For a time; for a time. But time passes, and there passes
away with it all the humility, meekness, pliability, softness, and
sweetness of the obstinate man. Till when long enough time has elapsed
you find him all the obstinate and mulish man he ever was. It is not
that he has ceased to love his wife and his children. It is not that.
But there is this in all genuine and inbred obstinacy, that after a time
it often comes out worst beside those we love best. A man will be
affable, accessible, entertaining, the best of company, and the soul of
it abroad, and, then, instantly he turns the latch-key in his own door he
will relapse into silence, and sink back into utter boorishness and
bearishness, mulishness and doggedness. He swallows his evening meal at
the foot of the table in silence, and then he sits all night at the
fireside with a cloud out of nothing on his brow. His sunshine, his
smile, and his universal urbanity is all gone now; he is discourteous to
nobody but to his own wife. Nothing pleases him; he finds nothing at
home to his mind. The furniture, the hours, the habits of the house are
all disposed so as to please him; but he was never yet heard to say to
wife, or child, or servant that he was pleased.
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