The Charleston daily news. [volume] (Charleston, S.C.) 1865-1873, 1868-09-09
THE HONEYMOON.
The Sweetheart and tho Wife.


Listen to the savage words of the Saturday
Review, as it discusses "Man and his Disen-
chanter." 1t says:
he certainly has put his foot in ii, and yet it
seems incredible that month can have done
it ALL There is strange irony in the contrast
between the HONEYMOON OF ms fancy and ,;t11e me
of the expected alienation OF caresses and ro-
nance. The angel has, from the very outset,
lurned into a spoilt child. After so many
months of compulsory good behavior, Of un-
checkered sunshine, it is an immense luxury
to her to find herself free to live her natural
brings to the paradise of expected bliss the
Prowns and the sulks of the nursery. She takes
out her freedom in thousand clprlces, and
tempers. and whims. But, after all, hope
isn't killed in an hour, and 1t Is possible
to be patient. The real difficulty is to be en-
tertaining. The one thirst OF the young bride
ia for amusement, and she has no notion OF
amusing herself. II she yawns, if she feels
sleepy and bored, she looks on the breakdown
of the vague anticipations with which she mar
rled as an injustice and wrong. 1t Is amuse-
inc to ace the spouse OF this ideal creature
wend his way to the lending library after
week of idealism, and the relief with which. ne
carries home o novel. But the novels are last
seasons novels, and life is soon as dreary as
before. How often in those nights OF expecta-
ton has he framed to himself imaginary talks
over the fire, talk brighter and wittier than
that of the friends he forsakes But eonver-
sei,on Ia d;fScultin the case of refined crea-
tr1re who is as ignorant as Hottentot. He
begins with the new Miltonic poem, and tinds
shs has never looked into paradise Lost. he
plunges into the Reform bill, but she knows
nothing of politics, and has never read ieadl
ing article in her life. he tries music, ana
she kindles little at the thought Of hearing
Nilsson again next season, at least u there ls
q royal princess in the house. Then she
tries her hand in turn, and floods him with
the dead chat Of tcwn, and oceans OF
family iattle. He finds himself shut up
for weeks with creature who takes interest
in nothing but Uncle Crosspatch's temper
and the scandal about Lady \ Little by
ness. the dense dullness, OF woman's life breaks
on The disenchanted devotee. His deiLy is
without Occupation, without thought, without
resource. He has q faint faith left IN her finer
sensibility, in her poetic nature; he fetches his
Tenayson from the carpet-bag, and wastes In
Memoriam on critic who pronounces IL
'pretty." he still takes her love OF caresses
as sign of an affection passing the love OF
men. and he unfolds to her his hope that
wear or two more may give him the chance OF
a retreat into the country and quiet lie OF
coningal happiness. The confession startles
the biigbted being into q real interest at last.
She has not escaped from the dullness OF the
nursery to plunge into the dullness OF nome.
She amuses herself with her spouses lndlner-
ence to all that makes life worth the living.
But then men are such odd creatures, SO
Ouixotlc, 80 impractical, 30 romantically blind
to Che actual necessities Of lIfel 1t is this idle
ness, this boredom Of the honeymoon, that be-
gets dreams 30 absurd, 30 fanciful. The dear,
odd creature must be got back TO town, TO his
business, to his books, and the honeymoon
muet end. 1t is time, in fact, that it did end,
for boredom has done its work, and the dlsen-
chantment Of man is complete.
One sees dimly, as the honeymoon ends, what
an immense advantage this poetic being has
gained over her prosaic spouse IN the com
pleteness OF her previous study OF the POSITION.
In the presence Of his confused dreams her
practical wel-arranged plan OF life gives her
lead that she means to keep. She ls reason
able, Of course, ready to listen TO oplections II
those objections are based on plan not abso-
lutely romantic and absurd. But tho hard,
coarse, masculine creature refuses to reason,
and bures himself in the Times. Reasoning,
Calculating, plunning-this was the very life
from which he had fled to fling himself into
the arms OF his ideal. He is mystlhed, puz-
zled, indignant. His dim conceptions OF I'M
aginative woman float sadly away, Dut they
leave him no formula to which he can reduce
this hard cynical being who has taken her place
at his freside. Woman, on the other hand, ls
far from being puzzled or mystiied. 1t is part
OF her faith that she thoroughly understands
her husband. There is traditional theory
Of spouses that one feminine generation
hands down to another, and into this theory he
is simply fitted. While he was hinglng away
his last cigar, and contessing his Worldhness
and unworthiness, she was taking from mamma
series of practical instructions in the great
art of managing husband. The art is sume-
what like the Egyptian art OF medicine; 1t ls
purely traditional, and it assumes certain ap-
solute identity in the patients, which the pa
tients obstina.ely deny. But woman chngs to
it with perfect faith, and meets with 1t every
problem ofdomestic life. She knows the exact
temper IN which her spouse mad peter De IN
duced to go to the club; she knows the peculiar
mood in which he had better be let alone Ihe
same frivolous creature who lay sulklng on
sofa because the honeymoon was dull, wastes
the patience and skill OF diplomatist IL whee-
ding her husband out of his season on the
m )ors Her life is full Of difficult questions Wnlch
nothing but tact and time can solve.questions
like the great question of husbands friends, or
the greater question Of husbands dinners. Ihe
exact proportion in which his old acqualntanc-
es NAV be ENCOURAGED to relieve HIM OF the
sense OF boredom at Nome, without detachln1g
him absolutely from it; the precise bounds
within which his taste for good dinner Wou!d
be satisfied without detriment to that little Dill
at the milliner's-these are the problems which
the poetic nature is turning over as she Dlds
farewell to the honeymoon. The poor IRON pot
has no particular fear now OF the possible con-
sequences of collision with the tine porcelain.
He finds himself floating which ever way ne Is
guided: wheedled, managed, the husbands
women tell him-of an admirable wife, he
does his weary round of work, pumping up the
means for carrying out her admirable projects
OF social existence. But the dreams, the To-
nance, the poetry, the sentiment t--"where," as as
the song runs, ''where is last winters sno"Y'
He thinks sometimes OF other things that turn
ed to dust with the ashes OF that last cigar; Is
there anything more poetic than woman! Is