Complete Story. Jonathan's Wife.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVIII, Issue XXII, 31 May 1902, Page 1066

Complete Story. Jonathan's Wife.

He had been working- very hard that day. He was a master builder, and it was Monday. Monday, for some unaccountable reason, is a very bad day for the British workman, and Jonathan, knowing this quite well, and yet never becoming resigned to it, bullied and chivied his few regular men to such an extent that by the end of the day he was quite worn out. After the toil of Ten weary hours, Rose Cottage looked very bright and cheerful, and one would have expected the owner’s spirits to rise when he reached such a snug little of rest. But Jonathan’s brow still remained gloomy and clouded. “Jonathan, is that you?” said a shrill voice from within. “Well, this is a nice time of the day to come home, I must say. Been working late. Oh. nonsense! You can’t make me believe that. There isn’t much adoing on a Monday, as I know. You won’t get any tea to-night, that’s a sure thing. I’ve had mine and cleared away an hour ago. If you think I’m going to be dancing about half the evening waiting on you you make a mistake. You don’t want any tea? No, I don’t suppose you do. I daresay you’ve had plenty to fake the place of it. That’s the way your money goes. I can slave here from morning till night making a shilling go as far as five, while you fling the money about as if it was dirt. Oh, it’s no use you contradicting me. I know better.” So far from contradicting Jonathan had settled down into a big armchair with a face as contrite as if he had been guilty of all the cardinal sins. He slowly took off his boots—one of the regulations of Rose Cottage—and with a sigh followed the slight form of his better half as she bustled about the room, by way of showing what a hardly-used work-oppressed young woman she was. “Good gracious me,” she went on, after pausing to take breath, and regarding him with righteous horror; “the idea of taking oft your dirty, muddy boots in my best parlour. Now take them off to the kitchen this instant. A nice place I should have if I wasn’t always on the lookout after you. How you get your boots in that state I can’t think. You’ll be wanting me to clean them next; but I haven’t come down quite so low as that. I may work myself to death in this house to keep things snug and comfortable for you, but I’ll have you to know it don’t go as far as cleaning muddy boots.” Jonathan protested meekly that such a thought had never entered his head for a moment, and embracing the opportunity for escape slunk off into the kitchen, followed by a monologue of wifely complainings and abuse. Here he allowed himself a little reaction. He waited until he heard Mrs Jonathan’s light footfall upstairs, and then -he glared fiercely at the opposite wall, and kicking the cat from her snug position on the hearthrug, threw his boots savagely into a corner. Considering the couple had been married for nearly six years, and that during that time Mrs Jonathan’s tongue had had plenty of opportunities for exercise, the victim ought to have become accustomed, if not reconciled, to it. But the day was Monday, and what could be borne passively on any other day in the week could not be tolerated on Monday. For a few moments Jonathan glared moodily into the fire, then he braced himself up, and with an expression of reckless determination, he put on his hat and boots again, and listening attentively for the whereabouts of Mrs Jonathan, softly opened the back door, and slipped into the street. After walking for about ten minutes he found himself outside a small

and very untidy dwellinghouse, at the porch of which sat the owner, a short thick-set man, deeply engrossed in the smoking of a grimy-looking clay pipe. “Hulloa! Johnny, my boy,” said he, looking up with a nod of recognition. “Has you wife gone out for the evening? Don’t often see you round this way unless you’ve had permission.” Jonathan shook his head with a groan. “I slipped out,” he said. “There’ll be an awful row when I get back. Max, it’s getting awful.” “What is?” said the innocent Max. “Why, the missus,” said the other, taking a seat'at the other side of the porch. “I haven’t had a bit of peace ever sinee the day I married her. She nags me from morning till night. The place doesn't seem my own. I don’t get a say in anything. 7 ' “Well, why don’t you put your foot down,” said the owner of the clay pipe, comfortably. ”1 wouldn’t let a woman get the better of me. Why, when my wife was alive, she'd no more think of standing up agin me than she’d think of flying.” “You’re safe enough in saying so,” said Jonathan, quietly; “seeing as hiow the poor soul ain’t here to contradict you.” “A woman,” went on the strongminded Max, “in my opinion, should be kept under. Once loosen the bit in her mouth, and there’s no holding her in.” "Well, talking of that won’t do me any good,” said the injured Jonathan. “The thing’s done. My wife was pretty and young when I married her, and I was that fond of her, I reckon I spoilt her. But now and again she just oversteps the mark. Can’t you give me a bit of advice?” The older man took his pipe from his mouth and regarded it steadily for some minutes. “Can’t you keep her short for a bit?” he said, after a long pause. “There ain’t nothing like keeping the money tight. Meanwhile, you could buy a few nice things for yourself, and a few presents for your friends as advised you.” “My life wouldn’t be worth living,” said Jonathan hurriedly. “I have to keep buying her things to keep her fairly good tempered.” “Well, couldn’t you bully her a bit? Treat her like you do the men. I’ve seen you let out at them pretty freely now and again.” “It can’t be done,” said the other, shaking his head. “I haven’t got a word to say for myself with her, and she knows it. Bully her? Good gracious! It’s she, little hop-o’-me-thumb, that does the bullying.” The older man shrugged his shoulders, and slowly refilled his pipe. Presently, he looked up and eyed the sturdy muscular form before him with some contempt. “Look here,” he said. “If ybu ain’t man enough to master your own wife, and a little bit of a thing at that, I ain’t got a word to say. You don’t deserve nb better fate at her hands.” “You don’t know what she's like,” groaned Jonathan. “I’ve known some termagants in my time,” said he. “Why, the first week I was married, when my wife began showing her airs, I just picks her up in my arms and carries her upstairs, locking her up in a room until she knew better tow to behave herself.” “I’d like to see you do the same to my wife,” said Jonathan, not without some pride in the absent one’s spirit, “Why, she’d make you a mask of scratches, and leave very little hair on your head before she’d done with you. But look here. I’ve got an idea. You come home with me, and help me to give her a lesson.” “Is she—er —bad tempered with

everybody?” aaked the other man, guardedly. “Lor no!. butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth when there’s a stranger r&und.” “But what can I do?” "Well, I'm thinking we might get up a little quarrel, Max, and then I could show her what I’m made of by going for you, don’t you see?” “Only make believe,” broke in Max, looking at the young man’s physique with some concern.

•‘Of course. You might make some personal remarks about her, and lead up to a jolly good row. She’ll look up to me for taking her part, and it might make all the difference to a woman of her temper.” “I’m not so sure,” said the other, dubiously. . “However, if it’ll be any assistance to you, I’m willing to try.” With this Max locked up his establishment, and putting the key in his pocket, walked off arm in arm with his hopeful friend. When they reached Rose Cottage they found the lady in question already at the door awaiting them. “I’ve brought a friend home, my dear.” said her husband, nervously. “So I see, having two eyes in my head,” said she, icily. “It ain’t exactly the time of day, being nearly nine o’clock, to be asking visitors in, but that’s just your way, Jonathan. However, come in with you. I’m glad to see, you, Mr “Hollis,” put in Jonathan, mildly.

“And who was asking you?” said his wife, snappishly, “I suppose the gentleman has a tongue and knows how to use it. It would be a strange thing if he didn’t know his own name. Will you kindly rub your boots, Mr Hollis, and step this way?” Mr Hollis hesitated, and breathing hard, sought the eyes of Mr Jonathan in vain. “Being as it's a bit late—” he began, stepping backwards. “Oh, nonsense,” said Mrs Jonathan, briskly- “Now you’re here you may as well stay. We haven't got much for supper, but what we’ve got you’re welcome to. Jonathan, you’re leting in a draught with that door. You’ll oblige me by shutting H.” Jonathan did so with alacrity, and pushed his friend before him into the kitchen, where he sheepishly took a seat, and twirling his hat round and round in Jtiis hand, waited deferentially for his fair hostess to speak. “You’ve known my husband some years, Mr Hollis?” said Mrs Jonathan, as she began to set the table for supper. “Eight come the autumn,” said Mr Hollis, mildly. “Then you knew him before he was married ?” “Certainly I did,” said Mr Hollis, eagerly; “and I never see such a change in anyone before. You’ve improved him wonderful, marm. He was that wild and unsteady, and often I’d say to him: “Jonathan, my boy, you want a nice, firm, sensible little wife to keep you in order.’ Now didn’t I, my lad?” “You’re a silly,” said Jonathan, under his breath. "You’re getting on the wrong tack.” “I’m leading up to it,” whispered Mr Hollis, knowingly. “You wait a bit.” “Then you think my husband did well for himself?” said Mrs Jonathan, looking over at him with an indulgent smile. “That I do, marm,” returned Mr Hollis, readily. “Directly I see your bonny face, thinks I to myself: ‘Ah, Jonathan has got the right sort here; someone as won’t knuckle under and be made into a slave!’ Men want managing, Mrs Jonathan; let them have their own way and you’ve done for yourself and your liberty for ever, but keep ’em under and you’ll find things straight enough for you.” “You hear that, Jonathan?” said the lady, turning round on him triumphantly. “Your friend has got very sensible ideas. Are you married 2 Mr Hollis?” “I was, marm,” said Mr Hollis, feelingly, putting his hand over the region of his heart. “Ah! she was a wonder she was, just such another as you, as pretty and bright and merry a little lass as ever I see. But she was too good for this wicked world and ♦he Lord took her.” u "How sad,” said the, lady, sympa-

thetically, as she helped the bereaved to a good serving of veal and ham pie. "She knew where she was best off,” said Jonathan under his breath. “Jonathan,” said his wife, turning on her spouse and eyeing him sharply; “if you’ve got anything to say, say it, but don't sit mumbling there as though you was eighty.” “I was just saying, my dear,” stammered her husband, uneasily, “what a blessing it wasn't you the Lord took.” Here Mrs Jonathan's reply to this gratifying remark was lost in the alarm occasioned by the amiable Mr Hollis, who was suddenly taken with a painful fit of choking, a fit effectually shortened by the prompt and energetic attention of Mr Jonathan. “Here, that'll do,” said the afflicted gentleman, as his friend seemed in no hurry to discontinue the usual treatment. “A crumb went down the wrong way, I expect,” said Mrs Jonathan, kindly. “Take a glass of spirit, Mr Hollis. It'll perhaps move it.” “Thank you kindly, marm,” said Mr Hollis, accepting it, and ignoring the fierce scowls, and kicks that came above and below the table from the direction of the indignant Mr Jonathan. '‘Here’s health to you, marm, and a long life; and may you always be queen of your own household and free from the cowardly, tyranny of man.” And after this little burst of eloquence he got so lively and talkative, and gave Mrs Jonathan so many useful hints on the management of husbands, and the proper treatment of wives, that the astute lady was quite charmed. “Your friend is a man in a thousand,” she said, enthusiastically, to her husband. “He is,” agreed Jonathan, with some energy. Such a pleasant evening they had, and the time went by so quickly, that Mr Hollis upon looking at his watch was quite asfounded to find it well on to the hour of midnight. “I must be off home,” he said, as he rose from his chair. “I’ve enjoyed myself so, I'd no idea it was so late.” "I'll eome a step of the way with you,” said Jonathan, obligingly. An uneasy look crept into Mr Hollis’s eyes. “Certainly not,” he said, with some asperity. “I shouldn’t think of taking you out this time of night.” “It’s no trouble at all,” returned Jonathan, politely, as his left hand strayed absently to the muscle of his right arm. “It’ll do me good.” “Mrs Jonathan,” said Mr Hollis, turning to the lady hurriedly; "he'll take notice of what you say- Don’t you let him go out to-night. He’s got a cold now. Besides, it ain’t right for a young chap to be out so late.” “Certainly not- I quite agree with you, Mr Hollis,” said she. “Jonathan, you don’t go out of this house to-night—the idea!” “Darn,” said Jonathan, impressively. “What a splendid thing it is he’s got someone to look after him,” said Mr Hollis, in some relief, as he buttoned up his coat. “What a blessing to have such a wife. My thanks to you, marm, for the pleasant evening. Good-bye, John, my boy. I expect I shall see you round at my place one of these fine days.” “I expect you will,” said Jonathan, with unusual warmth as the door dosed-

As Old as Queen Victoria.

There are not a great number of people living iu this country who were born in the same year as Queen Victoria. They who entered the world so long ago as 1819 and are still with us hale and hearty are undoubtedly in the running to be„ome centenarians. A notable example of this very small baud is Mrs Elizabeth Fuller, of No. 44, Ryder Street, Surry Hills, Sydney. This venerable old lady was born in England and came to Australia with l.er husband before she had attained her eighteenth year, long previous to the great gold rush. She has. therefore, already reached the full age attained by Wellington, Goethe, Victor Hugo, Bismarck, and Tennyson, men who found time to accomplish a vast amount of enduring work, which establishes the fact that it is not among the most uneventful or least suffering lives we must look for examples of longevity. If that were not so, we should not now be writ ng of Mrs Fuller's career. To work strenuously for many years build ng up a competency, to succeed in that effort, and then to have the proceeds of your industry swept away by the miserable process of litigation is disheartening to the last degree. That is what happened to Mrs Fuller. A weaker mind than hers would have become unbalanced by such a disaster. But that is not all. It is proverbial that troubles come not a; single spies, but in whole battali n y and so it was in this case. Enjoying excellent health, sea:ee knowing what serious illness was during the first 71 years of her life, Mrs Fa 1 r now met with an accident. Losing her footing while ascending the stairs, she sustained a fractured arm and collar-bone—a serious <a lainity to befall anybody, but specially a woman 71 years of age. Mrs Fuller thus writes of her experiences consequent upon her accident: “I became an inmate of the Sydney Hospital, and after being in some degree patched up there was discharged within two months as cured. My worst troubles, however, were only just beginning. The fall must have wrenched by back and injured my kidneys, for a dull c.m-

tinuous pain set in in that region, which allowed me no rest by day or night, producing urinary diffirultiea of a most distressing nature, and an obstinate constipation. I visited the leading hospitals as an outdoor patient, and was at one time under treatment at my own home by a lady doctor. None of the plasters, liniments, lotions, or other medicines they gave me proved of any rerviee. As time passed the pain in tny back increased so much that the agony I endured was intolerable, and I felt as if I could have welcomed death to end my sufferings. In this wretched condition I years. Then my daughter, Mrs W. Johnson, of Arden Street, Waverlcy, bought me three of Mother Seigel’s Soothing Plasters, a box of Mother Seigel's Operating Pills, and n bottle of Mother Seigel’s Curative Syrup. She did this on the advice of a friend, who said he was sure they would relieve my sufferings if given a fair trial. Happily for me the accuracy of his belief was soon established, for the plasters, used in conjunction with the Syrup and Pills, at once reduced the backache to a tolerable degree, and in two months had quite mastered it. I was once more able to eat, sleep and get about in comfort. After so long an illness, and at my advanced age. a quick restoration to perfect health and •strength was not to be expected, but I persevered with the three Seigel remedies for six months, and was rewarded by a daily improvement in my condition. At the end of that time I felt as well as a person <j£ my years could hope to be, and 1 have remained well from that day to this.” The loss of Mrs Fuller’s well-earn-ed savings lias been in some degree repaired by the grant of an Old Age Pension by the beneficent State of New South Wales—a boon extended only to those who have resided in the State continuously for at least 25 years, and in itself a sure warrant. of the respectability and honour of the recipient. A good thing, and one to be devoutly thankful for, without doubt, but less wonderful than that other relief which Mrs Fuller has so well described and acknowledged.