FIVE YEARS AFTER MARRIAGE.
It was one of those lovely days in March when nature is decorated in her
best; for each day she adds to her wreath of glory new beauties in the
form of buds and flowers. The trees in the orchard were a sight to
behold in their beautiful and variegated colors. The soft, balmy air
coming up the canyon was full of the perfume of flowers. The birds were
warbling their sweetest notes in the mulberry and walnut trees, and the
hum of the bees were heard around the flowers. All Nature sang through
these various forms, that All is life, All is love, All is joy, and All
is God.
On this day two ladies were sitting out on the porch of the Herne
residence, one was a lady with gray hair, the other was her daughter.
Both were sitting in silence. The younger was thinking how very much
like this beautiful day was, to the one five years ago when she entered
her new home as the wife of Charles Herne. Many thoughts were crowding
upon her mind; she was thinking how perfectly, supremely happy she was
on that occasion. Every thing about her seemed to respond to the happy
thought within, and her cup of joy was overflowing. Then the thought
came to her why was it not so to-day? Nature seemed just as beautiful,
her home was more beautiful, and the returns from the sale of their
fruit each year had exceeded their expectations. Her health was good,
she was in harmony with her neighbors, and enjoyed her life among the
people in Orangeville. And above all she had experienced the joys of
motherhood, having a son two years old, and her husband was just as kind
and attentive to her as ever, and yet--and yet--and yet, must she
confess, yes, she very reluctantly told her thoughts to her mother to
see if she could explain and give her light on those feelings which had
come to the surface many a time, only to be suppressed. But they would
rise again, and the more they were put down, the more they would rise,
till at last she would relieve her mind by telling her mother, who she
knew had had more experience.
"Mother," said Clara, "why is it, when everything about me is as good
and some things much better than when I was married, and Charles is just
as kind, thoughtful, and loving as a husband and father can be, and yet
after five years of happy, harmonious life, there is less attraction
between us, than when we were first married? Of course, I have never let
Charles think that I felt this way, but I noticed that after we had been
married two months, Charles' kisses, touches, and pettings did not
produce that pleasurable thrill they once did, and it has been growing
more and more that way ever since. Why, even when he kisses my hand, it
does not produce any more pleasure than if I had kissed my own hand. I
remember the time when Charles' kisses used to send an electric thrill
of joy through me; the sound of his coming footsteps was a delight which
gave me more pleasure than a kiss does now."
"Well, Clara," said her mother, "you don't expect to have the
high-strung, pleasurable excitement of a bride all the time, do you? I
know my experience was like yours, Clara, and I think from all those I
have heard talk about such matters that theirs is also the same. So I
take it for granted that is how it should be, and cannot be made
different. I would not let my mind dwell on it if I were you, Clara; for
you have got one of the best men for a husband, a fine boy, and a very
comfortable home."
After hearing what her mother had to say, Clara thought it best not to
say any more, for her mother had given her no satisfactory answer, and
seemed to know no more about such matters than she herself did. But she
kept thinking, "Did it have to be so?"
During the time that Clara was busy with these thoughts and talks with
her mother, there was a man walking through his orchard, apparently
looking at the fruit buds, but his mind was pre-occupied with another
subject. He was thinking that it was five years ago since he and Clara
were married, and he was thinking how happy he was when he brought her
to his home. He was thinking also of the thrills of joy and pleasure her
presence gave him before marriage, and for a month or two afterwards,
when she took his hand in hers and then kissed it; how soothing and
delightful it was; and what an attractive power she had. But now, how
different.
"It is just the same as if I kissed myself. She is just as good, just as
loving a wife, so kind and thoughtful, and we never have had any words,
but there is something. I cannot find words to express what I mean. Is
it tameness? Are other married persons like that?" And he began to think
about the married life of some of his friends. "There was Winchester and
his wife, I remember them when they were courting, they seemed
inseparable, and for a while after they were married they could not see
any one else but each other. If they were out anywhere they would sit
together holding each other's hands, and not wishing to say much to any
one else. After they had been married six months I notice they have quit
holding each other's hands, and now you seldom see them together much.
With how few married couples who have been married six years do you see
that suppleness and alertness, that zeal to please each other, and be
with one another that you see in couples about to be married."
Charles Herne thought, "Why is this so?" Why could not the same
attractive power which exists between some couples when they are married
be continued? Charles Herne did not know, his wife Clara Herne was no
wiser than he on that subject, though neither of them had made their
feelings known to the other.