In courteous and polished circles, there are no stiff railroad-tracks,
cutting straight through everything, and grating harsh thunders all
along their course, but smooth, meandering streams, tranquilly bending
hither and thither to every undulation of the flowery banks. What makes
the charm of polite society would make no less the charm of domestic
life; but it can come only by watchfulness and self-discipline in each
individual.
Some people have much more to struggle with in this way than others.
Nature has made them precise and exact. They are punctilious in their
hours, rigid in their habits, pained by any deviation from regular rule.
Now Nature is always perversely ordering that men and women of just
this disposition should become desperately enamored of their exact
opposites. The man of rules and formulas and hours has his heart carried
off by a gay, careless little chit, who never knows the day of the
month, tears up the newspaper, loses the door-key, and makes curl-papers
out of the last bill; or, _per contra_, our exact and precise little
woman, whose belongings are like the waxen cells of a bee, gives her
heart to some careless fellow, who enters her sanctum in muddy boots,
upsets all her little nice household divinities whenever he is going on
a hunting or fishing bout, and can see no manner of sense in the
discomposure she feels in the case.
What can such couples do, if they do not adopt the compromise of reason
and sense,--if each arms his or her own peculiarities with the back
force of persistent self-will, and runs them over the territories of the
other?
A sensible man and woman, finding themselves thus placed, can govern
themselves by a just philosophy, and, instead of carrying on a
life-battle, can modify their own tastes and requirements, turn their
eyes from traits which do not suit them to those which do, resolving, at
all events, however reasonable be the taste or propensity which they
sacrifice, to give up all rather than have domestic strife.
There is one form which persistency takes that is peculiarly trying: I
mean that persistency of opinion which deems it necessary to stop and
raise an argument in self-defence on the slightest personal criticism.
John tells his wife that she is half an hour late with her breakfast
this morning, and she indignantly denies it.
“But look at my watch!”
“Your watch isn’t right.”
“I set it by railroad time.”
“Well, that was a week ago; that watch of yours always gains.”
“No, my dear, you’re mistaken.”
“Indeed I’m not. Did I not hear you telling Mr. B---- about it?”
“My dear, that was a year ago,--before I had it cleaned.”
“How can you say so, John? It was only a month ago.”
“My dear, you are mistaken.”
And so the contest goes on, each striving for the last word.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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