The Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1837-1867, 1838-05-08

ever; or II, IN The commencement OF MS second
career, he had been subjected TO what might
have been deemed the UNSUITABLE demands of his
wife, instead of the careful outstanding of their
slender resources the road OF his ascent had been
rendered neutrality-suspicious. forever inaccessible.
The following amusing article from the Now
York Express, will give the reader an idea of
the LIST day OF May in that City, when large por-
ton ofis inhabitants change their residence.
A WEEK OF UNHAPPrNEss, New YoRK IN
TRAVAIL. May day is coming, every body knows
not the sweet May day of the Poets, known in
England, or known in our Southern land, the
May day of Flowers, and Balls, and Poesy,--but
the May day OF New York-the Rent Day-the
day OF white washing--of cleaning and securing
and trucking and removIng-when wives, sisters,
and sweehearts even, are cross-when there is
not place for mans foot even in his own house,
or his hat-or his coat, and when he goes hun
cry and wet, and torn, and mgged-the most
miserable Of all the days of his life. Home is
topsy turvy. The carpet is up, and is being shak-
en-. The chairs are piled on heaps. The old
chests are ransncked, and disgorged ofther con-
tents. Boots long thrown away come to light
The spiders IRE hunted down The cobwebs
are gathered together. The broom pursues you
in every nook. and bye place, and there Is no
couch for your wearied body, nor resting place
for yonr unhappy foot. The dinner is picked up,
and what dinner! The odds and ends Of every
thing are hashed. The calf mingIes with the
sheep, and the OK and the hog embrace each 9th
err The remnants offorty days plenty exc some
ten days of fast. Dishes go through all sorts of
metamorphoSe. The boiled victuals of to day
become the baked victuals of 10 morrow, and
then baked is turned into fried-and the fried
then goes back to the boiled, and becomes frica-
seed, so that of what beast man is eating, or on
what vegetable he lives, no human power can
tell Oh, save from this week of moving.
1t may be, gentle reader, that you may be so
happy as TO have q fixed home, and nota home
on trucks that the cartmen cart about the every
first day of May. But Of such home you cannot
now sing, "sweet home, there is no place like
home" Your wife, if you have one, and II you
have not, not much matter now, beyond doubt
has at least Two negroes whieWashipg with all
their might and mau Your breakfast is mingled
with whitewash, and your supper too. Every
thing in your closet is put in Il state OF disorder.
Be you invited out, you have not vest, it may
be, that you can find n stock, or collar, or
shirt, that can he found Jill it is too late to go
abroad. Do you wish to read? there is not a
book TO be found,-or TO write? there is not u
leaf of paper unsoled, or your manuscripts are
put in irrevocable disorder. The women are
cleaning, you are told, oh, horror on that word,
or reforming, and all mankind must he made mis-
cradle till the reform is over-The first week
before May is thus made a week of misery, and
the week after, there is no peace for this misery.
Your wives, or your sisters. or your sweethearts,
are turned into hays almost in their dresses.
They get up in their night caps, and keep them
on till noon. They go slip shod, and have holes in
their hosiery. Their curls are wild dragging
things that straddle down their cheeks. There
flies from their lips, and tue coal dust gath
ers on them. There is not chance for kiss
even-and as for blush, it cannot appear thro'
IL a IL
With them il is all broom, broom, broom. They
broom, you as you enter the door, as you eat up
the picked up dinner of uncomfortable things
jumbled together,-and they sweep you at morn
ing, and they sweep you al night and with them,
it is all sweep, oh sweep from the rising to
the going down Of the sun.
But then even this picture is Paradise, COM
pared with the fate of him, who is moving.
Three hundred thousand people all in one day u
moving! Think of it, reader in the Country, and
think of the sad fate of the denizen of this city
The spectacle is already beginning to be. The
beds are emptied into the Streets and the straw
fire is blazing. The bedseads, ana trunks, and
old chests, already line the side walks Many
head now rests itself on the carpet or the floor,
with but the cloak for a covering. The whole
city is like Tartar tent. We are all Loco Focos,
all squatters now,- wandering Arabs. We
don't live any where,--we only stay. We have
no home, or what we have, we only divide anoth-
en- As our wives and children go out one side
of the door, some other body's wife and children
are going in. What scowling there is, from wo-
man to woman! How the young cherubs fight
over the fragments of cradles, about cats, and
kittens, and pokers and shovels! How the keen
eye of scandal runs wild over another's affairs
domestic, and how the sharp tongue wakes warm
in hitting off this woman's bedclothes, or that
mans wardrobe! The secrets of sly piles are
and the concealments of a wear are
dragged forth to light
Happy on a moving day, is the humble Irish
man who, with his wife, can shoulder his bed and
bedding, and walk off with all that is his own.
The more things man has then, the worse for
him. But what is man good for on the day of
moving, but TO be the butt of his wife, and TO
bear her wrath with the patience Of a Christian.
he cannot fold bed quilts well: he cannot take
care OF the pots and kettles. Il the mirror is bro
ken he is held accountable. If the sofa is scratch
ed, he is scratched too. In whatever damage is
done, all the scodng falls on him. blockhead
he must be expected 10 be called,--and If his
bend is not made block of thrice happy he.
"A Il No., n