CHAPTER XII.
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LOVE IN A COTTAGE.
Miss Sarah Waitt, a Cambridge school-teacher of beautiful character, and firm friend of Angeline Hall, once said, after an acquaintance of thirty years or more, that she had never known of a happier married life than that of Mr. and Mrs. Hall. And yet these lovers quarreled!
The husband was opposed to woman suffrage. He opposed his wife’s writing poetry—not from an aversion to poetry, but because poetry inferior to the best is of little value. The wife, accustomed as an invalid to his thoughtful attentions, missed his companionship as health returned. What were her feelings the first night she found herself obliged to walk home alone! But thereafter, like a more consistent apostle of woman’s rights, she braved the night alone wherever duty led. She undertook to help her husband in his computations, but, failing to persuade him that her time was worth as much as his, she quit work. He could, indeed, compute much faster than she, but she feelingly demanded a man’s wages.
However, this labor trouble subsided without resort to boycott. The most serious quarrel—and for a time it was very dreadful—arose in this way:
It is well known that Boston is the intellectual and moral centre of the country, in fact of the world; the hub of the universe, as it were. There in ancient times witchcraft and the Quaker superstition were gently but firmly discouraged (compare Giles Corey, Longfellow’s fine drama, long since suppressed by Boston publishers). There in modern times descendants of the Puritans practice race-suicide and Irishmen practice politics. There a white man is looked upon as the equal of a negro, though somewhat inferior, in many ways, to the Boston woman. Now it so happened that some Boston and Cambridge ladies of Angeline Hall’s acquaintance had resolved beyond equivocation that woman should thenceforth be emancipated from skirts. They were delighted to find that Mrs. Hall, in college days, had worn the “bloomer” costume. So they very generously suggested that she have the honor of inaugurating bloomers in Boston and vicinity. Truly it showed a self-sacrificing spirit on the part of these ladies to allow this comparatively unknown sister to reap the honor due her who should abolish skirts. They would not for one moment think of robbing her of this honor by donning bloomers themselves. They could only suggest that the reform be instituted without delay, and they were eager to see how much the Boston public would appreciate it.
Mrs. Hall was enthusiastic. Mr. Hall was not. Sordid considerations biased his judgment. He reminded his wife that they were just struggling to their feet, and the bloomers might ruin their prospects. Mrs. Hall was furious! A pure-minded woman to be interfered with in this manner! And worse than that, to think that she had married a coward! “A coward”—yes, that is what she called him. It so happened, shortly afterward, that the astronomer, returning home one night, found his wife by the doorstep watching a blazing lamp, on the point of explosion. He stepped up and dropped his observing cap over the lamp. Whereupon she said, “You are brave!” Strange she had not noticed it before!
Asaph Hall used to aver that a family quarrel is not always a bad thing. It may serve to clear the atmosphere. Could he have been thinking of his own experience? It is possible that the little quarrels indicated above led to a clearer understanding of the separate duties of husband and wife, and thence to a division of labor in the household. The secret of social progress lies in the division of labor. And the secret of success and great achievement in the Hall household lay in the division of labor. At an early date Mr. Hall confined his attention to astronomy, and Mrs. Hall confined hers to domestic cares. The world gained a worthy astronomer. Did it lose a reformer-poetess? Possibly. But it was richer by one more devoted wife and mother.
From the spring of 1859 to the end of their stay in Cambridge, that is, for three years, the Halls occupied the cozy little Bond cottage, at the top of Observatory Hill. Back of the cottage they had a vegetable garden, which helped out a small salary considerably. There in its season they raised most delicious sweet corn. In the dooryard, turning an old crank, was a rosy-cheeked little boy, who sang as he turned:
Julee, julee, mem, mem,
Julee, julee, mem, mem;