For my own part I freely confess that, in my bachelorship, I wasprecisely such an over-curious simpleton as I now advise thereader not to be. My early habits had gifted me with a femininesensibility and too exquisite refinement. I was the accomplishedgraduate of a dry goods store, where, by dint of ministering tothe whims of fine ladies, and suiting silken hose to delicatelimbs, and handling satins, ribbons, chintzes calicoes, tapes,gauze, and cambric needles, I grew up a very ladylike sort of agentleman. It is not assuming too much to affirm that the ladiesthemselves were hardly so ladylike as Thomas Bullfrog. Sopainfully acute was my sense of female imperfection, and suchvaried excellence did I require in the woman whom I could love,that there was an awful risk of my getting no wife at all, or ofbeing driven to perpetrate matrimony with my own image in thelooking-glass. Besides the fundamental principle already hintedat, I demanded the fresh bloom of youth, pearly teeth, glossyringlets, and the whole list of lovely items, with the utmostdelicacy of habits and sentiments, a silken texture of mind, and,above all, a virgin heart. In a word, if a young angel just fromparadise, yet dressed in earthly fashion, had come and offered meher hand, it is by no means certain that I should have taken it.There was every chance of my becoming a most miserable oldbachelor, when, by the best luck in the world, I made a journeyinto another state, and was smitten by, and smote again, andwooed, won, and married, the present Mrs. Bullfrog, all in thespace of a fortnight. Owing to these extempore measures, I notonly gave my bride credit for certain perfections which have notas yet come to light, but also overlooked a few trifling defects,which, however, glimmered on my perception long before the closeof the honeymoon. Yet, as there was no mistake about thefundamental principle aforesaid, I soon learned, as will beseen, to estimate Mrs. Bullfrog's deficiencies and superfluitiesat exactly their proper value.
The same morning that Mrs. Bullfrog and I came together as aunit, we took two seats in the stage-coach and began our journeytowards my place of business. There being no other passengers, wewere as much alone and as free to give vent to our raptures as ifI had hired a hack for the matrimonial jaunt. My bride lookedcharmingly in a green silk calash and riding habit of pelissecloth; and whenever her red lips parted with a smile, each toothappeared like an inestimable pearl. Such was my passionate warmththat--we had rattled out of the village, gentle reader, and werelonely as Adam and Eve in paradise--I plead guilty to no lessfreedom than a kiss. The gentle eye of Mrs. Bullfrog scarcelyrebuked me for the profanation. Emboldened by her indulgence, Ithrew back the calash from her polished brow, and suffered myfingers, white and delicate as her own, to stray among those darkand glossy curls which realized my daydreams of rich hair.
"My love," said Mrs. Bullfrog tenderly, "you will disarrange mycurls."
"Oh, no, my sweet Laura!" replied I, still playing with theglossy ringlet. "Even your fair hand could not manage a curl moredelicately than mine. I propose myself the pleasure of doing upyour hair in papers every evening at the same time with my own."
"Mr. Bullfrog," repeated she, "you must not disarrange my curls."
This was spoken in a more decided tone than I had happened tohear, until then, from my gentlest of all gentle brides. At thesame time she put up her hand and took mine prisoner; but merelydrew it away from the forbidden ringlet, and then immediatelyreleased it. Now, I am a fidgety little man, and always love tohave something in my fingers; so that, being debarred from mywife's curls, I looked about me for any other plaything. On thefront seat of the coach there was one of those small baskets inwhich travelling ladies who are too delicate to appear at apublic table generally carry a supply of gingerbread, biscuitsand cheese, cold ham, and other light refreshments, merely tosustain nature to the journey's end. Such airy diet willsometimes keep them in pretty good flesh for a week together.Laying hold of this same little basket, I thrust my hand underthe newspaper with which it was carefully covered.
"What's this, my dear?" cried I; for the black neck of a bottlehad popped out of the basket.
"A bottle of Kalydor, Mr. Bullfrog," said my wife, coolly takingthe basket from my hands and replacing it on the front seat.
There was no possibility of doubting my wife's word; but I neverknew genuine Kalydor, such as I use for my own complexion, tosmell so much like cherry brandy. I was about to express my fearsthat the lotion would injure her skin, when an accident occurredwhich threatened more than a skin-deep injury. Our Jehu hadcarelessly driven over a heap of gravel and fairly capsized thecoach, with the wheels in the air and our heels where our headsshould have been. What became of my wits I cannot imagine; theyhave always had a perverse trick of deserting me just when theywere most needed; but so it chanced, that in the confusion of ouroverthrow I quite forgot that there was a Mrs. Bullfrog in theworld. Like many men's wives, the good lady served her husband asa steppingstone. I had scrambled out of the coach and wasinstinctively settling my cravat, when somebody brushed roughlyby me, and I heard a smart thwack upon the coachman's ear.
"Take that, you villain!" cried a strange, hoarse voice. "Youhave ruined me, you blackguard! I shall never be the woman I havebeen!"
And then came a second thwack, aimed at the driver's other ear;but which missed it, and hit him on the nose, causing a terribleeffusion of blood. Now, who or what fearful apparition wasinflicting this punishment on the poor fellow remained animpenetrable mystery to me. The blows were given by a person ofgrisly aspect, with a head almost bald, and sunken cheeks,apparently of the feminine gender, though hardly to be classed inthe gentler sex. There being no teeth to modulate the voice, ithad a mumbled fierceness, not passionate, but stern, whichabsolutely made me quiver like calf's-foot jelly. Who could thephantom be? The most awful circumstance of the affair is yet tobe told: for this ogre, or whatever it was, had a riding habitlike Mrs. Bullfrog's, and also a green silk calash dangling downher back by the strings. In my terror and turmoil of mind I couldimagine nothing less than that the Old Nick, at the moment of ouroverturn, had annihilated my wife and jumped into her petticoats.This idea seemed the most probable, since I could nowhereperceive Mrs. Bullfrog alive, nor, though I looked very sharplyabout the coach, could I detect any traces of that belovedwoman's dead body. There would have been a comfort in giving herChristian burial.
"Come, sir, bestir yourself! Help this rascal to set up thecoach," sai the hobgoblin to me; then, with a terrific screech atthree countrymen at a distance, "Here, you fellows, ain't youashamed to stand off when a poor woman is in distress?"
The countrymen, instead of fleeing for their lives, came runningat full speed, and laid hold of the topsy-turvy coach. I, also,though a small-sized man, went to work like a son of Anak. Thecoachman, too, with the blood still streaming from his nose,tugged and toiled most manfully, dreading, doubtless, that thenext blow might break his head. And yet, bemauled as the poorfellow had been, he seemed to glance at me with an eye of pity,as if my case were more deplorable than his. But I cherished ahope that all would turn out a dream, and seized the opportunity,as we raised the coach, to jam two of my fingers under the wheel,trusting that the pain would awaken me.
"Why, here we are, all to rights again!" exclaimed a sweet voicebehind. "Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen. My dear Mr.Bullfrog, how you perspire! Do let me wipe your face. Don't takethis little accident too much to heart, good driver. We ought tobe thankful that none of our necks are broken."
"We might have spared one neck out of the three," muttered thedriver, rubbing his ear and pulling his nose, to ascertainwhether he had been cuffed or not. "Why, the woman's a witch!"
I fear that the reader will not believe, yet it is positively afact, that there stood Mrs. Bullfrog, with her glossy ringletscurling on her brow, and two rows of orient pearls gleamingbetween her parted lips, which wore a most angelic smile. She hadregained her riding habit and calash from the grisly phantom, andwas, in all respects, the lovely woman who had been sitting by myside at the instant of our overturn. How she had happened todisappear, and who had supplied her place, and whence she did nowreturn, were problems too knotty for me to solve. There stood mywife. That was the one thing certain among a heap of mysteries.Nothing remained but to help her into the coach, and plod on,through the journey of the day and the journey of life, ascomfortably as we could. As the driver closed the door upon us, Iheard him whisper to the three countrymen,"How do you suppose afellow feels shut up in the cage with a she tiger?"
Of course this query could have no reference to my situation.Yet, unreasonable as it may appear, I confess that my feelingswere not altogether so ecstatic as when I first called Mrs.Bullfrog mine. True, she was a sweet woman and an angel of awife; but what if a Gorgon should return, amid the transports ofour connubial bliss, and take the angel's place. I recollectedthe tale of a fairy, who half the time was a beautiful woman andhalf the time a hideous monster. Had I taken that very fairy tobe the wife of my bosom? While such whims and chimeras wereflitting across my fancy I began to look askance at Mrs.Bullfrog, almost expecting that the transformation would bewrought before my eyes.
To divert my mind, I took up the newspaper which had covered thelittle basket of refreshments, and which now lay at the bottom ofthe coach, blushing with a deep-red stain and emitting a potentspirituous fume from the contents of the broken bottle ofKalydor. The paper was two or three years old, but contained anarticle of several columns, in which I soon grew wonderfullyinterested. It was the report of a trial for breach of promise ofmarriage, giving the testimony in full, with fervid extracts fromboth the gentleman's and lady's amatory correspondence. Thedeserted damsel had personally appeared in court, and had borneenergetic evidence to her lover's perfidy and the strength of herblighted affections. On the defendant's part there had been anattempt, though insufficiently sustained, to blast theplaintiff's character, and a plea, in mitigation of damages, onaccount of her unamiable temper. A horrible idea was suggested bythe lady's name.
"Madam," said I, holding the newspaper before Mrs. Bullfrog'seyes,--and, though a small, delicate, and thin-visaged man, Ifeel assured that I looked very terrific,--"madam," repeated I,through my shut teeth, "were you the plaintiff in this cause?"
"Oh, my dear Mr. Bullfrog," replied my wife, sweetly, "I thoughtall the world knew that!"
"Horror! horror!" exclaimed I, sinking back on the seat.
Covering my face with both hands, I emitted a deep and deathlikegroan, as if my tormented soul were rending me asunder--I, themost exquisitely fastidious of men, and whose wife was to havebeen the most delicate and refined of women, with all the freshdew-drops glittering on her virgin rosebud of a heart!
I thought of the glossy ringlets and pearly teeth; I thought ofthe Kalydor; I thought of the coachman's bruised ear and bloodynose; I thought of the tender love secrets which she hadwhispered to the judge and jury and a thousand titteringauditors,--and gave another groan!
"Mr. Bullfrog," said my wife.
As I made no reply, she gently took my hands within her own,removed them from my face, and fixed her eyes steadfastly onmine.
"Mr. Bullfrog," said she, not unkindly, yet with all the decisionof her strong character, "let me advise you to overcome thisfoolish weakness, and prove yourself, to the best of yourability, as good a husband as I will be a wife. You havediscovered, perhaps, some little imperfections in your bride.Well, what did you expect? Women are not angels. If they were,they would go to heaven for husbands; or, at least, be moredifficult in their choice on earth."
"But why conceal those imperfections?" interposed I, tremulously.
"Now, my love, are not you a most unreasonable little man?" saidMrs. Bullfrog, patting me on the cheek. "Ought a woman todisclose her frailties earlier than the wedding day? Fewhusbands, I assure you, make the discovery in such good season,and still fewer complain that these trifles are concealed toolong. Well, what a strange man you are! Poh! you are joking."
"But the suit for breach of promise!" groaned I.
"Ah, and is that the rub?" exclaimed my wife. "Is it possiblethat you view that affair in an objectionable light? Mr.Bullfrog, I never could have dreamed it! Is it an objection thatI have triumphantly defended myself against slander andvindicated my purity in a court of justice? Or do you complainbecause your wife has shown the proper spirit of a woman, andpunished the villain who trifled with her affections?"
"But," persisted I, shrinking into a corner of the coach,however,--for I did not know precisely how much contradiction theproper spirit of a woman would endure,--"but, my love, would itnot have been more dignified to treat the villain with the silentcontempt he merited?"
"That is all very well, Mr. Bullfrog," said my wife, slyly; "but,in that case, where would have been the five thousand dollarswhich are to stock your dry goods store?"
"Mrs. Bullfrog, upon your honor," demanded I, as if my life hungupon her words, "is there no mistake about those five thousanddollars?"
"Upon my word and honor there is none," replied she. "The jurygave me every cent the rascal had; and I have kept it all for mydear Bullfrog."
"Then, thou dear woman," cried I, with an overwhelming gush oftenderness, "let me fold thee to my heart. The basis ofmatrimonial bliss is secure, and all thy little defects andfrailties are forgiven. Nay, since the result has been sofortunate, I rejoice at the wrongs which drove thee to thisblessed lawsuit. Happy Bullfrog that I am!"
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