Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: A FAREWELL VISIT.]
HOMES MADE AND MARRED.
A BOOK FOR
WORKING MEN AND THEIR WIVES.
[BY]
[LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY]
[Illustration]
LONDON:
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56, PATERNOSTER Row; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD;
AND 164, PICCADILLY.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
[Illustration]
CHAP.
I. HOPES AND PROSPECTS
II. OUR OWN FIRESIDE
III. MORE THINGS "PUT OUT" THAN THE BRICK
IV. FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT
V. TURNED INSIDE OUT
VI. IN DISAPPOINTMENT
VII. EVIL COMMUNICATIONS
VIII. CAUGHT AND CAPTURED
IX. WOES AND WARNINGS
X. NEW SCENES AMONG OLD FRIENDS
XI. IMPORTANT POINTS
XII. WITH THE "DOORS SHUT"
XIII. THE LAMP LIGHTED
XIV. STITCHING AND TALKING
XV. SOLEMN FACTS FOR SOCIAL SCIENCE
XVI. THE BOTTOM OF THE INCLINE
XVII. DELUSIONS DISPELLED
XVIII. FRIENDS WORTH KEEPING
XIX. IN "THE SHADOW OF A GREAT ROCK"
XX. A DISCOMFITURE
XXI. A SORROWFUL SURPRISE
XXII. SIN AND PUNISHMENT
XXIII. SHIPWRECKED
XXIV. ADDITION WITHOUT IMPROVEMENT
XXV. TRYING CONSEQUENCES
XXVI. AN ELOPEMENT
XXVII. DOMESTIC REVELATIONS
XXVIII. IN CONCLUSION
[Illustration]
HOMES MADE AND MARRED.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
HOPES AND PROSPECTS.
"MAMMA, do come and see our beautiful new swing!" cried a little boy,
rushing into his mother's sitting-room. "Mr. Hill has finished, and he
would like to know that you think it is all right."
Mrs. Oakland immediately rose and followed to inspect the new
appliances which had been erected for amusement and exercise, and stood
while an intelligent workman described to her the strength and the
security of the plans. The lady was quite satisfied, and thanked him
warmly for the skill and trouble he had bestowed upon his work.
He was a fine-looking young man, with a well-formed head, a clear,
bright eye, and a strong arm, and might have stood as a model of
a British workman. His cheek glowed and his heart warmed with the
well-earned praise; and if the lady were pleased, so certainly was he.
The young man seemed to hesitate for a moment after receiving thanks
for his work, and then, twisting his cap once or twice round on his
hand,—
"If you please, ma'am," said he, "if it's not intruding too much, might
I beg a few words with you?"
"Certainly, Mr. Hill," she replied. "Come to the house; we will leave
the children to their new swing."
"I beg pardon, ma'am; but if you'll just walk a little this way,
I would rather not go to the house." And Matthew Hill glanced
involuntarily at his working jacket and tool-basket.
The lady, somewhat perplexed, walked with him towards the garden gate.
"I beg pardon, ma'am; but you know Jane?" said the young workman,
abruptly.
"Jane, whom? My housemaid?" said Mrs. Oakland, and a new light broke
upon her mind. "Oh yes, I have known Jane for several years."
"And you have been very kind to her, ma'am, I know."
"She is an orphan, and, having no other home, I have overlooked many
things that might have deprived her of one with me," said Mrs. Oakland.
She felt as if she must at least say so much, fearing that Matthew was
thinking of placing his happiness in very precarious keeping.
Matthew's bright face clouded for an instant, but, recovering, he
proceeded rapidly:
"Well, ma'am, you see Jane and I think of going to housekeeping
together, and she seemed against asking you to spare her because she
has been so long with you, and feels your house to be her home like. I
hope you will not take it amiss that I made bold to speak for her."
"Certainly not, Mr. Hill, I have no right to feel anything but the
sincerest wish for your mutual happiness."
"Many thanks to you, ma'am," said Hill, gratefully, "and Jane would not
think of going until you are suited."
"Stay, Matthew," said Mrs. Oakland as he was about to leave the garden,
"may I ask you a question about yourself?"
"Surely, ma'am, but I can pretty well guess what it is," said he,
smiling; "you would ask if I've kept my word since that sad time at the
fair. I have indeed, and I'm quite sure, with Jane to keep me at home,
and make it happy there, I shall not even need the pledge any more."
"Ah, Matthew, do not depend on any earthly motive, however dear:
you cannot tell how soon it might fail you. Avoid temptation on the
principle of loving obedience to your forgiving Saviour, and his
strength will be your safeguard. Jane is a valuable young woman in
many things, but you must not fancy that she is so perfect as never to
disappoint you in anything."
"I'm sure she will be only too good a wife for me, ma'am," said the
lover, responding to Mrs. Oakland's smiling caution.
"Well, I trust she will not be of your opinion, Matthew, but will feel
that she cannot do too much to enable you to maintain it. So Jane shall
be at liberty whenever you both desire it."
Matthew again warmly thanked her and went his way, and Mrs. Oakland
continued for some time to walk slowly up and down the path, as if
counting the gravel stones at her feet.
Had she been quite true with Matthew? she asked herself. Was it her
duty to warn him of a rock on which she feared his sunny hopes might
be wrecked? She had certainly ventured to speak of himself. But ought
she not to have spoken of Jane, and told him her experience of her
character in the family—her frequent fits of sullenness, her pride, her
bad temper? Probably it was now too late; he would be sure to hope the
best, his heart would refuse to doubt or fear, and no good would be
done. But she could speak earnestly to Jane, and did so without delay.
A respectable-looking and rather pretty young woman obeyed the summons
to the dressing-room.
"Come in, Jane," said her mistress, kindly, "I want to have a little
talk with you. Sit down, and try to feel that I really am what I have
tried to prove myself, your sincere friend."
Jane had a tolerable notion, of what was coming, for she knew that
Matthew Hill intended to "break it" to Mrs. Oakland, because she
said she could not do it herself, and she knew that her mistress was
sufficiently interested in him to think it no liberty that he should
do so for her. So Jane only coloured a little, and picked up some tiny
ends of thread which she spied on the carpet.
"I will not ask you if you thoroughly know your own mind with respect
to Matthew Hill, Jane. He is a young man whose affection any young
woman may feel honoured to possess, and I assume that in accepting it,
you give him a heart full of affection in return, with a determination
by God's help to be to him a true, good wife."
"I hope so, indeed, ma'am," said Jane; "I'm sure I mean it."
"But, Jane, let me remind you that you cannot treat Mr. Hill as you
have too often treated me when anything vexed you. You cannot give him
a month's notice, and bid him 'suit himself' when you get a little out
of temper, Jane."
Jane could scarcely help laughing at the idea; yet she knew full well
that it was to her mistress's forbearance and patience that she owed
the home she had enjoyed so long, and that she had not been tossed from
place to place at the mercy of her own temper.
"Now, Jane," continued Mrs. Oakland, kindly, "I do not want to bring
up any of our old grievances, or to remind you needlessly of anything
that we have agreed to forget; but, as I parted from Matthew just now,
and saw his honest joy in the thought of having you to make him a happy
home, I did feel a painful misgiving lest he should be disappointed. I
am so fearful lest your temper should prove a hindrance to your comfort
and his, and lest anything disagreeable at home should lessen his love
for it, and cause him to seek other companionship and relaxation."
"He assures me there is no fear of it, ma'am," said Jane; "it was only
once that he got overtaken, as it were, and he was so ashamed, he is
not likely to do it again."
"But if, unhappily, he did under sudden temptation so far forget
himself and all his promises and resolutions, how would you bear it,
Jane? Would your temper be roused, and would you reproach and taunt
him, and try to make him feel how he had fallen in your eyes? Or would
you kneel, by him, pray for him, bear with him, forgive him, and let
him see that he has grieved rather than angered you, and so lead him
to hate his sin, and dread to throw away the love and respect of an
affectionate, forbearing wife? Would you mourn his fall with him before
God, or would you raise a storm about his offence against you? On the
conduct of many a wife at such a moment of trial has hung the future of
her own and her husband's happiness."
"I dare say I should be dreadfully put out," said Jane, "but I would
try to do right, and I don't think there's any fear of Matthew."
"Well, I pray that it may be so," said the lady; "but suppose other
more probable provocations—some hasty word that might seem to reflect
on your management or doubt your wisdom, some little failure in
attention to your wishes,—would you flaunt and toss your head, and
declare that you are not going to be 'put upon' by anybody, that
you won't be interfered with—you know your duty, and you don't want
teaching, and so on? Or would you say, 'Matthew is tired; I won't say
anything until he is rested, and then I can show him that I did my
best;' or 'Matthew has had something vex him at his work; I know he
does not mean to be unkind; he loves me and I love him, and we did not
come together to quarrel over trifles; he shall have a nice peaceful
evening, and I'll do all I can to make him forget outside worries in
home blessings'? Will you do thus, Jane?"
"I can try," said Jane, softly, feeling how thoroughly her mistress had
described her usual habit, while giving in contrast a description of
duty.
"I know your house will be a model of neatness and cleanliness, Jane,"
continued Mrs. Oakland, kindly; "but only a loving, gentle spirit can
make it truly home to a husband under all conditions of health, and
feeling, and circumstance. Remember it is not a trial, a temporary
engagement that either may put an end to at will, but for life, through
good and ill, joy and sorrow, health and sickness, youth and middle
life and old age; always, ever, needing to be kind, affectionate,
attentive, punctual about meals and work, self-denying daily, hourly.
"Oh, Jane! It requires love, much love, constant love, patient
love to sustain happily; it requires high principle to persevere
uncomplainingly, acting always from right motives within, whatever be
the temptations and provocations without. I don't want to discourage
you, but wish you to look at it as it really is, and not only at the
fair picture that you are both sketching so brightly as you think of
each other in the prime of your days, and all things prospering round
you.
"I am no longer an interested party, you know, except as I desire your
happiness, therefore I venture to speak earnestly about those points
on which I fear you may make trouble for yourself and others. When you
have been out of temper with me, I could leave you to recover, and
I fancied I knew how to treat and excuse you. But a husband cannot
rightly get far out of your way, and he will not always excuse you. He
will be surprised at first, then disappointed, then angry, and will
forget his own faults in comparison with yours, or he will justify them
by yours, and then will come a struggle for mastery that will drive
peace and love from home and heart. Then—
"'Ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin,
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship's smiling day,
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said,
Till fast declining one by one
The sweetnesses of love are gone,
And hearts, so late united, seem
Like broken clouds, or like the stream
That smiling left the mountain's brow,
As if its waters ne'er could sever,
Yet ere it reach the plain below,
Breaks into floods that part for ever.'
"I would not have it thus with you, Jane, and therefore I do entreat
you to pray very earnestly for God's help to subdue your temper, and
to attain that 'ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,' which, beautiful
always and everywhere, is never more lovely than when it adorns the
brow and heart of a trusted, honoured wife."
"Perhaps, ma'am," said Jane, struggling with a host of feelings that
she could not have very well defined, "perhaps you think I ought not to
get married at all."
"Oh no, Jane, certainly I do not, if, conscious of your weakness, you
seek the only strength that can control and finally conquer in the
battle you must fight with yourself. I know that God will be faithful
to you, and if you fail, the fault will be wholly your own. Keeping
close to the meek and lowly One, dear Jane, you may be a good and happy
wife; but if you give way to your natural pride and temper, you will
too soon have reason to wish you had remained unmarried. I shall hope
the best, and shall enjoy witnessing it."
"And perhaps, ma'am, you will remind me if you see—if you think I am
going wrong. Matthew thinks a great deal of your opinion, ma'am."
"Poor Matthew!" thought the lady. "He has not chosen wisely, I fear,
but now only time can show."
Some weeks afterwards Jane was married from this her only place of
service, and settled in a neat cottage, which it was her delight to
keep like a little palace.
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