242 A SUNDAY IN CHEYNE ROW. 



for forty years, each assiduously cultivating their sen- 

 sibilities and idiosyncrasies, there should have been 

 more or less friction. Both sarcastic, quick-witted, 

 plain-spoken, sleepless, addicted to morphia and blue- 

 pills, nerves all on the outside ; the wife without any 

 occupation adequate to her genius, the husband toil- 

 ing like Hercules at his tasks and groaning much 

 louder ; both flouting at happiness ; both magnifying 

 the petty ills of life into harrowing tragedies ; both 

 gifted with " preternatural intensity of sensation ; " 

 Mrs. C. nearly killed by the sting of a wasp ; Mr. C. 

 driven nearly distracted by the crowing of a cock or 

 the baying of a dog ; the wife hot tempered, the hus- 

 band atrabilarious ; one caustic, the other arrogant ; 

 marrying from admiration rather than from love 

 could one reasonably predict, beforehand, a very high 

 state of domestic felicity for such a couple? and 

 would it be just to lay the blame all on the husband, 

 as has generally been done in this case ? Man and 

 wife were too much alike ; the marriage was in no 

 sense a union of opposites ; at no point did the two 

 sufficiently offset and complement each other ; hence, 

 though deeply devoted, they never seemed to find 

 the repose and the soothing acquiescence in the soci- 

 ety of one another that marriage should bring. They 

 both had the great virtues, nobleness, generosity, 

 courage, deep kindliness, etc. ; but neither of them 

 had the small virtues. Both gave way under small 

 annoyances, paltry cares, petty interruptions bugs, 

 cocks, donkeys, street noises, etc. To great emergen- 



