Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1890-04-11
DOMESTIC FELICITY.

Mr.. Smith missed the train by just
a-half minute, and he was in a furious
temper over the matter. He lived IN
a pretty, country-like suburban vii
lage, about forty-five minutes ride
from the large city in which he had
his place of business, and he was ac-
customed to take this particular train
every morning. Not once i'll three
months did such thing happen as
his being late tor the train; but on
this occasion he felt like declaring
that half the time he had TO rush
himself clear out of breath TO reach
ii or else miss it. He was in that eX-
asperated state of mind where he
wanted to blame somebody, abuse
somebody; mind which III condl-
ton of development a little nearer
the savage, would impel to acts of
cruelty toward anything or person,
on whom anything could be wreaked.
The person on whom, in that in
stance, he could most quickly and
with the least impunity cast blame
was his wife. 1t was her fault. Why
could she not manage household af-
fairs so that he could get his break
fast earlier He worked like a slave
at his business ten hours day he
gave her full control of the house and
furnished money to run it; she had a
servant, and it was utter shiftlessness
in her that breakfast could not be
ready in proper time. Thus, with
flashing eyes, soliloquized Mr.. Smith,
as, with anger-fushed face he watched
the train disappearing in the dis
tance.
1t was full hour and half till the
next train, it was a mile back TO Mr.
Smiths house. He paced back and
forth nervously for few minutes on
the station platform, debating in his
mind whether he should wait for the
next train or 90 back home. AS he
unused, his anger grew. He would 80
home and give his wife such a piece
of his mind as she would remember
for months. She should be made TO
feel that it was no light matter to
have breakfast five minutes late. He
turned his face homeward and
stamped heavily along, with the air
of a man determined TO do desper-
ate deed. His face flushed with anger
and his eye cleaned tiercely.
But as he FASTENED along, somehow
or other his attention was diverted
bv the song of bird among the trees
that lined his path. How brightly
the sun was shining; how blue the
sky was, how balmy and fragrant the
air; how peaceful everything APP
peared as he looked off through the
green spaces on either side of the vii
lage street The trees were putting
forth their tenderest green ; so was
the grass. He noticed the fragrance
of the crab apple and wild plum bios
SONS; he distinguished the peculiar
strain of bird he used to hear in
boyhood. 1t was the wood-thrush.
He had listened to that bird when,
years ago, he had walked in the mead
ows and lanes with the pretty, shy
Young girl whom his heart was then
bent on winning for his wife. She
was his wife now. She was the mother
Of three rosy, active children: they
were his and hers. She was not as
pretty now as she was then, she was
thin and careworn. The plump rosi-
ness and merry smile were, for the
most part, gone. But what a good,
true wife she had been to him ! How
her economy and faithfulness had
helped him in getting the start he
now had in the world How little she
saw of the outside word, or of divert
ing pleasures How self-denying and
accomplishing she had been, and
what a devoted mother TO her chill
dren And on that bright, sunshiny
morning he had been thinking hard
thoughts of her, and meditating what
sharp, cutting words he could say to
her-and all for trivial little loss oil
an hour from business Mr.. Smith 5
pace slackened; his countenance re-
laXed: his heart melted. On such a
morning he could not, would not, by
harsh words mar the harmony and
beauty Of the sunshine and birds and
the green things growing. No, if he
could not speak kindly he would hold
his peace.
As Mr.. Smith neared his home he
felt a certain shrinking from meeting
his wife directly. He almost feared
he might betray Cn his countenance
some of the harsh thoughts he had
been thinking. SO he went around
the Slue vi Tue MUSE dEu eulSieu tl4C
kitchen door Bridget was standing
with perplexed and e1asperated ex-
preston on her face, looking into the
stove, i'll which smouldered a dark,
dying fire.
What is the matter, Bridget
Faith, sur, it's the stove that
breaks me heart entirely. The CRATE
is broken and the stovepipe smokes,
and whin | strive to make quick fire
here's the way it serves me-"
We'll, Bridget, believe it is all my
fault. Your mistress has asked me
many times to bring new CRATE from