Of course， this query could have no reference to mysituation. Yet， unreasonable as it may appear， I confessthat my feelings were not altogether so ecstatic as whenI first called Mrs. Bullfrog mine. True， she was a sweetwoman， and an angel of a wife； but what if a gorgon shouldreturn， amid the transports of our connubial bliss， andtake the angel’s place！ I recollected the tale of a fairy， whohalf the time was a beautiful woman， and half the timea hideous monster. Had I taken that very fairy to be thewife of my bosom？ While such whims and chimeras wereflitting across my fancy， I began to look askance at Mrs.
Bullfrog， almost expecting that the transformation wouldbe wrought before my eyes.
To divert my mind， I took up the newspaper which hadcovered the little basket of refreshments， and which nowlay at the bottom of the coach， blushing with a deep-redstain， and emitting a potent spirituous fume， from thecontents of the broken bottle of Kalydor. The paper wastwo or three years old， but contained an article of severalcolumns， in which I soon grew wonderfully interested. Itwas the report of a trial for breach of promise of marriage，giving the testimony in full， with fervid extracts from boththe gentleman’s and lady’s amatory correspondence. Thedeserted damsel had personally appeared in court， andhad borne energetic evidence to her lover’s perfidy， andthe strength of her blighted affections. On the defendant’spart， there had been an attempt， though insufficientlysustained， to blast the plaintiff ’s character， and a pleain mitigation of damages， on account of her unamiabletemper. A horrible idea was suggested by the lady’s name.
“Madam，” said I， holding the newspaper before Mrs.
Bullfrog’s eyes—and， though a small， delicate， and thinvisagedman， I feel assured that I looked very terrific—“Madam，” repeated I， through my shut teeth， “were youthe plaintiff in this cause？”
“Oh， my dear Mr. Bullfrog，” replied my wife， sweetly， “Ithought all the world knew that.”
“Horror！ horror！” exclaimed I， sinking back on the seat.
Covering my face with both hands， I emitted a deepand deathlike groan， as if my tormented soul were rendingme asunder. I， the most exquisitely fastidious of men， andwhose wife was to have been the most delicate and refinedof women， with all the fresh dew-drops glittering on hervirgin rosebud of a heart！ I thought of the glossy ringletsand pearly teeth—I thought of the Kalydor—I thought ofthe coachman’s bruised ear and bloody nose—I thoughtof the tender love-secrets， which she had whispered to thejudge and jury， and a thousand tittering auditors—and gaveanother groan！
“Mr. Bullfrog，” said my wife.
As I made no reply， she gently took my hands withinher own， removed them from my face， and fixed her eyessteadfastly on mine.
“Mr. Bullfrog，” said she， not unkindly， yet with all thedecision of her strong character， “let me advise you toovercome this foolish weakness， and prove yourself， to thebest of your ability， as good a husband as I will be a wife.
You have discovered， perhaps， some little imperfectionsin your bride. Well—what did you expect？ Women arenot angels. If they were， they would go to Heaven forhusbands—or， at least， be more difficult in their choice onearth.”
“But why conceal those imperfections？” interposed I，tremulously.
“Now， my love， are not you a most unreasonable littleman？” said Mrs. Bullfrog， patting me on the cheek. “Oughta woman to disclose her frailties earlier than the weddingday？
Few husbands， I assure you， make the discovery insuch good season， and still fewer complain that thesetrifles are concealed too long. Well， what a strange manyou are！ Poh！ you are joking.”
“But the suit for breach of promise！” groaned I.
“Ah！ and is that the rub？” exclaimed my wife. “Is itpossible that you view that affair in an objectionablelight？ Mr. Bullfrog， I never could have dreamt it！ Is itan objection， that I have triumphantly defended myselfagainst slander， and vindicated my purity in a court ofjustice？ Or， do you complain， because your wife has shownthe proper spirit of a woman， and punished the villain whotrifled with her affections？”
“But，” persisted I—shrinking into a corner of thecoach， however； for I did not know precisely how muchcontradiction the proper spirit of a woman wouldendure— “but， my love， would it not have been moredignified to treat the villain with the silent contempt hemerited？”
“That is all very well， Mr. Bullfrog，” said my wife， slily；“but， in that case， where would have been the five thousanddollars， which are to stock your dry-goods store？”
“Mrs. Bullfrog， upon your honor，” demanded I， as if mylife hung upon her words， “is there no mistake about thosefive thousand dollars？”
“Upon my word and honor， there is none，” replied she.
“The jury gave me every cent the rascal had—and I havekept it all for my dear Bullfrog！”
“Then， thou dear woman，” cried I， with an overwhelminggush of tenderness， “let me fold thee to my heart！ Thebasis of matrimonial bliss is secure， and all thy littledefects and frailties are forgiven. Nay， since the result hasbeen so fortunate， I rejoice at the wrongs which drovethee to this blessed law-suit. Happy Bullfrog that I am！”