She was afraid Whitfield didn’t think so much of her as he used to; he didn’t act a mite as he used to when he was a courtin’ of her. Didn’t kiss her so much in a week now, as he used to one Sunday night. Didn’t set and look at her for hours and hours at a time, as he did then. Didn’t seem to be half as ’fraid of her wings spreadin’ out, and takin’ her up to heaven. Didn’t seem to be a bit afraid of her goin’ up bodily. Didn’t call her “seraph” any more, or “blessed old honey-cake,” or “heavenly sweetness,” or “angel-pie.” About all he called her now besides Tirzah Ann, was “my dear.”
THE NERVOUS WOMAN.
I see in a minute the cause of the extra deprested look onto her face that day, I see in a minute “where the shoe pinched” as the poet says. And I see here was a chance for me to do good; and I spoke up real earnest like, but considerable calm, and says I:
“Tirzah Ann, that is a first-rate word, and your husband Whitfield Minkley hits the nail on the head every time he says it. ‘Dear!’ that is jest what you are to him, and when he puts the ‘my’ onto it that tells the hull of the story; you are dear, and you are hisen, that is the hull on’t.” Says I, in a real solemn and almost camp-meetin’ tone, “Tirzah Ann you are a sailin’ by that rock now that the happiness of a great many hearts founder on, that a great many life boats are wrecked on.” Says I, “lots of happy young hearts have sailed smilin’ out of the harbor of single blessedness, hit ag’inst that rock and gone down; don’t you be one of ’em;” says I, “don’t make a shipwreck of the happiness of T. A. Minkley late Allen; histe up the sail of common sense and go round the rock with flyin’ colors,” and says I in agitated tones, “I’ll help you, I’ll put my shoulder blades to the wheel.” And I continued in almost tremblin’ tones—as I trimmed off the edge of the linen cambric, and went to overcastin’ of it:
“I never could bear to see anybody want to set down and stand up at the same time,” says I, “it always looked so unreasonable to me.” And says I: “Tirzah Ann, you are in the same place; you want to be courted, and you want to be married at the same time; you want a husband and you want a bo out of the same man, simultaneous, as it were.”
Says I: “Truly we can’t have everything we want at one time. There is a time for apple trees to blow out, rosy color—sweet—with honey bees a hummin’ round ’em; and there is a time for the ripe fruit, and apple sass. We can’t have good sleighin’ in hot weather, we can’t be drawed out to a peach tree to eat ripe peaches on a hand sled. Slidin’ down hill is fun, but you can’t slide down hill over sweet clover blows, for clover and snow don’t blow out at the same time. And you can’t have peace, and rest, and quiet of mind, at the same time with delerious enjoyment, and highlarious mirth.
“There is as many kinds of happiness as ‘there is stars in the heavens,’ and no two stars are alike, they all differ from each other in their particular kind of glory.
“Now courtin’ is considerable fun, sunthin’ on the plan of catchin’ a bird, kind o’ resky and uncertin’ but excitin’ like, and considerable happyfyin’. To set down after a good supper, contented and quiet, by a bright fireside with your knittin’ work, and your affectionate pardner fast asleep and a snorin’ in the arm chair opposite, is another kind of happiness, nothin’ delerious nor highlarious about it, but considerable comfortin’ and consolin’ after all. Now you have got a good affectionate husband Tirzah Ann, a man that will look out for your comfort, do well by you, and be a good provider; and you musn’t expect to keep the lover; I mean, you musn’t expect him to go through with all the performances he used to when he was tryin’ to get you; why it is as unreasonable as anything in the world can be unreasonable.”
“Now” says I, “there’s your pa and me, Tirzah Ann; we have lived together in the neighborhood of twenty years, and we are attached to each other with a firm and cast-iron affection, our love for each other towers up like a pillow. But if that man should go to talkin’ to me as he used to when he came a courtin’ me, I’d shet him up in the smoke house, for I should be afraid of him, I’ll be hanged if I shouldn’t; I should think he was a luny.