think I can’t take care of myself?’
‘You didn’t last time. But THIS time, Arthur,’ I added, earnestly, ‘show me that you can, and teach me that I need not fear to trust you!’
He promised fair, but in such a manner as we seek to soothe a child.
cember 25th. – Last Christmas I was a bride, with a heart overflowing with present bliss, and full of ardent hopes for the future, though not unmingle
– Another year is gone. My little Arthur lives and thrives. He is healthy, but not robust, full of gentle playfulness and vivacity, already affectionate, and susceptible of passions and emotions it w
t; but at length he told me, plainly, and somewhat testily, that he could not do with me: he was worn out with the baby’s restless nights, and must have some repose. I proposed separate apartments; but it would not do.
‘The truth is, Arthur,’ I said at last, ‘you are weary of my company, and dete