FEB.15.-Our honeymoon ends to-day.There hasn't been quite as much honey in it as I expected.I supposed that Ernest would be at home every evening, at least, and that he would read aloud, and have me play and sing, and that we should have delightful times together.But now he has got me he seems satisfied, and goes about his business as if he had been married a hundred years.In the morning he goes off to see his list of patients; he is going in and out all day; after dinner we sit down to have a nice talk together; the door-bell invariably rings, and he is called away.Then in the evening he goes and sits in his office and studies; I don't mean every minute, but he certainly spends hours there.To-day he brought me such a precious letter from dear mother! I could not help crying when I read it, it was so kind and so loving.Ernest looked amazed; he threw down his paper, came and took me in his arms and asked, "What is the matter, darling?" Then it all came out.I said I was lonely, and hadn't been used to spending my evenings all by myself.
"You must get some of your friends to come and see you, poor child,"he said.
"I don't want friends," I sobbed out."I want you.""Yes, darling; why didn't you tell me so sooner? Of course I will stay with you if you wish it.""If that is your only reason, I am sure I don't want you," I pouted.
He looked puzzled.
"I really don't know what to do," he said, with a most comical look of perplexity.But he went to his office, and brought up a pile of fusty old books.
"Now, dear," he said, "we understand each other I think.I can read here just as well as down stairs.Get your book and we shall be as cosy as possible."My heart felt sore and dissatisfied.Am I unreasonable and childish?
What is married life? An occasional meeting, a kiss here and a caress there? or is it the sacred union of the twain who 'walk together side by side, knowing each other's joys and sorrows, and going Heavenward hand in hand?
FEB.17.-Mrs.Embury has been here to-day.I longed to compare notes with her, and find out whether it really is my fault that I am not quite happy.But I could not bear to open my heart to her on so sacred a subject.We had some general conversation, however, which did me good for the time, at least.
She said she thought one of the first lessons a wife should learn is self-forgetfulness.I wondered if she had seen anything in me to call forth this remark.We meet pretty often; partly because our husbands are such good friends, partly because she is as fond of music as Iam, and we like to sing and play together, and I never see her that she does not do or say something elevating; something that strengthens my own best purposes and desires.But she knows nothing of my conflict and dismay, and never will.Her gentle nature responds at once to holy influences.I feel truly grateful to her for loving me, for she really does love me, and yet she must see my faults.
I should like to know if there is any reason on earth why a woman should learn self-forgetfulness that does not apply to a man?
FEB.18.-Uncle says he has no doubt he owes his 1ife to Ernest, who, in the face of opposition to other physicians, insisted on his giving up his business and going off to Europe at just the right moment.For his partner, whose symptoms were very like his own, has been stricken down with paralysis, and will not recover.
It Is very pleasant to hear Ernest praised, and it is a pleasure Ihave very often, for his friends come to see me, and speak of him with rapture.A lady told me that through the long illness of a sweet young daughter of hers, he prayed with her every day, ministering so skillfully to her soul, that all fear of death was taken away, and she just longed to go, and did go at last, with perfect delight.Ithink he spoke of her to me once; but he did not tell me that her preparations for death was his work.I could not conceive of him as doing that.
FEB.24.-Ernest has been gone a week.His mother is worse and he had to go.I wanted to go too, but he said it was not worth while, as he should have to return directly.Dr.Embury takes charge of his patients during his absence, and Mrs.E.and Aunty and the children come to see me very often.I like Mrs.Embury more and more.She is not so audacious as I am, but I believe she agrees with me more than she will own.
FEB.25.-Ernest writes that his mother is dangerously ill, and seems in great distress.I am mean enough to want all his love myself, while I should hate him if he gave none to her.Poor Ernest! If she should die he would be sadly afflicted!
FEB.27.-She died the very day he wrote.How I long to fly to him and to comfort him! I can think of nothing else.I pray day and night that God would make me a better wife.
A letter came from mother at the same time with Ernest's.She evidently misses me more than she will own.Just as soon as Ernest returns home I will ask him to let her come and live with us.I am sure he will; he loves her already, and now that his mother has gone he will find her a real comfort.I am sure she will only make our home the happier.
FEB.28-Such a dreadful thing is going to happen! I have cried and called myself names by turns all day.Ernest writes that it has been decided to give up the old homestead, and scatter the family about among the married sons and daughters.Our share is to be his father and his sister Martha, and he desires me to have two rooms got ready for them at once.
So all the glory and the beauty is snatched out of my married life at one swoop! And it is done by the hand I love best, and that I would not have believed could be so unkind.
I am rent in pieces by conflicting emotions and passions.One moment I am all tenderness and sympathy for poor Ernest, and ready to sacrifice everything for his pleasure.The next I am bitterly angry with him for disposing of all my happiness in this arbitrary way.If he had let me make common cause with him and share his interests with him, I know I am not so abominably selfish as to feel as I do now.
