Sunbury American. [volume] (Sunbury, Pa.) 1848-1879, 1853-01-01


often really TO absorb our energies. l was
the first to feel the change. 1t seemed to
me as if something was overshadowing us.
Sometimes | would get sentimental, and
think he did not love me as he once did.
AS look back now, | am convinced that
here was my first 1rrong step. Indulgence
in these moods weakened my resolution.-
1t was an injustice TO him, Of which ]
ought not TO have been guilty. IT left me,
too, with wounded feeling, as if l had
been wronged, which began 10 effect my
spirits
Once, had for some time carried about
this little sore spot in my heart. l kept
the matter all TO myself, for was in part
ashamed and in part too proud 10 speak of
it. Here was another wrong step. There
is no security OF happiness in married life
but in the most perfect confidence.
There came a season OF damp, chilly
weather. One morning I got up feeling
very irritable. l had taken cold my head
ached and my baby had been worrisome
during the night. In my kitchen l had a
cross ignoran, servant girl and on this
! particular morning she had done her very
worst for breakfast. The berlsteak was
burned 10 a cinder the eggs were like
bullets; the bread was half baked and
the coffee, which was our main stay, was
execrable. My husband was very patient
with all this, until it came TO the coffee,
and this upset him. He put his cup down
and said in half veXed tone, 81 do wish
we could ever have any good coffee. An
nette, why cannot you have it made as
my mother does ~
This was drop too much for me, and |
boiled over. ''You never think anything
on our table fit TO be eaten," said |, and
almost started at the sound OF my own
voice-''you had better live at home, if
you are not satisfied, or else provide me
with decent servants. | cannot do every
thing take care Of my baby all night,
and get the breakfast too."
81 did moi know before that l was so
very unreasonable" said he in a tone OF
injured feeling. He sat few minutes,
then rose, left his untasted breakfast, put
on his hat and went off.
When heard the door shut behind him
all my temper left me. wen: into my
room, locked myself in, sat down and cried
like a child. This was the first cross
,cord | had ever spoken to my husband
1t seemed TO me as if some sudden calami-
ty had befallen us. | worked myself up
to such pitch Of feeling, that I walked
the room wringing my hands.
40, it is all over with u.s." thought / !;
"we shall never be happy together again
in this world" This thought made me
unspeakably miserable. felt as il a black
pail had fallen around me, and in the fu-
ture there was only blank-darkness. In
my misery sought to comfort myself by
blaming him. ale need not have spoken
so 10 me, at any rate" said /, out loud ;
he might have seen how felt it g; it was
too much tor any one to bear. 1t really
was not one bit kind in him. 1t is plain
r enough that he does not care for my COM
telling me what nice things his mother
cooks, when be knows l am trying 10 dc
my very best to learn to please him i
is really too bad"
Don't look so dreadfully sober, Kate
My baby cried just here, and had to rur
before was through with my catalogue o.
grievances, yet had gone far enough tc
get well on the wrong track again. / be-
gan 10 calm myself with the reflection
that if there had been a great wrong done
| was not the only one TO blame for it.
was dreadGully sorry that | had spoken
cross TO him, but tho't he ought to be sor-
ry too. Before my baby had finished cry
ing, came TO the conclusion that would
not exhibit signs Of penitence until / saw
some in him.
So bathed my face, that no traces o
tears might remain, dressed myself with
unusual care, and went down to old Bird
get, to give some very particular directions
about the dinner. did this with mar
t tyr-like spirit. meant to try my best tc
| make him sorry for his injustice. reso
we'd to reproach him with first rate din
| ner, good as his mother could cook. TC
? whet The edge of my delicate reproof,
? made, with my own hands, most excel
e lent cup OF coffee.
,, One O'Clock came, at last, though
r tho't it never would; the door opened
e and | heard his quick step in the hall. o
= all things in this world, he was whistling
q He came TO the table with bright face
Il from which every trace of the morning.
n cloud had disappeared, and as he sat dow
q and looked around with pleasant expires
). sion;
o "Why, Annette" said he, "what a mic
# dinner"
t. 81 am glad you are pleased" said /, in
v subdued tone.
j, "Capital," said he, "the best roast W
q have had this season."
a He was so much taken up with my del
# cate reproofS as not TO notice that | was NJ
% out of spirits. was half pleased and ha
Re provoked; but kept rather still, makir
,e little conversation excepting in reply
nt him.
ye After dessert, handed him his cup
D. coffee. He was quite astonlshed. "Wh
ed Annette" said he, 81 do believe you we
o. to work to-day to see what you could do
He had hit the truth, though witho
II the least suspicion Of the cause. My III
d. impulse was, to be honest and out with
nd by replying-Is it as good as your moth
he makess This would have given the k
to to the whole story,-he would have ferr,
Ist, ed it all out, and we should have settled
nd there; but felt ashamed 10. slipped T