Has that woman a call to be a wife, who thinks more of her silk dress than of her children, and visits her nursery no oftener than once a day? Has that woman a call to be a wife, who cries for a cashmere shawl when her husband’s notes are being protested? Has that woman a call to be a wife, who sits reading the last new novel, while her husband stands Has that woman a call to be a wife, who expects her husband to swallow diluted coffee, soggy bread, smoky tea, and watery potatoes, six days out of seven? Has she a call to be a wife, who keeps her husband standing on one leg a full hour in the street, while she is saying that interminable “last word” to some female acquaintance? Has she a call to be a wife, who flirts with every man she meets, and reserves her frowns for the home fireside? Has she a call to be a wife, who comes down to breakfast in abominable curl-papers, a soiled dressing-gown, and shoes down at the heel? Has she a call to be a wife, who bores her husband, when he comes into the house, with the history of a broken tea-cup, or the possible whereabouts of a missing broom-handle? Has she a call to be a wife, whose husband’s love weighs naught in the balance with her next door neighbor’s damask curtains, or velvet carpet? Has she a call to be a wife, who would take advantage of a moment of conjugal weakness, to extort money or exact a promise? Has she a call to be a wife, who “has the headache” whenever her husband wants her to walk with him, but willingly wears out her gaiter boots promenading with his gentlemen friends? Has she a call to be a wife, who takes a journey Has she a call to be a wife, who values an unrumpled collar or crinoline more than a conjugal kiss? Has she a call to be a wife, to whom a good husband’s society is not the greatest of earthly blessings, and a house full of rosy children its best furnishing, and prettiest adornment? |