Long before I was twenty-one, my papa had many advantageous offers for my hand, but he would accept of none of them for me; as he did not then consider me fit to enter upon the stormy path of matrimonial life, for my dear, foolish mamma would never allow me to attend to the housekeeping, from a pardonable pride she felt in her illustrious descent. So that, as things turned out, perhaps it was better that I did not get settled until I had nearly attained my twenty-sixth year.
On the 14th of May, 1840, at the ball of the Caledonians, I met my present husband, Edward Sk—n—st—n, Esquire, who was then a widower without encumbrance, (although, if there had been any children by his former wife, I trust I know myself too well to have done other than treat them as my own flesh and blood.) The poor man was so taken with my tout ensemble at first sight, that he would scarcely leave me for a moment throughout the evening, and would insist upon accompanying both mamma and myself home.
We soon discovered that he was a lawyer, in a very excellent practice; so that mamma, the next time he called, asked him to stop to dinner with us, and introduced him to papa, who was very glad to see him. After dinner, when we had gone to the drawing-room, mamma begged me to sing; and I obliged him with one of my most admired little French “Romans,” when the poor man seemed quite moved by my strains.
The next day, he came to ask mamma and myself to accompany him to Madame Tussaud’s Exhibition; but mamma suddenly remembered a particular call she had to make that afternoon on a friend in the opposite direction, so I was forced to go alone with him. When we were by ourselves, in “the Chamber of Horrors” there, Mr. Sk—n—st—n remarked, in a low voice, choked by emotion, upon the charms of my retiring disposition, and said that I was the very reverse of his poor, dear, sainted wife, who he was kind enough to hope and trust was in heaven.
In about a week, his attentions to me became so marked, that it was the common talk of all our friends, insomuch so that dear papa, out of an over-fondness and anxiety on my account, was obliged to ask him what his intentions were towards me; for he was fearful lest Mr. Sk—n—st—n might be one of those monsters in human form who trifle with a young girl’s best affections, and then fling them aside as they would a dead pink, or any other faded flower that they had taken the bloom off of.
In this interview, Edward, whose heart I always knew was of too noble a nature ever to deal thus vilely with a poor maid, at once declared his passion, and demanded my hand, which my father joyfully gave him, together with his blessing. After this, Edward became a constant visitor at the house; and he arranged to lead me to the altar a month after the first anniversary of his sainted wife’s death, so that the proper decencies of society might not be violated in our case.
I shall never forget the melancholy sentiment that filled my bosom whenever I thought of that joyful event taking place. What an awful step I was about to take! Was it for good—or for evil? Alas! who could say? Perhaps I might become the mother of several beauteous babes! What new feelings and duties would then overwhelm this heart. Was I equal to the task? Alas! who could tell? I was about to leave my dear papa’s Halls, and to quit the embraces of an aged mamma, of noble ancestry, for the arms of one of whom I could know but little; yet a small still voice within me assured me that, come what might, at least Edward would treat me well. His presents to me had already shown him to be a man of great good nature, and I could not forget his affecting emotion when he implored my acceptance of the jewellery that once belonged to his sainted wife.
The night previous to the day that Edward had appointed to swear to love and cherish me in sickness and in health, and take me for better or for worse, as I sat with my dear mamma and the maid completing the body (the skirt was already finished) of my bridal robe, my maternal parent, with tears in her eyes, desired the maid to leave the room, as she wished to speak to me alone.
As soon as the girl had gone, my mamma told me that I was about to take an awful step, and that she hoped and trusted that it would all turn out happily. But that there was one thing that she felt it was her duty, upon my entrance into life as it were, to warn me against—one thing, on which alone domestic happiness could be built—one thing, on which I should find my comfort depended more than any other—one thing, in fact, which might strew either my path with roses, or my bed with thorns. And then she asked me what I thought this one thing was? Probably I might think she meant my husband—but no! it was something of far more consequence to me than that. Or I might think she meant fortune, or economy, or my offspring—(if I were destined to be so blessed.) It was none of these, she told me—nor was it amiability of temper, or a proper pride in appearance, or marital constancy—no! these had but a trifling connexion with the peace and quiet of my future domestic life compared with that which she alluded to. In a word, she said, I should find the key-stone to all my future welfare rested upon those I should have about me. She referred to—servants. It was only by the proper management of them, she said, that I could ever expect to taste happiness; and she warned me not to govern with a light hand, but to do as she had done, and which, she assured me, was the only way of making them respect and obey me, and that was, to rule with a rod of iron. And then, telling me that her words ought to be printed in letters of gold, she bade me dry up my tears and resume my work.
Ha-ah!—Little did I then—giddy, inexperienced child that I was—see the value of the jewels that fell from dear mamma’s mouth; but in my happy innocence I inwardly set them down as the words of one whose naturally sweet disposition had been soured in her dealings with this empty world. Had I but treasured up her truths in my heart, I should not have suffered as I have. (But more of this hereafter.)