Married Life; Its Shadows and Sunshine

Mr. Smith was growing warm, and I felt the blood rushing to my face. A rather tart reply was on my lips, but I bit them hard and succeeded in keeping them closed.

A deep silence followed. In a little while Mr. Smith took up a newspaper and commenced reading, and I found some relief for a heavy pressure that was upon my bosom, in the employment of hem-stitching a fine pocket- handkerchief.

And this was the return I had met for a kind attempt to correct a mistake of my husband’s, that made him liable to ridicule on the charge of vulgarity! And to deny, too, that he said “Miss,” when I had been worried about it for more than a year! It was too bad!

After this Mr. Smith was very particular in saying, when he spoke of a married woman to me, Misses. The emphasis on the second syllable was much too strongly marked to be pleasant on my ears. I was terribly afraid he would say “Mistress,” thus going off into the opposite extreme of vulgarity.

This first attempt to put my husband straight had certainly not been a very pleasant one. He had shown, unexpectedly to me, a humour that could by no means be called amiable; and by which I was both grieved, and astonished. I made up my mind that I would be very careful in future how I tried my hand at reforming him. But his oft-repeated “he shew it to me,” and “obleeged,” soon fretted me so sorely, that I was forced to come down upon him again, which I did at a time when I felt more than usually annoyed. I cannot remember now precisely what I said to him, but I know that I put him into an ill-humour, and that it was cloudy weather in the house for a week, although the sun shone brightly enough out of doors. “He shew it to me,” and “obleeged” were, however, among the things that had been, after that. So much was gained; although there were times when I half suspected that I had lost more than I had gained. But I persevered, and, every now and then, when I got “worked up” about something, administered the rod of correction.

Gradually I could see that my husband was changing, and, as I felt, for the worse. Scarcely a year had passed before he would get into a pet if I said the least word to him. He couldn’t bear any thing from me. This seemed very unreasonable, and caused me not only to sigh, but to shed many a tear over his perverseness. From the thoughtful, ever considerate, self-sacrificing lover, he had come to be disregardful of my wishes, careless of my comfort, and indifferent to my society. Still I felt by no means inclined to give him up; was by no means disposed to let him have his own way. It was clear to my mind that I had rights as well as he had; and I possessed resolution enough to be ready to maintain them. His self-will and indifference to my wishes roused in me a bitter and contentious spirit; and, in an evil hour, I determined that I would make a struggle for the mastery. An opportunity was not long delayed. The Philharmonic Society had announced one of its splendid concerts. A lady friend, who had frequently attended these concerts, called in to see me, and, by what she said, filled me with a desire to enjoy the fine musical treat that had been announced for that very evening.

When Mr. Smith came home at dinner he said, before I had time to mention the concert—

“Mary, I’ve taken a fancy to go and see Fanny Ellsler to-night, and, as there will be no chance of getting a good seat this afternoon, I took the precaution to secure tickets as I came home to dinner. I would have sent the porter with a note to know whether there was any thing to prevent your going to-night, but he has been out all the morning, and I concluded that, even if there should be some slight impediment in the way, you could easily set it aside.”

Now this I thought too much. To go and buy tickets to see Fanny Ellsler dance, and take it for granted that I would lay every thing aside to go, when I had set my heart on attending the Philharmonic concert!

“You are a strange man, Mr. Smith,” said I. “You ought to know that I don’t care a fig about seeing Fanny Ellsler. I don’t relish such kind of performances. You at least might have waited until you came home to dinner and asked the question. I don’t believe a word about the good seats all being taken this morning. But it’s just like you! To go and see this dancers toss her feet about was a thing you had made up your mind to do, and I was to go along whether I liked it or not.”

“You talk in rather a strange way, Mrs. Smith,” said my husband, evidently offended.

“I don’t see that I do,” replied I, warming. “The fact is, Mr. Smith, you seem to take it for granted that I am nobody. Here I’ve been making all my calculations to go to the Philharmonic to-night, and you come home with tickets for the theatre! But I can tell you plainly that I am not going to see Fanny Ellsler, and that I am going to the Philharmonic.”

This was taking a stand that I had never taken before. In most of my efforts to make my husband go my way, he had succeeded in making me go his way. This always chafed me dreadfully. I fretted and scolded, and “all that sort of thing,” but it was no use, I could not manage him. The direct issue of “I won’t” and “I will” had not yet been made, and I was some time in coming to the resolution to have a struggle, fiercer than ever, for the ascendency. I fondly believed that for peace’ sake he would not stand firm if he saw me resolute. Under this view of the case, I made the open averment that I would not go to the theatre. I expected that a scene would follow, but I was mistaken. Mr. Smith did, indeed, open his eyes a little wider, but he said nothing.

Just then the bell announced that dinner was on the table. Mr. Smith arose and led the way to the dinner-room with a firm step. Before we were married he wouldn’t have dreamed of thus preceding me! I was fretted at this little act. It indicated too plainly what was in the man.

Dinner passed in silence. I forced myself to eat, that I might appear unconcerned. On rising from the table, Mr. Smith left the house without saying a word.

You may suppose I didn’t feel very comfortable during the afternoon. I had taken my stand, and my intention was to maintain it to the last. That Mr. Smith would yield I had no doubt at first. But, as evening approached, and the trial-time drew near, I had some misgivings.

Mr. Smith came home early.

“Mary,” said he, in his usual pleasant way, “I have ordered a carriage to be here at half-past seven. We mustn’t leave home later, as the curtain rises at eight.”

“What curtain rises? Where do you think of going?”

“To see Fanny Ellsler, of course. I mentioned to you at dinner-time that I had tickets.”

This was said very calmly.

“And I told you at dinner-time that I was going to the Philharmonic, and not to see this dancer.” I tried to appear as composed as he was, but failed in the attempt altogether.

“You were aware that I had tickets for the theatre before you said that,” was the cold answer he made.