The Van Buren press., 1859-08-10
Msrrviug an Editor.

j Yes, I'm Mrs. Peter Snow, an editors
wife. l well remember the day when Mr.
Snow asked me to become his wife. con.
fess l liked Mr.. Snow, and, thinking il
would be very fine thing to be the wife Of
an editor. I said g yes. as pretty As / knew
how, and became Mrs Snow 1 have seen
ten years married life. and find my husband
to be an amiable, goodnatured MN. He
always spends his evenings at home, and
is. in that respect a model man !; but he al
ways brings home . pile of exchanges,
which is only limited by the length of his
arms, and reads, while l patch the knees
and elbows of our boys pantaIoons and
coat. After we have had Quaker meet
ing OF an hours length, break the silence
by asking.
Nh. Snow. did you order that coal l
spoke to you about? ar
"What did you say, my dear 90 he asks,
after few moments silence
Did you order that coal spoke to you
about 90
=" Indeed my dear am sorry but forgot
all about it. 1t shall come Tomorrow
Another hours silence, which is relieved
by the baby's crying, and rather liking to
hear noise of some sort, l made no effort
to quiet him.
"My dear" says Mr.. Snow after he had
cried minute or so, "you had better give
the baby some eatnip tea to quiet him, he
troubles me-
The baby is still another hour passes
without breath of noise Becoming tired
Of silence l take lamp, and retire for the
night, leaving Mr. Snow so engaged with his
paper that he does not see me leave the
room. Towards midnight he comes to bed,
and just as he has fallen TO sleep, the baby
takes notion to cry again. Irise as quick
ly as possible, and try to still him. While
l am walking the room with small Snow
In my arms, our next-a boy of three wears
begins to scream at the top Of his lungs.
What can do? There is no other course
but to call MIR. Snow, so l call out: ns
Mr.. Snow Mr. Snow y
The third time he starts up, and replies /:
"W hat Tim more copy ?''
As though I was Tim, that little imp
running about the office. l reply, rather
tartly
"No don't want any copy-I have had
enough of that to last my life time-I want
you to see what Tommy is crying about''
MIR. Snow makes desperate effort to
rouse himself; as Tommy stops to take
breath, be falls asleep again, leaving me to
pace the room in as much vexation as can
comfortably contain. The next morning at
breakfast, when give Mr.. Snow an account
of the last nights adventure, he replies;
.' Indeed, my dear, am very sorry the
children trouble YOU
This is always the way. If l complain,
it is, 60 indeed, my dear l am very1sorry''
But should the very same thing ocsr the
subsequent night directly before his ewes,
very likely he would not see or know any
thing about it, unless it happened to inter
rupt his train of ideas Then he would
propose catnip tea but before can get it
into the infants stomach, he will be far a.
way into the realms of thought, leaving me
not little vexed at his stupidity
MIR. Snow knows the name of every pa
per published in England and the United
States, but he cannot, for the life Of him,
tell the names of his children. He knows
precisely the years of every American
Journal, but he does not know the age of
his baby. He knows how every conductor
looks but do not believe he can tell wheth-
er my eyes are black or blue.
The world says Mr.. Snow is getting rich.
All l know is, he gives me money to ciothe
our boys and that too, without complaint
of poverty l hope the world is right in
opinion, and, when am satisfied it is, L
shall advise him to resign his editorial hon
ors, and spend few months in becoming
with his wife and children
The little ones will feel much fattered in
making the acquaintance of SO literary a
man.