Female Piety—The Young Woman's Guide Through Life to Immortality
John Angell James, (1785—1859)
LIFE AWAY FROM HOME
"Behold, I am with you, and will keep you in all places where you go." Genesis 28:15
"In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths." Proverbs 3:6
"You shall guide me with your counsel, and afterwards receive me to glory." Psalm 73:24
The hour of separation from parental society, home enjoyments, and the scenes of early history, is in most cases, and ought to be in all—a season of pensive grief. No affectionate daughter can leave the house of her father, and go from beneath the covering wing of maternal love, without passing over "the bridge of sighs." Even the joys of the bridal morning, when she leaves the arms of her hitherto nearest relations, for those of one now still nearer, do not prevent her from looking round with something of instinctive regret on the scenes she is leaving, now no longer hers; and amid the smiles of the happy bride, are seen falling the tears of the loving child, like dewdrops sparkling in sunbeams. It would augur ill for the husband, if his wife could part from her parents, even for him, without a momentary pang. It is one of nature's loveliest sights to see in that scene and season of delight, filial piety blending its luster with marital affection, and investing even nuptial charms with new and captivating beauty.
But I now speak of a different kind and purpose of separation from home. I contemplate the young woman, not led out by that right hand, the "cunning" of which is to be employed for her support; nor going away, leaning upon that arm which is to be continually stretched over her for protection—but departing solitarily and mournfully on the journey of life, to meet alone its dangers, cares, and toils. It is sad enough to see a young man leaving his father's house, and leaving home to earn his daily bread by the sweat of his brow; how much more to see a young female thus going forth to seek her own support. What is she but a lamb venturing out into the wilderness where wolves abound; or a young dove leaving its nest to fly abroad amid eagles and vultures! How many in the progress of life, and amid its changes, some of which are so melancholy, look back to the hour of separation and exclaim, "O my mother, how sad and certain presages of what awaited me were those bitter tears I shed on that morning when I tore myself from your embrace! My heart then sunk, and the sun of my life then set never to rise. Every step since then of my dark journey has been one of sorrow—and every change only of one calamity for another."
In some cases separation from home is rendered necessary by a change in domestic circumstances, and she who was brought up tenderly amid the luxuries, and with the prospects, of opulence, is now compelled to leave scenes where she was a stranger to toil and care—to earn her own support. It is a sight to be looked upon with admiration, to behold a young woman in such circumstances, instead of hanging upon parents no longer able to support her, without additional privations for themselves, nobly resolving to relieve them of the burden, and instead of sitting down in despairing grief and helpless sorrow, bracing her mind to meet the privations of her altered condition, descending gracefully to a lower level, and going forth with true magnanimity, inspired by religion, to tread life's stormy way alone. No morbid sense of degradation; no feeling of false shame arising from altered circumstances—no haughty sense of humiliation connected with a situation of subordination and dependence—benumbs her faculties, paralyzes her energies, or renders the duties of her new situation irksome and oppressive—but remembering it is the will of Providence, and thankful for her health, her abilities, and her opportunities to take care of herself, she goes to her new sphere without dread, despondency, or reluctance.
Others meet with no such reverse, but are brought up amid circumstances which have always kept before them the probability that they must go out into the world to support themselves. In these cases, the charge comes not upon them by a surprise, and if they are wise they will endeavor to prepare their hearts and qualify their minds for it. A judicious mother's energies and vigilance will ever be employed, not only in helping her daughters, but in teaching them to help themselves. Wherever there is a probability of their leaving home, and even when there is not, her concern, considering the vicissitudes of human life, should be directed to the point of qualifying them to become self-supporting. And it should be a point of ambition with every young woman, whose parents can with difficulty support their family, not to be a burden to them, but to provide for herself in some honorable and useful occupation.
It is a very beautiful scene to witness a young female, not only supporting herself, but endeavoring by the produce of her diligence, and the savings of her frugality, to minister to the comfort of her aged, infirm, or impoverished parents. Many a heroine has left home, and endured privations neither few nor small, for this purpose. All her discomfort and labor were endured with patience, under the idea that by this means she was rendering the home of her beloved parents more happy.
Here, however, a caution is necessary against a too great eagerness to get away from home. A large family, where there is a straitened income, brings many cares and some privations, not only upon the mother, but upon the elder daughters. In such a case, for a young woman who can be of essential service to her mother, and whom her mother wishes to retain, to determine or even wish to go out into the world, and leave her mother to struggle and almost faint under the load—is a deplorable lack of filial piety. It is delightful to hear a daughter say, "Anywhere, or in any circumstances, abroad or at home, in single or in wedded life—my beloved and honored parents, I am ready and eager to serve you."
There is another and melancholy occasion which not infrequently occurs, for a young woman's leaving home, and that is when home itself is broken up by the death of both parents. How frequently does this happen! Ah, how often are families invaded by the 'last enemy', and scattered here and there by his desolating ravages! The grave covers both father and mother. The dear domestic hearth is forsaken. The family gatherings at prayer, at meals, at festive seasons, are over—and the house of your childhood and youth is deserted. Poor orphans, I pity you; especially, you orphan girls, my heart bleeds for you. Your brothers can provide for themselves better than you can. But even you have no need to despond. Painful I know it is, to have no parent, no home, no settled place of abode. Often in your forlorn situation, you must and do say, "Alas for me! I am alone in the world. David's expression suits my case. I am like a pelican in the wilderness; or like a sparrow alone upon the house-top. Other young people, though away from home, have a home to think and talk about—and parents to write to, and occasionally to visit. I have none. I have not a house to dwell in except that which I may soon be required to leave, nor have I any friends, except those whom my own good conduct may secure. My heart is often more desolate than my condition; and though I am in the midst of society, I feel as if I were alone in this great and busy world."
But I remind you there is the orphan's unfailing friend still left. God lives, and he is the father of the fatherless. Be it yours, and it may be yours, to say, "When my father and my mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up." Should you be so wise and happy as to become truly pious, you will never be without a friend, and in the absence of an earthly father, will have an omnipotent one in heaven. You may then set out in life, and go through it, adopting as your motto, the reply of Abraham to Isaac, who, when the latter said, "Behold the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?" replied, "God will provide." Be that your motto, "God will provide." Fear God, and you may without scruple and with confidence adopt this assurance.
Permit me now to suggest some topics which apply alike to all these different cases, and which it is important you should dwell upon, either in prospect of leaving home—or after you have left it. Consider it is in the order of Providence you should be thus situated. Your lot is fixed in heaven. It is God's will—and not chance. Is there nothing consolatory in this? Consider his wisdom, power, and goodness. He does all things well. He knows what is best for you. He may, in ways which you cannot imagine, be consulting your future and permanent good. You cannot see the end. When this is revealed, you may be compelled to exclaim, "He leads the blind by a way that they know not, and leads them in paths that they have not known. He makes darkness light before them, and crooked things straight." Submit, therefore, without envying others, and without murmuring. Would you contravene his purpose? Say, "It is the Lord, let him do what seems good in his sight. I am where he would have me be."
But remember, there are not only privations to be endured away from home, but moral dangers also to be encountered. If these are not so pressing in your case as in that of your brothers, there are some perils even in yours. Happily for you, the guards of female decorum, propriety, and reputation—are stronger and stricter than those of the other sex. But they have proved too weak for absolute security in thousands of instances. Multitudes who have stood well at home—have unhappily fallen, when removed from it. Eve was tempted when alone, and away from the protection of her husband. Alas, how many have gone away to sin, and have returned to hide their shame. A mother's watchful eye is no longer upon you; a father's arm is no longer stretched over you—and the shelter of home no longer protects you. Others know this as well as you, and may take advantage of it.
And even if there were no moral dangers—is there no danger of imprudence, folly, levity? No danger of bad connections, improper acquaintance, ill-contracted marriages? None of undue love of pleasure and vanity? Are not the prevailing faults and defects of some women to be found in vanity, love of dress, disposition to court attention and admiration, fickleness, inconsiderateness, love of novelty, lack of judgment, and curiosity? And are not all these likely to increase rather than diminish, when they are away from the checks which home supplies? Are not these weeds likely to grow faster, and to attain greater strength, when there is no mother's eye to see them, no mother's hand to pluck them up?
All this danger is greatly heightened in the case of those who have personal or mental accomplishments. A beautiful young woman, withdrawn from the fostering care and ceaseless vigilance of a judicious mother, and exposed abroad to the crude and licentious gaze of the world, is ever an object of alarm to her family—and it were well if she were so to herself. It is perhaps a rare case for such a female to be ignorant of her charms; it is rarer still for her to be more afraid than vain of them, and to be more anxious that they should not lead her into danger, than that they should secure for her admiration.
The great source of consolation and protection to a young woman from home is true religion. It is very easy for any one, to conceive of the privations and discomfort of many a young person, on leaving the comforts of a happy home to sustain the character of a governess, a shop-woman or a servant. The cold, proud, and perhaps in some cases cruel, treatment of employers—as contrasted with the affectionate conduct of parents; the annoying and unfeeling peculiarities of companions in the house—as contrasted with the sympathizing and loving behavior of their brothers and sisters; the disregard of their comfort, in all that concerns their food, lodging, and general personal convenience—as contrasted with all the accommodations and enjoyments of their father's house; and the general inattention and neglect of the strangers among whom they dwell—as contrasted with the recognition and kind notice of a wide circle of friends in their own native place. This, all this, is bitter indeed.
Some hard and unfeeling natures, or mirthful and frivolous ones, may be insensible to these things; but oh, that poor girl of softer mold, whose heart was made for home scenes, and whose bliss was derived from home enjoyments; under all this, her heart is sometimes ready to burst! What thoughts disturb her peace, like visions of bliss lighting on her gloomy and sorrowful path, and then instantly vanishing, only to leave the path still more gloomy, and the darkness still more oppressive! What letters, wet with her tears, she writes to her own sweet home, and to her sympathizing parents!
What is to comfort her now? Only the balmy influence of religion—the consciousness that she is in the way of duty—and the testimony of her conscience that she is discharging her obligations with scrupulous fidelity. This can and this will do it. She whose heart is renewed by Divine grace; who has genuine faith in our Lord Jesus Christ; who walks with God as her divine, unchangeable, omnipotent Friend, and communes with him as her Heavenly Father; whose affections are set on things above; and who considers life as a probation for eternity—she will find in such a state of mind—a source of consolation—a means of endurance—an element of happiness—which will counterbalance all discomfort, disquietude, and distress.
With true dignity she will bow to the will of God, and consider her situation as his appointment. She will find satisfaction in submission. Her religion will impart much patience, and something of cheerfulness—it will control her disposition, and throw an air of loveliness over her character, which will give her an interest in the heart of her employer. She will always find companions in her Bible and other good books—in her closet of devotion and in communion with God, a sweet retreat from the coldness and unkindness of her fellow-creatures; and in meditation upon the everlasting rest above, a blessed substitute for the comforts of the home she has left on earth. Faith in God, in Christ, in Providence, in heaven—can comfort, has comforted, and will comfort in the dreariest situations of life, and in the bitterest agonies of death.
I am anxious all should set out in life with this lofty idea of true piety—that it can sweeten the bitterest cup of human woe—can soften the hardest lot—and can be a substitute for all other pleasures. It must be so; for it made Adam happy in paradise, and makes saints and angels happy in heaven. It has lighted, as with a lamp kindled in heaven, the confessor's dungeon, has sustained the Christian fugitive in his exile, and has enabled the martyrs to endure even the agonies of the stake.
Adopt religion, then, young women, as your companion, for it will not only comfort you, but also protect you. Yes, it will be a shield for your defense, as well as a cup of consolation amid your sorrows. Expect temptations, for you will certainly have them in one way or other. You cannot imagine in what shape or from what quarter they will come. It may be in a form so fascinating, so plausible, so unsuspected, so insidious, as to contain all the "deceivableness of unrighteousness." Do not imagine that Satan respects female virtue too much to assail it. Did he thus respect the holiness of Eve in the garden of Eden? Does he reverence any character or any virtue; did he not tempt our Lord? The more spotless the character, and the more eminent the excellence—the more intense is his hatred—the more malignant his envy—and the more eager his desire to despoil it!
Has he not tempted to their ruin, multitudes as pure as you are? Against such a foe, whom all but infinite cunning makes skillful, and boundless success makes bold—consider you are safe only under the protection of Omnipotence—and that protection can be obtained only by faith and prayer. Of those millions of instances of female immorality, which the history of your sex has presented, not one would have occurred, if they had trusted their virtue to the keeping of true godliness. It is religion that will repel the fiercest assault with the holy and indignant remonstrance, "How shall I do this great wickedness, and sin against God."
It is not only however from such dangers as these, dangers affecting moral character in its most important features, that religion will protect you; but from the lesser ones also, which, if they do not lead to open vice, are still injurious. True religion will moderate your love of pleasure by furnishing pleasures of its own. It will check your vanity and folly, by producing a devout seriousness and sobriety of mind—without at all destroying your natural and innocent vivacity. It will remove your thoughtlessness, and make you contemplative and reflective, without stiffening you into formality, or investing you with gloom. It will induce habits of precaution, and frugality, and thus guard you from present imprudence and recklessness, and future improvidence and extravagance. Do not then venture out into the world unprotected by this spirit as your guardian angel.
