“So I turned away on my heel, and as I left the transport the next trip, I never saw her again.”
“Well, Bramble,” replied I, “I agree with you; and if ever a woman makes a fool of me again, it will be my fault. You know what’s happened, so I don’t mind saying so.”
“Why, Tom, in your present humour, you think so; but all do not keep to the same way of thinking as I did till it was too late to think about marrying; but still I do not think that I should have been happy as a single man, if it had not been for my falling in with Bessy. I should have been very lonely, I expect, for I began to feel so. When you come to your own door, Tom, home looks cheerless if there is no bright eye to welcome you, and the older a man gets the more he feels that he was not intended to live single. My yearning after something to love and to love me, which is in our nature, was satisfied, first by having Bessy, and then by having you—and I’m thankful.”
“You might have married, and have been very unhappy.”
“I might, and I might have been very happy, had I chosen a wife as a man should do.”
“And how is that, pray, Bramble?”
“Why, Tom, I’ve often thought upon it. In the first place look out for good temper: if you find that you may be happy, even if your wife is a silly woman; assure yourself first of her temper, and then you must judge her by the way in which she does those duties which have fallen to her lot; for if a girl is a dutiful and affectionate daughter there is little fear but that she will prove a loving and obedient wife. But I think we have had our spell here, Tom, and it’s rather cold: rouse up one of those chaps, and tell him to come to the helm. I’ll coil myself up and have a snooze till the morning, and do you do the same.”