Rev. F. W. Robertson to a Lady-A Christian View of the lot of Woman, low-creatures. I sometimes compare you with those who have attained the summit of earthly renown, and ask myself which I had rather be at this period of my life? I need not tell you the answer, which would be attended with still more self-reproach than it is, did I not feel that the mediocrity of my own talents exempts me in some degree from much of that responsibility which is attached to such as yours. But this is too fearful a subject to dwell upon, for we have all so much to be forgiven that it is idle to compare the quantities. May God in His mercy receive us both, through our only Mediator and Advocate. XXIII.-A CHRISTIAN VIEW OF THE LOT OF WOMAN. MY DEAR Rev. F. W. Robertson to a Lady. : A woman's position is one of subjection, mythically described as a curse in the Book of Genesis. Well, but I ween that all curses are blessings in disguise. Labor among thorns and thistles-man's best health. Woman's subjection? What say you to His? "Obedient,” a 66 servant"; wherefore God also hath highly exalted Him. Methinks a thoughtful, high-minded woman would scarcely feel degraded by a lot which assimilates her to the divinest Man. "He came not to be ministered unto, but to minister." I have always conceived that you had learned to count that ministry the sublimest life which the world has seen, and its humiliation and subjection precisely the features which were most divine. The Greeks at Corinth wanted that part to be left out, and it was exactly that part which Paul would not leave out-Jesus Christ, but Jesus Christ crucified, which the Evangelicals rob of all its beauty. Rev. F. W. Robertson to a Lady-A Christian View of the lot of Woman. Trust me, a noble woman laying on herself the duties of her sex, while fit for higher things-the world has nothing to show more like the Son of Man than that. Do you remember Wordsworth's beautiful lines to Milton? Thy soul was as a star, and dwelt apart; Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, The lowliest duties on itself did lay. I do not know any thing of Alfieri's "Life." By whom is it written? The misfortunes of genius, its false direction, its misery, I suppose rise partly from the fact of the life of genius being that which is chiefly given to the world. Many a soldier died as bravely and with as much suffering as Sir John Moore at Corunna; but every soldier had not a Wolfe to write his death-song. Many an innocent victim perished-yes, by hundreds of thousands-on the scaffolds of France, and in the dungeons of the robber barons, but they died silently. A few aristocrats whose shriek was loud have filled the world with pity at the tale of their suffering. Many a mediocre boy have I seen spoilt at school-many a commonplace destiny has been marred in life: only these things are not matters of history. Peasants grow savage with domestic troubles, and washerwomen pine under brutal treatment; but the former are locked up for burying their misery in drunkenness-the latter die of a broken heart, with plenty of unwritten poetry lost among the soapsuds. I fancy the inarticulate sorrows are far more pitiable than those of an Alfieri, who has a tongue to utter them. Carlyle in this respect seems to me to hold a tone utterly diverse from that of Rev. F. W. Robertson to a Lady-A Christian View of the lot of Woman. the Gospel. The worship of the hero, that is his religion: condescension to the small and unknown, that was His! A little plan which I have found serviceable in past years, is to put down every night the engagements and duties of the next day, arranging the hours well. The advantages of this are several. You get more done than if a great part of each day is spent in contriving and considering "what next?" A healthful feeling pervades the whole of life. There is a feeling of satisfaction at the end of the day on finding that, generally, the greater part of what is planned has been accomplished. This is the secret of giving dignity to trifles. As units they are insignificant; they rise in importance when they become parts of a plan. Besides this-and I think the most important thing of all-there is gained a consciousness of Will, the opposite of that which is the sense of impotency. The thought of time, to me at least, is a very overpowering and often a very annihilating one for energy: Time rushing on, unbroken, irresistible, hurrying the worlds and the ages into being, and out of it, and making our "noisy years seem moments in the being of the eternal Silence." The sense of powerlessness which this gives is very painful. But I have felt that this is neutralized by such a little plan as that. You feel that you do not control your own course you are borne on, but not resistlessly. Down the rapids you go, certainly, but you are steering and trimming your own raft, and making the flood of Time your vassal, and not your conqueror. I first, I think, began this plan after reading a valuable little book, and a sunny, cheerful one, Abbott's "Way to do Good." It has been omitted for years, but I have begun it again these last few days. "There is nothing in the drudgery of domestic duties to Rev. F. W. Robertson to a Lady-A Christian View of the lot of Woman. soften "-you quote that. No, but a great deal to strengthen with the sense of duty done, self-control and power. Besides, you cannot calculate how much corroding rust is kept off-how much of disconsolate, dull despondency is hindered. Daily use ́is not the jeweller's mercurial polish but it will keep your little silver pencil from tarnishing. I have been interrupted by the visit of a lady of my congregation, who came to take leave; one, it appears, who has been warmly attached to the instruction given there. She told me the delight, the tears of gratitude, which she had witnessed in a poor girl to whom, in passing, I gave a kind look on going out of church on Sunday. What a lesson! How cheaply happiness can be given! What opportunities we miss of doing an angel's work! I remember doing it, full of sad feelings, passing on, and thinking no more about it; and it gave an hour's sunshine to a human life, and lightened the load of life to a human heart-for a time! THE END. |