that this admission has been made. | Not, of course, that women have not occasionally proved the fact, from | Sappho downwards; but so rarely, and under such peculiar circumstances, | that its exceptional character only seemed to prove the rule. Now, we find | that women write under the ordinary uninspired conditions in which most | men write, from no stimulus of genius, but mere exercise of reason and | intellect, and the cultivation of such powers as they possess. | | Genius, as an utterance by something external to ourselves, has been | allowed in times past to be of no sex; but the power of writing without | inspiration, which women now show themselves to possess, is a sign of | rational progress, and is, we think, a discovery almost of the last | half-century. The respectable, creditable, painstaking mediocrity of a large | class of female authors, by matching them with the largest class of male | writers, has, we suspect, given them a greater lift than any transient | ebullition of genius in past times. The public now accepts many women | amongst its authorized instructors without doubt, or cavil, or sense of | wounded pride. The same readers might, have been scared had their works | contained flights of any kind; but mediocrity, | with a vast number of readers in itself, and as a distinct quality, carries | weight. The ladies' books are as responsible in their tone, as carefully | adapted to the popular view, as those of their rivals more experienced in | the public taste; and by this time they are received without jealousy, and | as a matter of course: to be heavily sensible, and reasonably prosy, must | be allowed to bring any woman into fair comparison with many highly | esteemed authors of the sterner sex. We repeat, therefore, that it is a | Lyreat advance in the popular estimate of woman's intellect, when they | can write dull books with as complete and entire impunity as men can. A | reproach of sex is wiped away, new terms of equality are introduced, and | a solid, lasting hold is gained on the public ear. | | When this step is once realized, can we wonder that ambition should | awake, that there should be stirrings to win the reward of so much labour; | a disposition, as it were, to strike for higher wages; a state of feeling, in | fact, such as has already been discussed in these pages? and, on the other | hand, must not the growing sense of importance, the perpetual discussion | of woman's mission, strike the more philosophic and ethical spirits, and | rouse in double force that sense of responsibility which we have alluded to | as a feature of feminine nature? New duties | always weigh on the conscience heavier than established ones; and if the | duties are not new themselves, a sense of novelty is thrown around them | by the more intelligent spirit in which they are to be undertaken and | carried out, and the different position in the moral scale that is assigned to | them. It is certain that no prime minister, taking upon him the cares of a | great empire, is so impressed with the mighty destinies in his hand and | depending on his decisions, as is the mother, the governess, even the | nursery-maid duly imbued by a teacher of her own sex with the | importance of her task, and the consequences from any failure or | shortcoming on her part. It may be that the more every-day | | domestic and inevitable class of duties may need this stimulus to secure | their careful performance. We are very sure that where the interests of | nations are more visibly at stake and seem to hang on the will of one | single mind, this pressure of responsibility would paralyse the intellect | which can only work | freely in great questions, when at once sustained and humbled by the | conviction of being simply an instrument in higher hands, doing its best | and acknowledging results to be beyond its control. The routine and | monotony of female occupation may make it desirable to give prominence | to the other side of the question, by bringing to bear on them the doctrine | of free will and consequent responsibility. This is evidently the motive of | the female moralists now in our eye, whose, minds are led by the | circumstances of the times to reflect on the position of their sex. With | observation thus quickened, they are apt to become ashamed and | disgusted with the easy, careless, matter-of-course sort of way in which | the real business of womankind is conducted, and are roused to utter their | voice of warning. Very fair warning and very good advice it generally is; | though, as male and female human nature is pretty much alike in its | broadest manifestation, any exclusive teaching which goes upon their | differences can hardly fail now and then to be narrow, one-sided and | unfair. | | The book at the head of our list ~~ "A Woman's Thoughts about Women" | ~~ is the work of one of these moralists, and a valuable and creditable | example of the thought and mind that is brought to bear on this question. | The author has something to say, and she says it well; having too, won the | right of a respectful hearing by having already presented the world with | more than one able, interesting, and high-principled novel. Yet it requires | to read the book through to form the favourable judgment it certainly | deserves. We must not deny, that in the course of our reading we were | reminded of its feminine source in a way not flattering to its pretensions to | reason and argument; and also, while it maintains the purely didactic | strain, we find in ourselves a growing contentment, and as it were a fuller | acquiescence in the apostolic ordinance, forbidding to woman the office | of public preacher. There have been occasions such as where a raw, | unformed curate has amongst his hearers a company of intellectual and | superior women, when it has seemed as if the position of teacher and | learner might be advantageously reversed: but this book and other very | good ones of the same sort make us doubt whether, successful as women | have been in so many branches of literature and polite learning, they could | ever write good sermons. We see that our heavy friend will find a knack in | time which these able | | women might search for in vain; an instinct is in him which they want; | which will preserve him from certain pitfalls into which they would | stumble. His reproof will keep clear of scolding. The particular and local | will not triumph in him over the general and universal: his vision may be | dim, but nature has given him a wider range. And if this gift is not | amongst woman's specialities, there is another power, a question of | science rather than of morals, quite as far out of their way ~~ we mean the | science of statistics, statistics on a large public scale, for we except | household ones. We ought not to generalize on insufficient data; so we | will only say that in our own experience we have observed that this is a | point on which many women have no rational instincts, and on which they | may be deceived and mistaken to any extent. We once knew a woman of | really good understanding, a reader and a thinker, one who despised the | more trifling interests of her sex, who was seriously troubled by the fact, | as she believed it to be, that the balance of the sexes was being changed, | and that at that time seven women were being born into the world to one | man. Her serious and thoughtful mind was perplexed to know how the | world could be carried on under this startling revolution; nor did we find it | easy to infuse a doubt as to the reliability of her information. | | The authoress of this clever work suffers under a similar apprehension. It | is high time, she feels, as indeed it would be, for the single women to look | after themselves, and learn to walk alone, when it is an undoubted fact | that one-half of our women are obliged to take | care of themselves. When | "of course," she continues, | | Single women, | as she elsewhere says, | which | would seem to imply that this formidable half have come to the use | of their understanding, and have formally abandoned all thought of | matrimony. Half our marriageable women, then, are not married, and never will | marry. There is nothing like making out a case of urgency before applying | the remedy. Now, if we consider that women of the lower class, as a rule, | take the kingdom over, do marry; that an old maid is a sort of exception | amongst them; and, as the lower classes numerically overbalance the | educated ones in an enormous proportion, it is a wonder, by this rule, that, | we ever meet a married lady at all; but even if | the writer makes every conceivable reservation and | | unlimited demands on our indulgent construction, the statement is simply | absurd. It is, however, the basis of her argument, her ground for the | seriousness of the crisis. She sees the sexes separated as widely and | hopelessly as they sometimes show themselves in a formal tea-party; and | what a field, indeed, for anxious speculation! thousands upon thousands of | women, voluntarily solitary or forced into independence, who hope for | nothing, expect nothing, fear nothing, from the opposite sex ~~ driven into | a fierce independence, asking and granting no favour. This broad | statement is the starting-point of the book, put forward to rouse women to | a sense of the emergency, and to prove to every young girl that, in all | probability, she will have, if not to maintain herself ~~ the most frequent lot | ~~ at least, to trust to herself, and, therefore, to urge her to learn to work | betimes, to gauge her powers by some pecuniary standard, to buckle in | earnest to the stern business of life. | | Whatever women may say, whatever abstract truth and sense there may | seem in this advice, we doubt if it is the nature of man to like it, or to see | the fitness of a woman's education preparing her for precisely the same | struggle with the world that a man's is designed to do; of her work being | appraised by the same standard. Women are charged by these stern | moralists with being idle, not simply because all human beings are tempted to | idleness, but women as distinguished from men. While "Tom, Dick, and | Harry" are learning to work for their living, their sisters are | idle at home. Now we dispute this. Women always seem to us to be very | industrious, in their way, head and hands always busily employed upon | something. We do not see really that the | world would be the gainer by every woman | knowing the marketable value of her powers, and occupying herself | accordingly. Women are exhorted to work, to have something to do ~~ | advice not to be disputed or gainsaid; but it comes to the question, what is | work? for women, like men, may be glad to take refuge in something short | of the hardest work. If women are to take for their example the | methodically industrious men, who are always taxing to the utmost their | highest powers; if they are to portion out their time with the same rigidity | of rule and order; if there are to be no light, easily laid down | employments; if there is to be no leisure, but all important business, we | believe that a great deal of the really important business of the world | would be brought to a stand-still; society would split into fragments; the | cement that keeps it together and makes it adhere being diverted to form | some independent structure. Every man ~~ we may be charged with | speaking | | selfishly ~~ finds the convenience of wife and daughters being able to | leave what they are about, and take up his interests, | do his errands, carry out his plans, at a moment's notice. He prefers, it is | true, not being interrupted himself, and his wife respects his habits; but he | would not like not to be able to interrupt his wife. His house would not be | a happier one if his own rule were adopted by the ladies of his family, and | there were no soul in the house whose train of thought might be | disturbed; whose occupation might be broken in upon. And yet we think | this implies a lighter class of current labour in women than is thought right | for men. But our author will remind us that she expressly excludes | married women from her lectures; that she has only to do with those who | have bid farewell to the blissful sense of happy dependence, and have to | carve out their own name and fortune. But, at least, this stronger position | does not come with birth, nor can we tell on whom it will fall; so that the | preliminary education of each class must be the same. While members of | a family, girls must not be unfitting themselves for domestic life by setting | off to business with the same method that their fathers and brothers do. | We dare not say this, for fear of being misunderstood, and supposed to | advocate a desultory, helpless, aimless, waiting existence, but that we | have more faith than this lady has, in the love of women for occupation. If | there are too many idle women, the fault, we think, does not lie so much | in them as in a prejudice of society, which we are glad to see combated in | books like the present. | | But here, it is necessary to enter into the question of What is work? which | is not quite so easy to settle as, at first, it appears. Is it earning a | livelihood? is it occupation? is it service for others? is it the exercise of | our highest powers? is it the search after the greatest good? is it to be | tested in operation or by its result? is it the steady devotion of time to | stated employments? is it concentration of the thoughts into particular | points of time? Our author speaks of it as one of the particular blessings of | the poor, that they | have something to do. This seems, then, | emphatically to give mere mechanical labour the title; and it is very true | that the greater part of the labour of the human race is merely mechanical: | once learn the routine, the head has comparatively little to do. But is it | quite fair to call the same employment, where it is pursued for bread, | work; and where it is taken up for occupation, | idleness? Rich and poor women alike ply their | needles; and why is the sempstress called industrious, and the young lady | who plods at her embroidery branded as idle. This idleness seems to mean | no more than the preference of a lower to a higher class of labour, | | which circumstances may not bring within her reach; for women do not | often fold the hands in indolence. Idleness pure | does not exist among women as we see it in men. We see no women | saunterers to match the men saunterers, which | every experience supplies. In contrast with man's busy life, our authoress | places before young ladies their unproductive existence: ~~ | | | Such passages as these, we think, illustrate the difference between truth | and truisms. Truisms are statements that can hardly be taken for guides; | people can act on truths, but not on these trite imitations, which never | exactly hit the nail on the head. We have observed that women, the most | exemplary of their sex, can never approach the subject of their sex's | condition without a touch of this quality. Each woman is evidently | possessed with the notion of being | sensible of recalling to her sisters in particular, | and mankind in general, certain fundamental principles, lost sight of by | such as are hurried along the stream of society, but which they are | empowered to express with all the passionate earnestness of strong | conviction. But all great fundamental principles of action belong to | mankind as a whole; if they are applied in a one-sided fashion, and | addressed solely to half or a quarter of the human race, as though with a | special application, ten to one some fallacy creeps in to nullify the force of | the statement. Now we really do not know | what young ladies of seventeen or twenty are | required to leave behind them when they die. It seems to be taken for | granted that men of that standing have such a | legacy to transmit to posterity, though wherein the difference in this | respect lies between boys and girls we cannot tell. How few do this in any | high sense! ~~ for ordinary | "good deeds" are not taken into account, and it seems to | | mean something more tangible than "the memory of the just." | Elsewhere, in the chapter on self-dependence, she writes: ~~ | | | | Here again we think that the obvious truths are overlaid with a certain tone | of application, open to question. We do not think it desirable that young | ladies should regard the present state of society as something | new in the world's history, and needing, | therefore, a new development of the feminine character. The | consequences, if such a conviction were really driven home, would be | such as our authoress would deprecate with all her heart. In her chapter on | female professions she claims for herself the right of speaking, because | she is a working woman herself (and has, indeed, worked to good effect); | but here one of these truisms comes in, ~~ | Now what does this clamour for | deeds mean? If she works, there are her deeds and | her example; but why disparage words, the stock-in-trade of authors, and | at the moment, too, when she voluntarily enters on the labour of | composition for what she thinks a most important | object? How little real meaning does this pompous sentiment generally | embody. It is in the mock force of such passages as these that a certain | flimsiness of style creeps out, which is, we think, a common feature of | women's merely didactic efforts. | | | On the question of what women are really to do that they have never done | before in order to meet the new order of things, our authoress has not | many suggestions; not that we would express any wonder or blame at the | omission, for it is the point at which every practical mind must be brought | to a stand. She devotes two chapters to the subject; the first to | "female professions," which she defines to be, | the instruction of youth, painting or | art, literature, and the vocation of public entertainment; and in these we | find, so far from widening, she limits the range from her strong view of | the responsibility of each. As for poor governesses, whom she owns are | universally wanted, their calling may be said to be brought to an end. She | reasons that if, | | | With regard to the two next, art and literature, she is not more indulgent. | She recommends the burning of half the pictures and books in the world in | one great bonfire, as one of the shortest and best modes of illuminating the | world. No woman is to attempt to write or to paint till she has examined | herself morally and intellectually by the sharpest tests of criticism: she | must abide by art's severest canons, one of which is ~~ | | | When a woman finds herself equal to the lack, she is to throw herself | boldly into it. | | | | | There is a great sound of conscientiousness in all this; but somehow it | does not strike us as the way that good books are written or good pictures | painted amongst men. We do not | know whether head or heart gains much | by so mighty a sense of the importance of what they do. How we spend | our time and use our talents is no doubt vastly important to ourselves, for | on it hangs eternity; but that one sort of labour should imply so great a | sense of its importance above others, we question. Do great writers ever | manifest this conscious weight of responsibility? They seem to us to write | because it is their calling because they like it, because they have | something to say, or because they want money, and if they are | conscientious men they write, just as they speak every day of their lives, | conscientiously; but we doubt if men can habitually think much of their | responsibility, as being the depositaries of peculiar gifts, without growing | pragmatical and conceited, losing consequently their nature and the | spontaneity of genius. Surely influence is too subtle a thing to be so | confidently reckoned on, and predicted as the unfailing results of any | course of conduct. We do not | wish to break down the connexion between | cause and effect; but things in real life do not bear out quite as the | moralists make them. Providence works with inferior tools, with men and | women as they are, with anything but model mothers, and teachers, and | writers, and it brings to bear against their sins and mistakes, all its | armoury of casual influence, chance correctives, and innate resistances. | For ourselves, though agreeing in the necessity of securing the utmost | amount of excellence and conscientiousness in the conduct of all human | affairs, yet we have often been led to wonder and admire how the highest | instances of goodness that came before us are of persons who have made | the best of small advantages who have resisted | evil influences, who have kept themselves pure | under difficulties, who have followed heavenly rather than any earthly | guidance. These thoughts must occur when the | doctrine of responsibility is forced beyond due limits, and in this | connexion they need no apology. | | Passing from female professions to female handicrafts, there are, as we | have said, no new suggestions except the examples set up for imitation of | two young women carrying on their father's business after his death, | though in its nature not a | | feminine one: this might be oftener done if women were taught accounts | and admitted into the mysteries of book-keeping more generally than they | are; but as a rule, the needle, the counter, and service, supply the range of | occupation, for our authoress does not enter on the merely mechanical | handicrafts of the manufacturing districts. No fresh opening is offered to | female enterprise. and industry. The attempt to raise a higher moral tone | in these classes is good; but it is unreasonable to build the argument, that | lady-mothers should not object to their sons marrying milliners ~~ that | they should not give a decided preference to the professional rather than | handicraft class of female workers, on the question | "is it less creditable to make good dresses than bad books?" | for education and head work must | always carry it in society over hand work. But having shut the field of | intellectual labour against the great majority of women, it is necessary to | advance the other to their notice and respect; though at the same time, | while nothing new is suggested to them, and they are assured of their | incapacity to compete with men in man's sphere, the self-created difficulty | of an unprecedented number of women being, forced on their own | exertions for support, meets with no attempt at solution. | | The men have reason to feel satisfied with the figure they make under this | lady's pencil. Her own sex, with whom is her main concern, she scrutinises | with a daguerreotype eye for weaknesses and failings. But we are | exhibited with a fine attention to light and shade, and painted in the grand | style. We have great virtues and great faults, but no foibles. Thus men | know that time is money, and are never dilatory. Man never haggles or | bargains: either his wider experience has enlarged his mind, or he has less | time for bargaining or he will not take the trouble. | | cannot | understand the temptation to parsimony. Men can keep a secret ~~ | | | The gossip of opposing | religionism is a feminine vice; the rector could join with worthy men of | every denomination in matters of local improvement; the curate could take a | walk with the unitarian or independent minister, if the women would let | them. "But oh, the talk !" | etcetera etcetera | And here, while on this question of | gossip, though well content with our own dignified posture, and gratified | that the ladies should believe us superior to its paltry fascinations, we | must say just a word for our weaker sisters, who, in glowing and eloquent | terms, are reproached for the smallness and narrowness of their intellect. | | | | Yes, while the stars are overhead, whose distances they might calculate; | while Parliament is assembled, whose debates they might read; while | distant nations war, and opposing interests, shaking the ends of the earth, | clash, women inanely and stupidly interest themselves in small home | politics, the affairs of the parish, the news of the village, the domestic | events of their own neighbourhood. One thing is to be said for them, they | are made so. They have a certain faculty of | minute observation which neither the stars nor the debates can furnish | congenial food for. They see a hundred things which are there, and which | possess a significance, but which man's vision does not take in. All our | faculties, great and small, are liable to abuse; and, unquestionably, this | feminine quality is a very ensnaring one, and the word gossip has a | deservedly ill name, though our authoress's personal experience, and the | mischiefs that arise from it, is an unusually large one. | | | | | But this is minute observation of character and manners, under the evil | influences of idleness, temper, or malice, and offers us no reason against | the same habit, or rather instinct, under moral control. Sternly to forbid | women to open their months what passes in their minds, is as | impracticable as it is harsh. It is very well for a lady who writes novels to | treasure up her observations for her books; but the same faculty, in a lesser | degree, belongs to her sex. Society furnishes to women the characters for | their little romances. To say that women entirely to quench this faculty, to | let their world, wide or narrow ~~ of men and women ~~ pass by, and to | utter to no soul their observations, discoveries, speculations upon them, is | like forbidding a scientific man to make known the fruits of his insight | into the world of matter, and is depriving domestic life of one of its | charms; for who does not know the refreshment to the spirits that a lively, | intelligent woman can diffuse by simply reproducing, with truth of diction | and graphic power, the little adventures of the day, which, as they passed, | seemed common | enough and barren of interest, but which, under her unconscious skill, | arrange themselves into meaning and picturesque order. We do not doubt | that our authoress would really so far go along with us ~~ for a liberal and | lively mind, as hers must be, cannot turn a deaf or cold ear to the | conversation, sweet, loving, genial, and yet full of humour, but allowing | no peculiarity which shows character to escape, | which we have in our thoughts, and of which no experience can be | without some example. It is only that in denouncing the abuse of this | faculty which common vulgar gossip exhibits, the power itself so | peculiarly a woman's gift seems either depreciated, or not recognised at | all. | | In the chapter on "Women of the World," the writer approaches the | subject which would seem of universal interest, the amount of income on | which it is prudent to marry, on which she speaks very sensibly; though | here she is apt to be morbid in her fears, and to show that want of faith in | the future, which is the consequence of pursuing every bugbear to its | extremest consequences. After describing society, as it now is, under that | cloud of disgrace and desuetude into which marriage is fallen, from the | growing extravagance of the age, she exclaims: ~~ | | | | | It is a relief after this to see a long list of marriages each Monday in the | Times' supplement; it is something towards | averting the evil day. As for the question itself, we think a comparatively | small section of the community stands for the whole amongst those who | have stirred in the question. London life ~~ what is technically called | society ~~ either of the middle or higher classes, such as this lady is | familiar with, and such as finds expression in the | Times, is not really the rule for the world at large; young people in | the country and in country towns are still content to start in life on very | moderate means. We doubt if there is so much difference in the | aspirations and desires of this class now from those of their fathers and | grandfathers. But there is one important difference: fortunes are not so | easily made; life is more of a struggle than it used to be; 300 | 1. a year was more apt, by a natural law, | to develop into 600 1. or 1000 | 1. under ordinary prudence and attention to the | business or profession than it is now. We really do not believe that | households, as a rule, are less economically conducted than they were in | the days of vast consumption of ale and wine and spirits, and the days of | early dinners, and late suppers, and genial boosy joviality. The lady, | perhaps, gave more time and attention to the preparing of good things then | than now; but good things will cost money whoever cooks them, and we | suspect that the dinner was rather a gainer than the | purse for the superintendence of the head, whose credit with the | husband was immediately at stake, and who tasted the sweetness of seeing | the efforts of her own genius appreciated. We believe that the table of the | middle classes is less indulgently supplied than it was in our grandfathers' | time. Look at our careworn faces, and the well-rounded bloom set off by | their periwigs. | Look at our greater longevity, the effect of greater moderation and | temperance. Those people did not go without service and attendance; they | saw their friends oftener than we do, and the "groaning tables" | on such | occasions is no new expression. To us a certain | careless ease and profusion seems to envelope those primitive times. They | made and spent their money more easily, and got more comfort and actual | enjoyment out of it. We are speaking of the country at large; a very small | part of the successors of this easy generation spend their time now in | London clubs, though writers on the subject seem to think these vortices | absorb them all. On such a question few can safely generalize, because | each individual's experience is limited; we | | can only then say, that in our experience this generation has to use and | does use greater economy than the last; that the | desires of young married people are not towards greater expense than their | fathers' and mothers' were, though it may go out in different channels ~~ a | little more for show and less for comfort; that the young husband spends | more time at business than his father did; that the young wife does not | visit or receive company as often as her mother did, partly on the ground | of expense, and a good deal because the love of visiting has abated since | cards ceased to be the general amusement, and people have to find or | make conversation instead. Marrying on small means now implies, | therefore, much more self-denial than it did forty years ago: because the | small means are much more likely than they were to remain always small, | and then it is not the question on how small an establishment to set out on | married life, but what to do with, and how to educate the family, that | sometimes seem to come in an inverse ratio to the means of support, | which must be reckoned on. But, still, it all depends on the character of | the contracting parties. It needs an uncommon strength and permanence of | attachment to be happy in poverty; but a love that carries its votaries | triumphantly through the ordeal has something sublime in it. The world | ought to have the spectacle for its edification. Prudence should not deprive | us of the ideal wife who all her life long finds in her husband a | compensation ample and abounding for every privation; who, while her | husband is by her side, envies no woman her state pomp and circumstance; | who would rather share his poverty than enjoy wealth under | any other aspect in which it could be placed before her; to whom the | alternative could not come in the form of a temptation; to whom the first | illusion lasts through a whole life, and seems to gather strength with years | and sorrows. Let such a woman marry on 300 1., | 200 l., 100 1. a year, she | will never repent; love will be her faithful adviser, her teacher in every | economic wile; the husband will never have the pain of seeing her suffer | under straits and privations; her spirit will bear her up and sustain him | with her. But the thing is to recognise such a woman in the | girl, to be able to distinguish this true love where | there are such excellent imitations: for, in fact, she must be taken a little | on trust. She will not, perhaps, have the obvious qualities for making | poverty respectable, she will have to learn; the | heart's strong affection must mould her. The clever managing woman, | confident in her powers, will not do; she has no inspiration, no guide but | common sense, which may carry her through difficulties, but will not | make her happy under them. Thus it seems as though we would recommend | certain men, for the sake of society, for the chance | | of an uncommon and particular blessing to themselves, to run some risks | and so to give the world assurance of a wife. If this is not very practical | counsel, if it does not throw much light on the question, at least it does as | much as all the rest that has been said on it, backed though it be by | statistics and housekeepers' account-books; for it must for ever remain, as | it always has done, a case for individual decision; no two cases can be | alike, scarcely one can be a rule for another. | | We have said that it needs a perusal of the whole book to form the | favourable judgment it deserves; and this, because the concluding chapters | are evidently in a more particular manner the fruit of the author's own | thought and observation. There is one on "unhappy women," which proves | a large, and probably dear-bought experience, with the various maladies of | mind and temper, which make ~~ as she says ~~ so many women a | torment to themselves, and a burden to all connected with them. We trust | she exaggerates their number; but that there is a morbid mental condition | peculiar to women, and which may be traced to faults of education, | neglect of bodily health, and the want, in maturer age, of an object and | purpose in life, cannot be denied. Towards this class our author is both | sympathising and judicious. She admits the weight of the demand they | make on the patience and forbearance of those, healthier, more vigorous, | better regulated, more fortunate; but yet treats their sufferings as real, | and deserving compassion and tenderness. | | . | | | This is unhappiness with a reason that may be accounted for; but after | delicately touching on one common cause for permanent change of | temper, a disappointed affection, she truly adds ~~ | | | | Then follow many excellent rules for self-treatment and government under | the infliction or low spirits ~~ all the result of thought and sound sense. | The following less obvious remedy bears traces of a more particular and | exacter sympathy with ,the disease and its remedies. | | | | | In no part of her book does the authoress come before us in so engaging a | light as in her concluding reflections on "Growing Old." We trust and | believe that she is arranging her ideas and reconciling her thoughts to this | period betimes; but such musings can never be premature, and an old age | which is remembered in youth, and prepared for in middle life, will be | most cheerfully faced, and best entertained, when it comes; though to such | minds old age, when it does arrive, is more a matter of faith than of | feeling: all the sensations, all the experiences of life keep by them to the | end; and how can a woman, who vividly feels still what youth is; whose | memory has lost none of the ardours and ingenuousness of that time; with | whom the mature business of middle life retains all its interest; whose | days are still passed in healthful self-culture and thoughtful service for | others ~~ how can she really feel old? She needs | her glass as a monitor, for in heart such a woman is always young. Our | authoress enters playfully on the subject, detailing those all but | imperceptible stages by which the idea is first forced on the feminine | mind, honest and wise enough to receive the truth in whatever form it | comes. | | | | | She next adduces the argument which should reconcile her to the | discovery, after that "one momentary spasm of the | heart" which she allows | to every woman on once for all taking leave of her youth. | | | | | This is not preaching, but practice; the conclusions of a thoughtful mind | on a personal question. We can only recommend to our readers the perusal | of the whole essay. We have never seen the pleasures of growing old so | pleasantly set forth. The treatment of the whole subject is marked by | Christian cheerfulness, sound sense, true philosophy, all expressed in the | clear, graceful diction which never fails adequately to represent happy | thoughts calmly dwelt upon and mastered by a mind satisfied with its lot, | and at peace with the world. | | And here we leave our agreeable and intelligent authoress, who, if she has | now and then appeared too sternly critical of the follies of her sex, we are | reminded, may have her reasons, when we survey certain volumes which | lie by us, by no means characterised by that ultra-sense, and over-wisdom, | which very sensible women may find a snare. | First, we have a sort of rival lecturer in Miss Augusta Johnstone's | "Woman's Preachings for Woman's Practice," who pursues a system of | indiscriminate bullying; and soundly rates her "sisters" for all the | weakness and folly which she thinks inherent in the sex, in a strain of | somewhat coarse and undeserved vituperation: calling upon them to be | feminine in very masculine tones. Her perorations originally appeared in a | newspaper's columns, whose readers probably will have what they | consider a forcible style at any sacrifice, who enjoy hearing people | scolded in good set terms; and may like to be told what | "the men" say and | think; and who possibly feel the stimulus of such exordiums as | "Aim more at realities, sisters," and | similar rhetorical effects. There is now and then | a touch of observation, for we cannot scold poor human nature long together | without hitting a blot; though we do not feel the authoress | | practical where she rebukes the working woman for her weakness and | inexperience, who likes to take her husband with her in her Saturday-night | marketings; or expresses contempt for the indolence of women with large | families, who do not help their husband's earnings, by undertaking some | business on their own account, in addition to their household duties. Next | follow some books of apparently less assumption, and with certainly no | aim at the preacher's office, or any ambition of utility; but not the less the | fruit of the recent stir in the female world, and of the new pretensions to | which it has given birth. It is evident that many ladies who in former times | would have been content to talk nonsense, now | think themselves privileged to write it, and to parade in print their folly | and fatuity as the feminine attractions on which | they depend for making a sensation. | | In such a book, e.g. as "Mountains and Cities," | the ignorance and impertinence are not the blemishes and drawbacks, but | the sole motive power ~~ the inspiration under which the task has been | conceived and carried through. The most passing glimpse of what a book | ought to be, the faintest perception of what constitutes the merit of other | writers, must have brought the writer's own literary effort to an abrupt and | abashed conclusion; but no such check interferes with her complacency; | and several times the reader is let into her confident hope of gaining a | large sum of money by her book, which she assures him is her main | motive for this bold venture. In the "Timely Retreat," two young ladies | inform the world in their preface, that their chief motive for undertaking a | journey to India and back by themselves, was that they had the opportunity | ofcollecting together an outfit of unparalleled elegance, consisting of | fifty-three dresses apiece ~~ a fact which remains prominent in their | minds; after having, as their title explains, just returned in time from one | of the main scenes, of the Indian atrocities. where many of their | companions in gaiety and thoughtless dissipation cannot he supposed to | have been so fortunate. The "Unprotected Female in Norway" is another | of these aspirants for fame, and probably more solid advantages, by the | bold display of selfishness, frivolity, and defiance of propriety, and an | ignorance of the real purposes of travel. Women may have a proscriptive | right to talk nonsense; we would not be so ungallant as to deny it to those | who claim it for themselves; but for their real good, we trust that the | public will show them that the charm of smiles and bright eyes is needed | to make nonsense agreeable, and by neglect put a stop to this flood of | printed fatuity. But beyond this warning, such performances are not worth | mention, and hardly bear on the main idea of this article. | | Our next and very different subject cannot perhaps he said | | to do so either, except as every manifestation of female character affects | our view of it, and so throws light on the question. "The Fountain Sealed, | a Memoir of Mary M. C. Methuen," is a record, partly by her mother and | partly from her own diary, of an uneventful life, which was closed some | five years ago, and for which we do not now see any adequate reason for | the publication beyond her immediate circle of friends. We mean that we | do not quite understand the motive that has influenced Mrs. Methuen in | her task; though we have found ourselves drawing a practical moral from | it, but one very different from her own persuasion or design. The | somewhat fanciful title is intended to denote Miss Methuen's peculiarly | reserved character, which her mother professes never to have understood | till the perusal of her diary after her death ~~ the depositary of her | religious experience from a child till this event took place, in her thirtieth | year. Religious diaries can never tell the whole truth of a character; and | yet, as no-one | can write of himself without showing himself, these pages | give us insight into a mind, and, what is of more importance to our | purpose, into the results of a system of education; for the mind itself was | of no remarkable power or intelligence, nor yet interesting as a favoured | vessel for the Christian graces; but honesty of purpose and real desire to | serve God are apparent amidst many struggles and perplexities. We are | sometimes led to suppose, from certain expressions and allusions, that her | parents are not members of the Church of England; but the difference, if | there be such, is not prominently put forward. The great principle of | education was an extreme and absolute seclusion from the world, to which | term is given its strict and technical, but not very definable meaning; to us | it seems often to have meant forbidding the child to follow the example of | others in things indifferent, representing these indifferent things to her as | things wrong and sinful in their nature, and imbuing her from her earliest | years with the idea that religion consists in outward separation from the | habits and customs of society. Now her mind and circumstances were of | the kind to make this treatment tell in full force; | and the diary seems to us to show its effect in anything but a satisfactory | way. We see how that reserve of which her mother almost complains was | fostered, how a certain irritation and haughtiness of temper was enhanced; | we see a continual fret against restraints to which she would only | reconcile herself by harsh judgments of perfectly harmless actions | expressed with a sort of embittered melancholy painful to dwell upon, and | which led her sometimes to write hard things against herself, which either | would never have been true or she would never have fancied to be true, if | she had been permitted | | in moderation the habits and amusements of her class. These pleasures her | fancy keenly realized while she strengthened her resignation of them by | caustic criticism and satire; for she did dutifully acquiesce, though not | without a struggle, in her parents' wishes for her; soothing her feelings by | the consolation that it was no want of either wealth or station, but only her | own and parents' will, which cut her off from all these earthly delights. To | us it always seems to break in upon children's simplicity and trustfulness | so early to indoctrinate them with the persuasion that the whole outer | world beyond their home is pursuing a sinful course, forgetting heaven | and eternity in a life of worldliness ~~ not in sins positive, which even a | child's conscience recognises as such, but in a course of action, which | may certainly be blameless, and whose only | intelligible fault is that it is not singular, of which they are incapable of | understanding the motives, and which they must censure and call names | on trust. At the acre of seventeen, we find Miss | Methuen writing in her | diary: ~~ | | | Two years later we have the following painful but really significant | passage. We know that with many persons a stage of infidelity is esteemed | necessary to the spiritual course. It is, we presume, on this ground that the | mother accepts it without a moment's misgiving of the system of | education and discipline out of which it issued. | | | | | We are not disposed to take such statements as these quite to the letter, | and believe that the body has a great deal to do | with them; but they, nevertheless, show a diseased mind, like the | assertion, elsewhere expressed, that she often wished to be annihilated; | that even when her faith was restored, | or again ~~ | | | | For the sake of the conclusion, the mother heeds little the beginning of | this passage, which to us is dreadful, from the sort of morbid satisfaction | there is in writing it down, and the restlessness, irritation, and perhaps | desolation of mind which it implies. In connexion with this class of | thoughts, take the following reflections on society as she sees it. The | following scene of dumb show admitted of two interpretations: Miss | Methuen's position of complete exclusion forced her to apply the least | favourable: ~~ | | | | Soon after, she is thrown amongst some relations, and perplexed and | harassed by the same train of thought which we give with the mother's | comment. We would not advocate any excess of amusement, which we | know to be most injurious; but surely there is evidence here of a mind | deprived of healthful relaxation, conscious of an enfeebling strain on the | natural spirits, and forced as a sort of compensation to consider the | spiritual condition of her gay young friends in the most, unpromising, light | it could bear. There is something really shocking in her application to | them of the Psalmist's language against the wicked, | because of their uninterrupted | prosperity; but she finds the view necessary, in order to reconcile herself | to her own uncheerful existence. | | | | | We so far differ from this conclusion, that we think we detect defects of | character arising from this isolation; a certain selfishness (self coming first | in her speculations) a want of that amiability which society especially | fosters, and self-consciousness. Thus if she has given way to mirth or | spirits she laments over it, and talks of her | and | writes, at sixteen, reprovingly to herself, | | | But these are occasional outbursts; her tendency was rather to brooding, | and a certain moodiness of temper, though over all triumphed a genuine | faith and obedience; for her acquiescence in her parents' will is to be | admired and approved; and when we find her longing to do some great | thing in the service of her Lord, and sympathizing with self-denial and | earnestness, wherever she sees it (even to her mother's great alarm, when | under a High Church garb), we would be the last to pry into the failings of | such a character, but that we see in them the effect of over-strictness in | externals, of imposing a bondage which neither Scripture, reason, not | experience sanctions, We cannot but think, that had Miss Methuen been | permitted to join in the pursuits and to share the habits of young people of | her own age, her mother's watchful care being expended, not in secluding | her from all participation in them, but in teaching her moderation and | self-discipline in their use, that she would have been spared many | temptations, that her character would have gained strength and serenity, | and hot Christian course would have met with fewer hindrances. The | subject is suggestive, and leads us into a wider and more general field of | speculation; passing naturally from the treatment of individual minds to | that of communities. | | We have always thought that it is not sufficiently borne in mind by | reformers of manners, and founders of institutions, that the human mind | has its trivial side, that it is part of our nature to be frivolous, that a vein of | puerility runs through every one of us; that this infirmity is so universal, | that no condition of humanity is without it; that it is a weakness that | cannot be exterminated. Perhaps it is not easy to express our convictions | on this point, and we are conscious of laying ourselves open to the charge | of that very common injustice fastening the conclusions of a narrow | personal experience on the world at large. But at least one wise man, wise | in the peculiar sphere of observation, confirms our idea of the universality | of the flaw, and ventures to express it with a boldness we would not, wish | to imitate. | writes Addison, | Without going the length of this bold hyperbole, do not | the expressions, | find a response in most | minds, and describe that crowd of aimless, futile, involuntary musings, out | of which the true workings of the mind, whatever | deserve to be called ideas, rise and form themselves we know not how? | We talk, indeed, of trains of thought, and of chains of ideas, as though the | links were clear and unbroken ~~ for it is not always necessary to | acknowledge the weak turmoil that goes on within, which, under judicious | management, may be kept pretty much to ourselves; ~~ but do any | people's ideas sustain really this majestic march which in courtesy we | assume for them? are they not rather clogged and harassed, from their very | development, by a thousand impertinent interruptions, suggested (if it | were possible to trace them) by the senses, by memory, by association, or | some subtleties of our organization, of which we know nothing, and which | can never be entirely conquered? The state of mind we attempt to describe | is part of the infirmity, not necessarily the sinfulness, of our nature. They | are not bad thoughts we wish to indicate, though the soil is congenial | enough to noxious weeds ~~ but weak ones, on which it does not alarm us | that the All-seeing eye should rest, for our instinct shows them to be too | much part of ourselves to dread the knowledge of our Maker, who | knoweth that we are but dust; but which we would not for the world | expose to any human scrutiny, not the nearest, the dearest, the most | indulgent, | | under the conviction that the revelation would take them by surprise, and | lower us permanently in their estimation. Of course proper watchfulness | and self-discipline, will do much towards keeping this weakness within | bounds, but this is all that can be hoped for; the strongest mind will be | part of iron, and part of clay, to the end. Indeed, we suspect mere intellect | is no guarantee, and offers no freedom from this infirmity. Let each of our | readers think for himself of the cleverest man, the one nearest genius of | his acquaintance; in the midst of the general superiority and dignity of his | character, is not the candid observer, every now and then, in spite of | himself, aware of breaks, chinks, and crevices, out of which large | escapes, so to say, of weakness and puerility fume | out, and betray what must be working within? Watch him, and does he not | often look small, fidgety, tiresome, trifling, | anything but great and consistent? And yet do not watch him; take him for | granted for his work's sake, if it be good; for why should we lose our | ideals? And no human being, we are convinced, in spite of all that | biographies say, could ever dispense with the indulgence ~~ shall we say | wilful blindness? ~~ of his warmest admirers, and most devoted followers. | | To some this may seem a very unprofitable speculation , there is | something levelling and unpalatable to our poetical sense in it. It is well to | have something to admire with all our hearts; but still it is a truth, | however cold-blooded, which should not be out of the minds of those who | plan modes of life for others. These may indeed reply, that what intellect | cannot effect, grace may, and, who can gainsay it? but when grace does | so, we are persuaded it is by its miraculous, not its ordinary operations, on | which it cannot be judicious to reckon. And on the question of whether | this infirmity of our nature can be suppressed, not modified and kept in | check, but suppressed, hangs the wisdom or the folly of a great deal of | legislation. If you can put it down, and make minds strong, firm, always | vigorously occupied in great matters by stringent enactments, frame them | by all means. If you can put to flight a swarm of poor helpless fancies, by | investing a man in peculiar and forbidding attire, do so. If you can elevate | a woman's mind, divest it of vanity, render it simple, unconscious, wrapt | in a strain of lofty meditation, by denying her from this day forward the | sight of her face in the glass, and the privilege S. Paul allows her, of | adorning herself in modest apparel, it is worth the sacrifice to herself, and | atones for our own loss also. For it cannot be denied that dress is a fertile | field of reverie. The gravest man of our acquaintance would not like to | reveal all the thought it costs him ~~ not deliberate, voluntary thought, but | | something that takes time, during which he is neither grand nor elevated; | and we suppose, it may be assumed that women think still more of it, and | with something more of intention and design. But are we sure that when a | rigid and disfiguring uniform is provided for both, that a grave and | important train of thought is secured, instead of the former feeble | self-gratulations or regrets? Does the austerity of the attire keep the mind | in check? Can we be sure that thick-coming fancies will not haunt it of the | old familiar garb with all its associations? Perhaps it is this very | association that a change of external habit is designed | to quench, and we can imagine with considerable success in many cases, | and the legislator seems to have won a victory, but the channel of vanities | and, reveries may simply have changed its | course. We have already committed ourselves to the opinion that this | condition of our fallen nature cannot be entirely got rid of; and if so, and if | the old fields for harmless though profitless musing provided by nature | and society are shut out as unlawful and forbidden ground, and so turned | into sin, where does the weak point manifest itself? We fear there is | danger of its taking a false position, assuming a mask, deceiving the very | heart that is its source. If, for example, a woman's thoughts have run upon | a ribbon or a curl, or what our grandmothers called a pretty fellow, she at | least knows that she is frivolous, and rouses herself, if she have sense at | the bottom, from the trumpery speculation with a sense of ingenuous | shame; but experience shows us that we may be trivial on important things | without knowing it; and here lies the danger, for this phase of mind | employed, or rather let loose, amongst our gravest responsibilities may | weaken the whole moral fabric by disturbing the sense of proportion. If | because the objects which employ our thoughts are serious, weighty, and | solemn, we take for granted that our mode of viewing them is serious and | weighty too, there is danger of our judgment loosening the reins and the | blessed guidance of homely sense being lost to us. There is no merely | intellectual mistake which so lowers the tone of the mind and sinks it | below its natural level as the loss of the sense of proportion, by which we | mean a right judgment on the relative importance of things; and all | systems which attempt by laws and penalties to confine the mind in | certain rigid channels of thought, that make no allowance for human | weakness and childishness, so to call it, seem to | us to have this tendency. | | Perhaps the most extreme instances of this severity are to be found | amongst men. There are in other communions, institutions stern as the | grave, inexorable against human infirmity, where every light, gay, airy, or | trifling motion of the | | soul is treated as a crime to be repented of by penances and tears. Into | these dreary abodes no eye penetrates, nothing is | known ~~ we are left to conjecture. Our conjecture then is that the | mind under such treatment sinks into the lowest intellectual level of which | it is capable, that in material language it loses its tissue | and becomes a sort of pulp, in which all the ideas connected with | the solemnities of eternity and of our own existence hold a different and | uncertain aspect, a certain mould of imbecility gathering and mantling | over all. There may be minds of vigour and energy enough to resist the | influence; but the ordinary effect must be to enervate. However, our | concern now is with women, and the effect of what is technically termed | strictness upon them. In ordinary cases its pressure must fall with greater | weight upon women than men, because of their greater necessary | seclusion. For our part, we never see the pretty, utterly useless trifles made | by foreign nuns ~~ their cut paper and little gew-gaws of feathers and | shells ~~ without a sense of consolation. We regard them as vents and | escapes for caged-up fancies. We are sure that a good deal of pointless | speculation is bestowed upon them, that many a poor helpless vacant | little mind seizes on the fabrication of that worthless frippery with a sort | of passion of relief, that it assuages a longing, and that the soul is all the | fitter for its round of duties after the craving for the trivial has been | satisfied by what is allowed to be lawful food. | | This train of thought has been awakened by the experiment of sisterhoods | now being tried amongst ourselves under a very different state of things, | and certainly with much greater aim at practical utility than in the | instances we have alluded to, where monasticism is a time-honoured and | unquestioned institution. Indeed, many will see no parallel or analogy | between the two; nor is there | necessarily. A band of ladies, led by the same | desire to devote themselves to the service of the poor in Christ, and ~~ | supposing they can do so more effectually by united service under a | head associating themselves under one roof, has little | in common with the seclusion of a nunnery, the work is different, the aim | is assumed to be different, and even the pattern they set before themselves | is different. Their model is the sister of mercy, not the nun who secludes | herself for ever from the world; but there is this at least in common with | all such associations, where people agree to live together for the promotion | of religious objects, there must be rules, and | there is a tendency to make these rules stringent. A certain strictness | beyond what is found necessary for home rule seems generally to be found | essential. The mind is not satisfied without it: the religious instinct craves | for it. We believe that strict and | | even austere rules are thought necessary to bind together with sufficient | cohesion these voluntary associations, a strictness not needed by each | individual soul, but enforced in order to maintain | it one of a certain corporate body; and it is because we think so, because | we think that superfluous, and not generally salutary restraints, are applied | to these institutions, that we are led, not without doubt and hesitation, to | venture some comments and remarks upon their present aspect. | | We cannot touch upon this subject without being aware that we may differ | from many whose judgment has and ought to have great weight with our | readers, as it has with ourselves. Backed as they are by such modern | sanction and supported by antiquity, we cannot expect for our own | questions and misgivings more than a patient hearing from many who | peruse these pages. We say what we have to say as it were under | correction. But if we are asked, | "why should friends throw obstacles in the way of a good work, | and interfere with an attempt to revive some of the ancient fervour | of self-sacrifice in these lax times?" we reply, if | sisterhoods are to spread and thrive, they must not shrink from friendly | criticism, nor regard every doubt as a sign of opposition. Minds are so | made as to see one side of a question more forcibly than another; let every | aspect be looked at. If antiquity and the precedent of other countries | influence our minds, may not also the conditions of our own times, our | national character, our religious and social institutions? Is it necessary that | the voice of either should be silenced? If, we say, sisterhoods are to obtain | a permanent footing, we are convinced it must be, not by ignoring | difficulties but by facing them and by prudence overcoming them. There | must be common homely sense at work in founding any institution for | perpetuity, much more for reviving one. There | must be knowledge of human nature and its weaknesses. The church has always | been influenced in its developments by the circumstances of the times; it | adopts customs and lays them down. Monasticism began as a sort of | necessity before that time. Phillip's four daughters prophesied at home. | And that country and locality have an influence even where code and | creed are the same we need not go further to prove, than by calling on our | readers to compare the Roman Catholic Sister of Charity at home and | abroad. Look at the Sister in Belgium or Paris, with her easy manner, her | nature, and self-possession, stepping along about her work with m more | self-consciousness than the artisans or peasants alongside of her, looking, | as she is, part of the | scene and in her place; contrast this | cheerful picture with that pair of her fellow Sisters of the same | communion in our streets. The harsh contour; the fixed gaze | | upon nothing; the heavy, measured, remorseless tread over wet and dry; | the evident knowledge that they attract attention; the passive determined | ignoring of the fact ~~ at least these are different from our | Beguine friend or our comfortable | French railway companion. Of course the English spectacle may be | thought more impressive by some because not so | natural. Such sights do impress people differently. We own this rigid | vision gives us little pleasure, because, though not for a moment charging | these good ladies with affectation in a bad sense, it looks to us a manner | assumed because it is thought right, but expressing nothing of the inner | working of the mind; and we ask ourselves, why should women make of | themselves an anomaly, a startling contradiction, a | protest? To others the same manner may suggest a habit of fixed | contemplation, a fear of this evil world's contamination, minds lifted | above this lower scene, hearts habitually commercing with divine things. | It may be all this, though it is not easy to abstract the mind in a staring | crowd. At any rate, they carry baskets in their hands; they are bound for | the dwellings of the poorest: we wish well to their errand, though we, may | not be able to resist a doubt whether this is the | best way of doing good for either giver or | receiver in our own time, in our own streets, amongst our own population, | in this year of grace 1858; that it was in the sixth century or the twelfth | century, or the fifteenth, does not of itself prove the point, though it is | something towards it. | | For ourselves, we cannot but think the circumstances of the times dictate | the necessity for considerable modification and change in the attempt to | perpetuate, or to revive the old idea. The general advance ~~ amongst | women especially ~~ in education and intelligence, and the superior | power of self-guidance which these should and do imply, all point, we | think, to greater independence of action, variety of occupation, and | deference to individual peculiarities. It is unquestionably much more | difficult, as we have said, to keep a community going with liberty of | action in its members, than where there are irrevocable vows and one rule | of blind obedience or routine of service. But cultivated minds, minds of | practised discernment in the habit of weighing and judging for themselves, | should have the means of using and improving these gifts, or there is a | waste of power, or more probably these institutions will never represent | the highest qualities of the sex. Of course, the reply may be, that they do | not aim at representing its intellect, but its religion and self-devotion. But | surely a clear head and sound judgment, and power of self-guidance, are | essential to women who choose a path for themselves, and by a strong | independent exercise of will separate themselves from | | natural ties. The self-will that takes one ~~ perhaps desperate ~~ step | alone, only to abandon itself henceforth helplessly to the direction of | others, is not a temper to awaken much sympathy. A strong will, allied to | a weak character, is an element of disorder and dissolution wherever | found, and could not be worse placed than in one of these institutions | under present circumstances; for here, again, | there is a difference between our times and former ones, when parental | influence generally favoured institutions of this nature, while now, | amongst ourselves, it mostly runs counter to them; when the Church | supported them with all its authority, while now it merely permits them | and sanctions no vows; and it needs greater strength of character to go | with credit against than with the stream, so as to | prove to the world the right wisdom and self-knowledge which dictated | the decision. The stronger spirits must the pioneers in difficult times to | provide a congenial home and refuge for their weaker sisters. | | The general discussion now carried on, on the question of the condition | of women and their right to greater independence of action, is an opening | for religious and benevolent female establishments, which we would | gladly see wisely used; and regarding this time as a sort of crisis, we have | ventured on a bolder line of comment and criticism than might otherwise | have suited us. It is impossible but that the recent painful affair connected | with the Sisterhood at East Grinstead must have occurred to our readers, | who are, no doubt, too familiar with the details for us to need to enter into | them here. On the gross ill-usage to which amiable and excellent ladies | were subjected by a brutal mob, we need say nothing: on the outrageous | manifestations of temper and feeling on Mr. Scobell's part, is not our place | to enter; he will probably never see, and certainly would not regard, | anything we might say. What we have to do with, is the insight which the | rage, on both sides, for publishing documents which were never intended | for publication, and which ought never to have seen the light, has given us | into the design, the practical working, and the state of mind fostered by | sisterhoods; or, perhaps, we should say this particular institution, if we | would steer clear of injustice. While our respect for the ladies who | compose the establishment is in some points enhanced by what has | transpired, we yet cannot regard this strange revelation as satisfactory; and | when we see excellent and disinterested people falling into srapes and | standing in a false position, while their individual character holds its | ground, we are forced into an examination of the system on which they | work, and its effect on the minds of those who follow it. We cannot but | think this the only reasonable course: to go on | | exalting a system because we respect its high aims, and attributing every | failure to individual error in its exponents ~~ as an accidental aberration, | something which a little good advice will easily remedy ~~ is, we think, | an injustice. An intellectual or moral error in a system will break out | somewhere. It is all in vain to write as some do, ~~ | "It is disappointing | when those whom we could wish to regard with unmixed admiration are | content to imperil or disturb their success in what is great and good for the | indulgence of a fancy, harmless or even pleasing in itself, but calculated to | make their brethren offend." But what if the | system interferes with the | discernment of what is immaterial and what important, and weakens the | judgment on this point? What if minds, deprived of natural relaxations, | fasten upon the trifles which are permitted to them with the greater | tenacity, and cannot and will not let them go? We ought to have more | sympathy with their peculiar position than hastily to pronounce that the | error, if it was one, was easily to be avoided; it is asking them to forego all | the poetry and grace of life. | | Another and more important question, which bears, we think, upon the | same point ~~ the system instead of the | individual ~~ | is involved in the subject of Confession. We need not enter into the | doctrine of Confession, because in our view the | point lies not in Confession itself, but in the choice of a confessor Now | our abstract notion of a confessor is, that he should not be | too sympathising. It should not be too easy to tell him | our sins, or it will be apt to become a pleasant exercise. There should be a | something about him always to keep up the first experience of its being a | simple duty, without a shade of gratification, to own our errors and | weaknesses to him; nothing to tempt to an unnecessary word; a certain | coldness, dryness even, would not be out of place. Now, appearances lead | to the suspicion that the heads of these institutions require wholly | different qualities in this important functionary, and consider tenderness, | sympathy, and glow of feeling as the main essentials, added to unlimited | patience, forbearance in listening, and an encouraging endurance of | details. Nor can we wonder; for have not the inmates under their care | sacrificed all other sympathy, all variety | of conversation, all refreshment of the intellect, all amusement of the | imagination? Thrown back upon themselves in so many ways, can we | wonder at this one solace; coming, too, not in the likeness of an | indulgence, but of a painful religious duty? We cannot wonder, we do not | wish to blame; and the one example of confession without the walls, | which has been brought before us, may be no specimen of what goes on | within it. But we do not find that any apology is offered, nor any attempt | made to show it an isolated instance. We have no reason to suppose | | that Miss Scobell's mode of confession, as to its fulness, frequency, length, | and the extreme satisfaction she found in it, was thought singular. We can | only generalize upon the subject, and regard it in its theoretical aspect. | Surely the fewest words in which a sin can be | defined should be chosen, otherwise the confession of it | will become an indulgence. In all other | circumstances, talking of self, making self our | theme, is considered a sign of bad taste, and an injurious habit. Can it | change its nature because it assumes another name? And if from the sin | itself we proceed unchecked to detail the motives and temptations, and | provocations that led to it, are not these really excuses? Can vanity be kept | out of a multitude of words? And then the delicious feeling of being | understood, one of the most subtly sweet sensations of our nature, will | make even penance light. When once the shame of owning our sins | becomes subservient to the stimulus of talking of self, we are disposed to | think confession becomes injurious to the strength and honesty of the | mind. When there is the feeling, that our confessor sympathises and | understands us, there may follow the secret, perhaps unconscious, | consolation that we shall not suffer in his | estimation, and the proceeding changes its nature. These ideas on the | subject of confession are obvious enough to those in the ordinary positions | of life where Providence has placed them; but it seems universally | considered that a closer scrutiny is necessary where | anyone chooses what | is too technically called a holy life ~~ that such a life, as subject to subtler | temptations, and involving higher aims, must he watched with a more | particular investigation. We own the exotic character of this special | culture a little awakes our suspicion: the apparatus, the separation, the vast | human agency, the actual expenditure of money, distinguish the professor | too pointedly from the ordinary Christian. We cannot but see a danger in | it, and we would gladly modify some of the severer ordinances of an | institution to place this matter, on a different and as we think more healthy | footing; for to take the one example before us, though we feel Miss | Scobell's character a peculiar one, and no fair rule for others, yet we can at | least see from this one extreme instance how weak, feeble, vacillating, | and triviala mind may become, bent on the perpetual inspectionand | analysis of every passing thought, putting it into body and form, and | preserving it for description | or by pen and ink. How the judgment and | rational penetration withers under the process, we may judge by the trust | placed in the treacherous confidant, who herself seems to have been | bewildered out of what conscience she had by being put into a position | she could not understand or see the bearings of. | | And yet Miss Scobell's home, from whatever cause, was miserable ~~ she | was not wanted there; her temper would probably amend, her character | gain tone, her life would be spent more usefully and happily amongst | congenial and judicious friends, joined together in holy service to God and | their neighbour. | It is a case, in spite of this unfortunate and unjust exposure, as far as this | poor young lady is concerned, to show the use and value of sisterhoods; | we will not believe that what we must object to, is an essential part of the | idea, though it may be of a certain development of it. | | Criticism is too much like ~~ we can hardly avoid its being like ~~ | interference with independent action, which we would strongly advocate; | but if we question and comment, it is because those who advocate these | institutions at all, seem prone to give them a pre-eminence of sanctity and | utility over every other form of feminine existence. It is called even a holy | life, as opposed to the daughter's life in her father's house. It is in answer | to this view, to this assumption as it seems to us, that we will pursue the | subject of this institution still further. First. We observe that the avowed | object of the Sisterhood of East Grinstead is supposed on all hands to be | so practically useful, as well as so admirable, as not to admit of a | moment's question. A company of religious and benevolent women, | devoting themselves to the care of the sick, and willing to sacrifice | all considerations of habit, convenience, and even | feeling, in the service of the poor and afflicted, certainly does commend | itself to our consideration with peculiar claims. Yet there are points in the | rules and designs of the institution, which are to us who ~~ we should | explain ~~ are far removed from the sight and knowledge of their actual | working, not a little perplexing. Of course this admission on our part | detracts from our testimony; but there is something so dazzling to the | judgment, in the sight of self-sacrifice, it is so | hard and invidious to witness devotion, and to demur in any way at the | mode of its manifestation, that any doubt must be left to those who can | only argue the matter on general principles. We will then simply state our | difficulty. We have some experience of the poor both in town and country; | for many years we have visited them in their houses, so as to have a fair | idea of the average accommodation to be found in their dwellings. We | have seen them in sickness, and know the arrangements that are made to | nurse and tend upon them; and in no instance of illness that we can recall, | do we understand how the presence of a Sister, taking up her abode in the | house, night and day, does otherwise than interfere with the habits of the | invalid, and his or her family. The Sister's services are supposed to | supersede those of the gin-drinking nurse. | | Poor people cannot afford to hire the services of a professed nurse; they | nurse one another, and as a whole (of course there are exceptions) they | perform this duty admirably, with wonderful patience, with such | tenderness, such a willing devotion of strength and time, that, in spite of | the tax it undoubtedly is on the powers of working | people, we should be sorry indeed to see it taken out of their hands. | Often, of course, means, time, or skill fail them; but in | our experience, the most suitable, relief then is the hospital (though | we are aware that the facilities for this resource vary indefinitely); thus | removing the invalid from the already close and inconvenient dwelling to | fresher air and the best medical attendance. But to introduce a new inmate | into the family at such a time, and that a lady by birth, and | known to the patient to be such, to have to find room | for her bed in the over-crowded sleeping room, or the suggested "landing," | not a very common place to find in a poor man's house, in ordinary cases | it must be simply impossible without turning out | half the household; and where are they to go? and why should they be | turned out? and yet, where already half a dozen children sleep in a room, | is it not a misplaced sacrifice for the Sister to sleep too, and add a | seventh? | | There are cases, of course, of wholly friendless persons living solitary | lives, and suffering under acute diseases, for we presume no permanent | residence is proposed in cases of chronic illness; but these are so far | exceptional cases, that it is not reasonable to found institutions to provide | for them. In such instance, daily visits and superintendence, and pecuniary | help for the night watching, would certainly be much preferred, and with | justice and reason; for it can be no legitimate source of comfort to the | invalid to find, that the menial services bestowed are by birth and habit | peculiarly unsuited, and cost the donor an enormous sacrifice; | so great an effort, in fact, that they cannot be given | without an entire and permanent separation from the ties of birth, nature, | and habit. Cases of fever, or other epidemic, are of course the strong point | for proving the utility of the institution; nor are valuable testimonies | wanting to the services of sisterhoods on these occasions. An infectious | disorder, so virulent as to frighten away help, and leave the sufferer | without aid, has never fallen under our personal knowledge; in ordinary | cases, the poor are foolishly indifferent to infection, and let their children | run in the way of typhus and small-pox, in a way to call for interference; | but we have heard of such instances, and no | doubt the arrival upon the scene of a competent nurse, and that nurse a | lady, willing to take upon herself all the painful, and probably revolting, | duties of the office, must make a great impression as a religious spectacle, | a triumph of grace. But still, if there is | | a hospital within reach, and the patient fit for removal (and no nursing is | of much use, in a neglected case of bad fever), it must be preferable, on | merely sanitary grounds, to take him there; and in cases of illness, these | have the first claim on our regard. If possible, quench the infection by | removing the source of it; leave the fever nothing to prey upon, and it will | die out. On its own ground, it spreads and multiplies its victims. The | Sisters return home from their work of love; they take infection with them, | and spread it, and die. | The individual is blessed | in her end; but we have to do with the institution, which should be | founded on principles of discretion and respect for human life, and the | common weal, and not mainly as a theatre for the exercise and display of | self-denial; and above all, not for the sake of impressing the popular mind; | otherwise, it becomes a mere question of success. The Lewes mob were | not impressed, and then what is there to say? | | For ourselves, may we say that we cannot feel the unmixed gratification | that so many do, in the contemplation of an educated woman giving up | position, and all intellectual work, to become a mere | nurse in perpetuity. Some of our readers are fathers. Society expects | them to educate their daughters carefully, to develop their minds. The | child, by being born in a certain position of life, has a | right to considerable thought, and some, outlay of money on her | education. The father is not held to have done his duty by her, unless he | has her taught, not merely indispensable attainments, but accomplishments; | whatever, in fact, cultivates the taste and enlarges the intellect. | These are her rights as a born lady; but have rights no corresponding | duties? If a father is bound to give his daughter a good education, has she | a right to throw it away? and is it not throwing it away, to abandon her | home, her circle of friends, and intellectual intercourse, to | confine herself to the society of the poor, and to | menial occupations? We think there is some sympathy due to the father | who sees his daughter, when arrived at the age when education should tell | upon the character, leave her natural sphere as it seems for ever, and for | weeks at a time, as long as there is any call upon her, | always if there should be always a demand, spend her whole | energies in the duties of | a common hired attendant in a labourer's family; eating with them, | washing for them, associating night and day with them. If cultivation is a | real advantage, do not throw it away; if position has a lawful influence, | use it. Put both to some better account for the | poor whom | | you love for Christ's sake, than merely turning your back upon them. | Circumstances may arise, when the most refined Christian woman will | feel it her duty to overcome all minor respects, for the higher | considerations of charity and brotherhood. When the emergency occurs, | they are found equal to it. What we question, is the deliberate and formal | dedication of self to this one class of labours. Nor is the loss to themselves | and their own class (who have a claim, some say a first claim, | on everyone ) | all gain to the poor; it is often more a | transfer of labour. What might not such devoted women have done in their | own native locality, amongst the poor round their own homes? For we will | never believe that women capable of such really noble sacrifice, would be | content to be useless anywhere. It is only the desire for a larger field, for | opportunity for a stricter and more exclusive service, which influences | their choice of life; wherever such women are, they will overcome | difficulties and obstacles, and find something to do in God's cause. | Therefore it is that we will not allow to sisterhoods a sort of monopoly of | sanctity and usefulness. That they may be a happy home for many an | ardent spirit, a congenial sphere for many an active temper, a refuge for | many a wounded heart, a shelter for the homeless, a repose for the injured | and unfortunate, we feel assured; and the more they are under a discreet, | liberal, and indulgent, as well as pious direction, the more they will fulfil | these destinations. That they are so far adapted to modern habits of life, | thought, and opinion, as to spread and propagate, and to become an | acknowledged and generally adopted form of woman's life, we greatly | doubt. | | It is an outrage, we know, on the editorial "we," to call these sentiments | the expression of an individual voice, permitted to regard this as an open | question, and desiring to commit no-one | in their utterance. Much may be | said on the more enthusiastic side; much has been truly and most | eloquently spoken in the praise of sisterhoods. What is good and great and | wise in them will not suffer for what, if we know ourselves, we believe an | honest opinion. Strength of conviction has perhaps a right of expression, | though it may emanate from a narrow reason, and a defective judgment. | | But, leaving this vexed question and the combined difficulties and | facilities supplied by united action, and returning to our general subject, | we think it cannot be doubted that the present time is friendly to | individual exertion and furnishes a theatre for the employment of any | woman's peculiar gifts and powers for good. The higher cultivation of the | female intellect, and the consequent strength and social weight which this | surely brings, point to a higher, and as we may call it more ambitious | | field of labour than has hitherto been assigned them; to afford a vantage | ground for any work they may undertake, which, wisely used, may enable | them to effect great things. We say wisely, | because a somewhat new exercise of the feminine powers has come to our | knowledge, at once through public and private sources, which | must receive the warm sympathy and approval of all | who realize the magnitude of the evil and danger combated, which will | especially need discretion both in the due estimate of personal | qualifications, and of the external aids and support which are equally | needed. Women have often affected the ministerial office, but never in a | way to make it become them, or to seem other than an unwarrantable | assumption; but undeterred by these unpleasing examples, women may, | we are convinced, take an important, and direct, and bold part in the great | work of evangelization, if they realize and retain their subordinate | position, as working under legitimate authority; as instruments in leading, | through their teaching, to a superior instructor: the dispenser of privileges | they themselves cannot supply, but which they can teach others to desire | and to value. Acting frankly and honestly in this spirit, they might safely | be allowed a wide liberty of action, unimpeded by scruples, free to follow | the guidance of their own judgment, influenced as it must be by | circumstances of the moment, and the needs of individual character. | | And now to the peculiar work which has prompted these remarks. There is | one class of society, by common consent, voted most inaccessible to | religious influence ~~ the rector's great crux, the curate's bugbear, the | puzzle and the dread of the middle-aged well-to-do parishioners ~~ the | young men of the labouring classes. They are inaccessible in every way: | their bodies cannot be got at, let alone their minds. In the top of their | youth, when death is so distant an idea as practically to be out of sight, | when the strength is in fullest vigour, and equal to furnishing the means | for selfish and sensual gratification, these young men are in the masses | left to themselves, not for want of will, but seemingly for want of the | proper machinery to get at them. We say, not for want of will; and yet we | must admit that of all human beings | the individuals a disciplined, educated, | middle-aged man finds it most difficult to love, not with natural, but even | with Christian love, are big loutish boys; and what good can you really do | to the souls of people whose bodies, whose ways, whose outer | development in every particular, are odious and intolerable to you? And | are not these too near the sentiments of many a respectable clergyman | towards a turbulent gang of the rough and rude youth and early manhood | of his parish, slouching, shuffling or | | scampering past him giving him a full view of what they are and of the | hopelessness of his ever being able to make them better? Recent | experiments have shown that with this class, women ~~ or, we should | say, ladies ~~ have an influence which may do great things if they have | courage to use it. The roughness and the loutishness are not with them | quite the same barriers. Women have a natural leaning towards strength; | as such the sense of their own power comes with the sight of it: they feel | that they know the way to subdue and refine it: a feeling almost of | sympathy and good understanding is awakened. In the class of | country-bred young men there is little positive scepticism: practical | atheists they may be, poor fellows! living without God in the world; but | they have never deliberately renounced any of their creed. What their | mothers taught them ~~ if they had good mothers ~~ what they learnt by | rote at school or on Sundays under their teachers, remains with them; | dormant, buried, forgotten, unfruitful, but never expelled. Into the minds | of such as these, we believe that a clear-sighted and tender-hearted woman | can find a way, and make an entrance, easier than men. With men, these | fellows feel men: they are suspicious, awkward, | antagonistic; an impulse of resistance is roused at the first word. (Not, of | course, but the pastor may, and must overcome this difficulty; still it | is one.) But all the while, in true cultivation of the | intellect, they are children: have hardly advanced a step, may indeed have | retrograded in their power to apprehend an abstract idea since the time | they were sharp little boys of ten, returning intelligent answers to the | Government inspector. Now it seems as if women could quite naturally | take up the subject of religion from the point where mother or | schoolmaster left it, if the faith has not been tampered with by the infusion | of active unbelief. While the superiority of physical strength and manhood | are taken for granted and submitted to, men are never so ashamed of their | intellectual deficiencies before women as men. The woman comes to | them in an attitude of trust, almost of dependence. It is at once an appeal | to their generosity. No doubt there is much in early association, much in | that mutual dependence in which nature has placed the sexes, that makes | confidence and sympathy natural between them. Mere rudeness and | sullenness of exterior, as we have said, is not by any means such an | impediment to the lady as to the cultivated, civilised gentleman, whose | duty it is to get at them; neither in | apprehension nor in fact; for the man is not ashamed to let a gentle | feminine eye see that there is a soft part somewhere under the rough rind, | which it is after all a very soothing and pleasant sensation to have reached. | At the outset we alluded | | to the difficulties of such a task ~~ perhaps it will always need such a | confluence of favouring circumstances that it must remain one of woman's | exceptional works of mercy. But enough has been done to prove that some | women have a power which ought to be allowed fair scope, and be | welcomed with the most cordial and hearty encouragement, in the hope | that others, like gifted, may catch the same generous impulse, and be | willing to labour amongst the neglected class which furnishes so many types | of that rustic Cymon of old, who | | | We were led to these thoughts some time since by the knowledge of a | most successful effort of this kind, by a lady in an agricultural district, | working under the encouragement and support of her pastor. Most | interesting and affecting details have reached us of the happy fruit of her | labours, of which we dare not indicate further the nature or the locality, | lest we should seem to intrude on the reserve and privacy of parochial | work; for in this spirit the effort is pursued rather than in the more | ambitious light of a mission. But, for ourselves, we cannot but regard in | something of this light a new and gentle influence brought to play with | such constraining efficacy where authority and all ordinary means had | failed for want of a basis whereon to work. If women can win men to | kneel and pray, who never knelt or prayed since they left their mother's | knee; if they can bring them to church who have almost forgotten what | church is like; if they can win, entreat, persuade them to the reception of | those sacred ordinances which, up to that time, were as much above and | beyond their sphere of thought and desire as of any heathen whom the | sound of the Gospel has never reached; if they can do this in the strength | of their purely womanly qualities, availing themselves of every advantage | of position, using every legitimate influence with a clear judgment, with a | growing zeal, with a never-wearying patience, proof against all | discouragement, may we not hail them as helpmates and fellow-labourers | in a great work which has to be done, in a revival which must be effected, | if we are to hold our place among Christian nations, or even maintain our | standing among nations of the world? | | From the earnest and graphic pen of Miss Marsh, we have, however, one | published record of a great work of this character. Her "English Hearts and | English Hands" contains the history of her connexion with and her labours | amongst the "navvies" who inhabited her brothers-in-law's parish of | Beckenham during the construction of the great earth-works in the gardens | of the Crystal Palace; and the value of this most hearty and genuine book | lies in its being from a woman's hand, and | showing how | | and in what spirit, with what dependence on her especially feminine | qualifications, such an effort must be made by any woman who attempts | it. We can hardly expect many conjunctures of favouring circumstances to | occur to offer opportunities for experiment on this large scale. But what | has been done may be done again; and we really think that the class | amongst whom Miss Marsh wrought such wonders must, to every reader | of her book, assume from henceforth a more accessible, softer aspect than | it has ever done before. We have already observed in women this power | and gift of discerning and reaching the human individual character | through the official one. We have known them appeal trustfully and with | success to the universal brotherhood of waiters, omnibus drivers, cabmen; | and even in ballet dancers to recognise the exemplary husband and father | straight through the rouge, the myrtle wreath, the stage attire; and this is | Miss Marsh's secret. No roughness, sullenness, uncouthness of exterior | allowed her ever to doubt the human heart underneath, or mistrust her | own power of reaching and influencing it. Not, of course, in her own | strength; it was no presumptive confidence, but a sense of power | nevertheless, without which she could have done nothing, which made her | wisely keep to her own sling and stone rather than don masculine armour | she had never proved. Trained in a controversial school, with whose | traditions she is no doubt imbued, she yet keeps absolutely clear of | controversy and polemics; nor does her just belief in the inherent | depravity of human nature obscure her faith in the abstract love of truth | and virtue, which our proneness to sin has not obliterated, and on which | she throws herself with a confidence tempered, unknown to herself, by an | admirable instinct of tact showing her where she may trust and where it | would not be safe to do so. She boldly appeals to something good, she | really believes in something good in every human being; and consequently | all people show their best to her. After reading her book, we find our | opinion of human nature raised; she clearly has the art of propitiating the | most forbidding official character to further her endeavours. Heads of | police, superintendents of works, managers of railways, lodging-house | keepers, even publicans, that class in antagonism with every school of | reform, are friendly to her, and further her schemes. Of course we | recognise a peculiar temperament in all this ~~ a joy in its own workings; | a faculty of seeing things at their brightest; but we own also a | temperament admirably adapted to the work in hand, and blessed to a | great end. Her first commencement is characteristic of the course by | which she came to be to so many of these men "a mother" and a friend. It | is taking the bull by the horns in a way we do not | | put forward for general imitation; a wise woman will not make such a | venture as a first experiment, or without previous knowledge of her own | powers. | | | | This is the only case of scepticism with which she records my encounter | of wits. The men generally, under their huge strength and rough | undisciplined manners, hid very simple, childish, confiding natures, taking | everything upon trust from a teacher who gained their affection, never | disputing what they were told to believe. And no doubt the character of | these men was above the ordinary standard; they were picked men, and | | good workers. What they undertook to do they did super-eminently well; | therefore they had some good in them ~~ the good showed itself in never | once allowing this kind lady, who came | constantly amongst them, to hear an oath or an improper word from their | lips; in treating her always with chivalrous respect and an unlimited trust, | in confiding to her their thoughts and troubles; in a scrupulous fear of | intruding on her bounty when they were poor; in a very magnanimous | liberality towards those remotely dependent on them when they were | prosperous; and last, in an appreciation of beauty and poetry whenever | these rare, almost unknown elements of happiness were brought before | them. What their pleasures were when left to themselves, and how narrow | their range, the following passage shows: ~~ | | | Now men, seeing where the unprompted taste of the navvy leads him, | assume that he must be approached with a common sense and reason, as | unadorned as his own person, manners and dialect; that they are | inaccessible to the softer influences of poetry. Poetry in its inner recondite | form is beyond them: and the poetry of action is not in men's way ~~ it | does not come naturally to them; and if they attempt it, they are either | sheepish or unreal; but the sentiment and prettinesses of common life | belong to women, and these are, precisely what the | uncultivated mind can receive; grace and refinement of manners, soft | voices, flowing language harmonious verse, sweet flowers, all bestowed | with the eloquence of kind eyes, beaming smiles, | | and an out-speaking heart too full of its object to think of self or feel | shame. Such gentle force was brought abundantly to bear on these rough | natures ~~ the lighter artillery of | fetes and tea parties, prettily | bound books, bouquets of flowers, and even toys, | which on a long voyage to the Crimea were made wonderfully welcome | by these rough children. Of her treatment of these childish, impulsive | natures, the following passage furnishes a good example. Paget lent her | his cottage for her Bible reading. From this the promising disciple, "tall | George," had been absent the last week; on inquiry, it appeared he had | resented some rudeness on Paget's part; but a few soothing words had | altered his mind. When she repairs at the appointed time to Paget's house, | after a pause ~~ | | | | | Miss Marsh's power amongst these poor fellows became so acknowledged | among them, that on the news of a fight between | a "body" of navvies and the police, they entreated her to go and stop it; she | regarding the summons as a call, drives to the | ground, where blood had already been shed and prisoners taken; interferes | to prevent a rescue, and withholds hundreds of infuriated navvies from | revenge; receiving the thanks of the head of police and the blessings of her | own friends as the "peacemaker," while they declare a | | It was in the enthusiasm and | excitement of this scene, that she heard the only word that could be | construed into disrespect. We quote the scene as an example of | readiness: ~~ | | | | No wonder that, with such power to influence, she should glory in the | strength and physical excellences of her friends ~~ on one occasion | described by the overseer as the finest lot he ever saw and the wildest ~~ | | We have no space for the details of | actual good effected: these rough fellows reformed of their drinking | habits, taught to read and pray and attend church regularly, and led to | confirmation, and at length receiving the Sacrament with the greatest | devotion and fullest intention of leading a new life. Relapses, of course, | there are; the history of one of which is very affectingly told, where a | foolish wife objects to her husband's churchgoing, and exasperates him to | throw all new habits aside and | | take to drinking again; but on occasion of the return of one of these cases, | we fully agree with her tender comment. | | | | A vast number of these men went out in the Army Works Corps to the | Crimea. Miss Marsh was then the depositary of their savings, to the | amount at one time of 500 l. a month, for which | not one would receive a receipt or any guarantee but her own honour. | With many she corresponded; and their letters, full of grateful religious | feeling are inserted. Enough time has passed to prove the genuineness and | reality of the good effected; and we are sure | can lay down the book | without warm feelings towards the main instrument through which it was | accomplished ~~ her ardent faith and abounding charity ~~ nor without | better hopes too of his country after this picture of the true, loyal heart of | the rudest of her sons, if only the right chord can be struck; and it is shown | how willing they are to learn, how tractable and docile under kind | treatment; what a depth of feeling lies hid under a rude exterior, what | courage and generosity; and that even a navvy may be a gentleman in the | highest sense of the word, a good Christian, and an Englishman to be | proud of. | | We are well aware how little we have done towards settling the question | involved in the title of our article; but even failure may imply an answer; | and perhaps the reason that no-one | can decide what woman may, must, | can or cannot do, is that her employment depends on circumstances to a | degree forbidding all generalization. We are very early told what woman | is to be ~~ a help-mete ~~ a title which implies | versatile powers, to be employed rather at the suggestion of another than | to be independently exercised. Whatever man does, woman can help him | in; and as society progresses, and the nearer it arrives it what it ought to | be, the more intimate, universal, all-prevailing, will be this assistance of | the one sex to the other; but, we must be allowed to say, always in | subordination; always in obedience to the first law; | | With this proviso we see no limit to what a woman | may do, and he in labour or in office; but we think always in a less | positive, distinct line than with men. Woman's work will | | never be marked out for her with any exactitude if she moves a step | beyond her own hearth-stone. She is gifted with a readiness and facility | enabling her to fall into new habits and new employments more easily | than man; but this aptitude for change implies that such must be her lot. | She who can turn her hand to everything seems intended for a versatile | existence; she who helps so well is hardly designed to carve out her own | independent career: and because she is not designed for it, we will not | believe that in any extensive degree it will ever be her destiny. | | Since writing these remarks, we have met with a volume of Sermons on | the Canticles (W. K. Painter & Sons, Union | Office, 342, Strand) recently preached to a sisterhood of the English | Church, by their chaplain and confessor, which bear so much upon what | we have been saying, that we are tempted to cull a few extracts; showing | the light in which these institutions are regarded by those most concerned, | which strikes us as differing considerably from the popular view. These | sermons at once recognise and copiously provide for the necessity for | spiritual stimulants, which the absence of all secular interests and | relaxations seems to create, on this ground, the Song of Songs is chosen as | especially the Sisters' book, and is spoken of as their own, in so particular | a sense, as to seem to cut off other Christians from their share in it. | | We | are not going to review this volume, but when the writer cites as his model | S. Bernard on the Canticles, would it not have been as well to remark that | S. Bernard, in commenting on this mysterious book, addressed his | Sermons | We gather from these | discourses that there is a vow made in this particular Sisterhood; that it is | irrevocable; that it is best for the profession to be made in youth; that the | new life implies an entire change of duties and obligations, and absolute | renunciation of old ties; that sisters are taught to consider these old ties | simply as Egypt and the world; that the new life is one of incessant | self-denial and hardness, beyond what the Gospel requires of "Common | Christians;" that sisters are measured by a different standard, and that sin | in them magnifies its proportions; that the Sister's life is one of peculiar | temptations; that they are the mark of Satan's most violent assaults; that | their confessor invites their confidence in the relation not only of | temptations yielded to, but temptations overcome; that they already | possess a peculiar sanctity in the eyes of the world; that for the eminence | of their work, and greatness of their sacrifice, they are in a distinct and | peculiar manner beloved of their Lord. A few extracts will show with what | strength of language these positions are enforced. | |