The Carrollton Sun

Self Conquest.—By Fanny Fern.

"Well, Bridget, what do you think of the bride?"

"Oh, she's a pretty young thing, but if she had known as much as you and I do of her husband's mother, she never would have come to live with her.

She's a regular hyena, and if she don't bring the tears into these blue eyes before the honey moon is over, my name isn't Bridget. Why she's the most audacious old thing: she overhauled all her wardrobe yesterday, before she could get here, and as I passed through the entry, I heard her muttering to herself 'silk stockings! humph—ruffled underclothes! wonder if she thinks I'll have 'em ironed here. Embroidered night-caps! silk dresses! destruction and ruin!"

"I'll tell you what, Bridget, there never was a house built yet that was big enough for two families to live in and you'll find out that this won't be, reckon."

"What! tears, Emma! tears!" said the young husband, as he returned from the counting-room one day, about a month after marriage, and with a look of anxiety he drew her closer to his breast. "Tell me, you do not so soon repent your choice?" The little rosy mouth was held up temptingly for a kiss, and in those blue eyes he read the answer his heart was seeking.

"What then? Is your pet canary sick? can't you dress your hair to suit you? or are you in despair because you can't decide in which of your dresses you look the prettiest?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," said Emma, laughing and crying together. "I feel nervous, that's all; I'm so glad you come home."

Harry felt sure that wasn't all, but he forebore to question her further, for he felt very sure she would tell him in good time.

The truth was, Harry's mother had been lecturing her daughter-in-law all the morning, upon the degeneracy of the times—hoped she wouldn't think of putting on all the fine things her friends had been so foolish as to give her! times were not now as they used to be! that if Harry gave her pocket money, she had better give it to her to keep, and not be spending it for nonsense, that a young wife's place was in her husband's house and she hoped she would leave off that babyish trick of running home every day to see her mother and sister.

Emma listened in silent amazement. She was a warm-hearted, affectionate girl, but she was very high-spirited. The color came and went rapidly in her cheek, but she forced back the tears that were starting to her eyes for she had too much pride to allow her to see them fall.

After old Mrs. Hall retired, for a moment or two, she recalled the words—'babyish,' [insult] to love my home, where I was a cricket from morning to night; where we all sang, read in mother's dear old room, and father and mother the happiest of us all—'babyish!' I won't be dictated to, said the young wife; I am married if I am only nineteen and my own mistress; and the rebellious tones would come in spite of her determinations; but then she thought of Harry, dear Harry, whom she had learned to love so well. Her first impulse was to tell him, but she had a great deal of good sense if she was young, and she said to herself, no, that would not do; then he will have to take sides with one or the other, and either way it will make trouble. It may wean his love from me; no, no, I'll try to get along without; but I wish I had known more about her, before I came here to live.

And so she smiled and chatted gaily with Harry and hoped he had set it down to the account of 'nervousness.'

Still the hours passed slowly, when he was absent at his business, and she felt uneasy every time she heard a step on the stairs, lest the old lady should subject her to some new trial.

I wonder what has come over Emma, said one of her sisters; she has grown so grave and matronly; I half-hated Harry when he carried her off, and I quite hate him now, for she is so sedate and moping. I desire to keep my neck out of the matrimonial noose.

Shortly after this, Emma's mother sent her some delicacy, manufactured by herself, of which she knew her daughter to be particularly fond. Mrs. Hall brought it into her room and set it down on the table (as if she were testing the strength of the dish,) and said, "I wonder if your mother is afraid you'll not have enough to eat here; one would think you were a child at a boarding school."

Emma controlled herself by a strong effort and made her no reply, simply taking the gift from her hands, with a nod of acknowledgement. Every day brought her some such petty annoyance, and her father-in-law who was old and childish, being quite as troublesome as his wife; in those respects it required all her love for Harry to carry her through.

She still adhered to her determination, however, to conceal her trouble from her husband, and though he noticed she was less vivacious, perhaps thought the mantle of matronly dignity so becoming to his young wife that he felt no disposition to find fault with it.

In the meantime old Mrs. Hall, being confined to her room with a violent influenza, the reins of government were very unwillingly resigned into Emma's hands; the endless charges she received about the dusting, and scrubbing, and cooking, ending always with a soliloquy (as the door closed upon Emma's fair young form,) I'm a poor creature to have anything to do with it; she is as ignorant as a Hottentot—it will all go in one ear and out at the other and the old lady groaned, as the vision of the nose of the teakettle pointing the wrong way, or the sauce pan hung on the wrong nail, flitted through her mind. Emma exerted herself to the utmost to please her, but the gruel was always 'not quite right,' the pillows not arranged easily behind her back, or she expected to find 'Bedlam let loose,' when she got down stairs, and various prognostications of the same character.

Emma said to Harry how should you like living five miles out of the city? I have seen a place that just suits my fancy and I think of hiring it on trial.

Emma hesitated. She wished to ask, 'does your mother go with us?' but she only said I cannot tell you, dear Harry, whether I should like the place till I saw it. I should fear it would take you too far from me. It would seem so cold have five miles distance between us for the whole day. Oh, I am sure I shouldn't like it Harry, the thought of the mother-in-law clouded her sunny face, and in spite of herself, a tear dropped on her husband's hand.

Well dear Emma, now I'm very sure you will like it; (and his large dark eyes had a look she could not understand, with all her skill and practice in reading them,) and so I'm going to drive you out this very afternoon, and we'll see, said he, gaily kissing her forehead.

'Oh, what a little Paradise, Harry! Look at that cluster of Prairie Roses! What splendid old trees! See how the wind sweeps the drooping branches across the tall grass! and that little low window, latticed over with sweet briar, and that pretty terraced flower-garden, oh, Harry!'

Well, let us go inside, Emma, and applying a key he held in his hand, the door yielded to his touch, and they stood side by side in a little rustic parlor, furnished simply, yet so tastefully! Table stands and mantels, covered with vases, sending forth fragrance from the sweetest of wild-wood flowers; the long white muslin curtains looped away from a window, whence could be seen wooded hill, and fertile valley, and silvery stream. Then they ascended into the old chamber that was quite as unexceptionable in its appointments.

Emma looked about in bewildered wonder.

'But who lives here now Harry?'

'Nobody.'

'Nobody? What a tease you are! To whom does this furniture belong, and who arranged everything with such exquisite taste? I have been expecting every minute to see the mistress of the mansion step out.

Well, there she is,' said Harry leading her gaily up to the looking glass, 'I only hope you admire her half so much as I do! Do you think I have been blind and deaf, because I have been dumb? Do you think I've not seen my high spirited little wife struggling with trials, day by day suffering, enduring, gaining the victory over her own spirit, silently and uncomplainingly? Do you think that I could see all this and not think she was the dearest little creature in the world?'

And tears and smiles struggled for mastery, as he pressed his lips to her forehead. And now you will have nobody to please here but me, Emma: do you think the task will be difficult?

The answer, though highly satisfactory to the husband, was not intended for you, dear reader—please excuse Fanny Fern.