Married Life | Page 7

you
at the Capes, let us go there by all means."
"My sister Jane is going to the Capes," I remarked, with some little
hesitation; "and so is Mrs. L--and Mrs. D--, and a good many more of
our friends. I did think that I would enjoy myself there this season very
much. But I have no doubt I shall find pleasant society at the Springs."
"We will go to the Capes," said my husband promptly and cheerfully.
"No," said I, emulous now for the first time in a new cause. "I am sure
the time will pass agreeably enough at the Springs. And as you
evidently prefer going there, we will let the Capes pass for this year."
"To the Capes, Mary, and nowhere else," replied my husband, in the
very best of humours. "I am sure you will enjoy yourself far better there.
I did not know your sister was going."
And to the Capes we went, and I did enjoy myself excellently well. As
for my husband, I never saw him in a better state of mind. To me he
was more like a lover than a husband. No, I will not say that either, for
I can't admit that a husband may not be as kind and affectionate as a
lover; for he can and will be if managed rightly, and a great deal more
so. Whenever I expressed a wish, it appeared to give him pleasure to
gratify it. Seeing this, instead of suffering myself to be the mere
recipient of kind attentions, I began to vie with him in the sacrifice of
selfish wishes and feelings.
It is wonderful how all was changed after this. There were no more
struggles on my part to manage my husband, and yet I generally had
things my own way. Before I could not turn him to the right nor the left,
though I strove to do so with my utmost strength. Now I held him only
with a silken fetter, and guided him, without really intending to do so,
in almost any direction.
Several years have passed since that ever-to-be-remembered, happy
visit to Cape May. Not once since have I attempted any management of
my husband, and yet it is a rare thing that my wish is not, as it used to
be before we were married, his law. It is wonderful, too, how he has
improved. I am sure he is not the same man that he was five years ago.

But, perhaps, I see with different eyes. At any rate, I am not the same
woman; or, if the same, very unlike what I then was.
So much for my efforts to manage a husband. Of the three ways so
faithfully tried, my fair readers will be at no loss to determine which is
best. I make these honest confessions for the good of my sex. My
husband, Mr. John Smith, will be no little surprised if this history
should meet his eye. But I do not believe it will interrupt the present
harmonious relations existing between us, but rather tend to confirm
and strengthen them.

RULING A WIFE.

AS a lover, Henry Lane was the kindest, most devoted, self-sacrificing
person imaginable. He appeared really to have no will of his own, so
entire was his deference to his beautiful Amanda; yet, for all this, he
had no very high opinion of her as an intelligent being. She was lovely,
she was gentle, she was good; and these qualities, combined with
personal grace and beauty, drew him in admiration to her side, and
filled him with the desire to possess her as his own.
As a husband, Henry Lane was a different being. His relation had
changed, and his exterior changed correspondingly. Amanda was his
wife; and as such she must be, in a certain sense, under him. It was his
judgment that must govern in all matters; for her judgment, in the
affairs of life, was held in light estimation. Moreover, as a man, it was
his province to control and direct and her duty to look to him for
guidance.
Yet, for all this, if the truth must be told, the conclusions of Amanda's
mind were, in ordinary affairs, even more correct than her husband's
judgment; for he was governed a great deal by impulses and first
impressions, instead of by the reason of which he was so proud, while
she came naturally into the woman's quick perceptions of right and
propriety. This being the case, it may readily be seen that there was a
broad ground-work for unhappiness in the married state. Amanda could
not sink into a mere cipher; she could not give up her will entirely to
the guidance of another, and cease to act from her own volitions.