Australian Tales - Setis

wife, and a respected landlady, in fact, the head of a household; now she
was a poor miserably wet widow, apparently shut out from society
altogether, bereft of her husband, deserted by her lodger, slighted by her
next-door neighbour, scared out of her house by Satan, or some of his
emissaries, and left all alone beneath the treacherous full moon, in that
cold comfortless gutter to bemoan her unprecedented misfortunes, and to
unbosom her woes before those frowning chimney-pots, and creaking
cowls.
But the smallest grains, by attentive culture, sometimes produce a rich
harvest. Adversity often teaches a wholesome lesson, and “he is the man
of power, who controls the storms and tempests of his mind, and turns to
good account the worst accidents of fortune.” It would perhaps be wrong
to give Mrs. Lemonpip credit for much philosophy, but she was not
devoid of feeling. She had a woman's heart in her breast, although
unfortunately it had become rather callous and sour, through long
feeding on imaginary woes and worries, petty grievances and old tom;
and in brooding over her self-made troubles, she had overlooked the
many mercies and comforts with which her lot was crowned. A sensible
scribe says, “Women sometimes do not prize their husbands as they
ought. They sometimes learn the value of a good husband for the first
time by the loss of him. Yet the husband is the very roof-tree of the
house — the corner stone of the edifice, the key-stone of that arch called
home. He is the bread-winner of the family, its defence and its glory; the
beginning and ending of the golden chain of life which surrounds it, its
consoler, its lawgiver, and its king. And yet we see how frail is that life
on which so much depends. How frail is the life of the husband and the
father! When he is taken away, who shall fill his place? When he is sick,
what a gloomy cloud hovers over the house! When he is dead, what
darkness and weeping agony.”
Little Mrs. Lemonpip felt all the loneliness of sudden widowhood; and,
added to her grief for the loss of a kind devoted husband, was the bitter
regret that she had been the indirect cause of his fatal disaster
— whatever it was — and the regret too, that she had so very often
grieved his loving heart by her pettishness, or positive cruelty.
Recollections of the thousand fond acts of her dear lost one rushed into
her mind, and tears simultaneously gushed into her eyes — those eyes,
which for years had never been suffused except by tears of vexation,
began to overflow with genuine contrition. She remembered all his
kindness, and solicitude for her comfort and pleasure, as evidenced even
that very morning — but which kindnesses she had so often slighted, or
indignantly spurned. Then she called to mind his constant example of
gentleness, meekness, patience, — his wonderful forbearance with her
bad manners, and his frequent prayers for her reformation; and her
conscience condemned her, whichever way she viewed her conduct.