The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1869-10-05
EecOlIe ctiOnS of a Lazy Eife--Em-
balming the Memory of q De-
parted Wife--A Second Venture
on the Sea of MatrimOny-.Un-
fortunate Results.

procured of Eli Mudgett, neigh
Dor of mine, very pretty gravestone
His wife was consumptive, and he haC
kept it on hand for several years in ex
pectation of her death. But she rallied
in the spring, and his hopes were dashed
Never shall l forget this poor man:
grief when I asked him to part with this
gravestone "Take it,Skinner," said he
''take it, and may you never know wha
it is to have your soul racked with dis
appointment, as mine has been," and he
burst into a food Of tears. His spirit
was, indeed, utterly crushed.
had the following epitaph engraved
upon the gravestone:
To the memory of
TABITHA,
Wife of Moses Skinner, Esq, the gentlemanly
editor of the Trombone
A kind mother and exemplarary wife,
Terms So year, invariably In advance;
Office over Hansons grocery, up two flights;
Knock hard.
ave shall miss thee, mother;
We shall miss thee, mother"
Job printing solicited.
Thus did my lacerated spirit cry out
in its agony, even as Rachel weeping fol
her children. But one raw of light pen
etrated the despair of my soul. The
undertaken took his pay in job printing
ana the sexton owed me a little bill which
/ shouldn't have got in any other way.
Why should we repine at the myste,
rious ways of Providence and vicinity
(Not conundrum.
X X x
I here pause to drop a silent tear to
the memory of Tabitha Ripley that was
She was an eminently pious woman, and
could fry the best piece Of tripe 1 ever
slung under my vest. Her picked up
dinners were perfect success, and she
always dotted on Foreign Missions.
I did not, however, allow myself to
pine away to any extent In the person
of Matilda Baxter, a gushing coquette
of forty-seven autumns, did | perceive q
salve for my lacerated heart-strings. AS
soon, therefore, as could smother my
anguish and change my underclothing,
to Matilda BIS cid l hie myself away, on
the sweet wings of love. Never shall l
forget our betrothal
1t was a calm still night in June, and
all nature had been hushed into repose
by judicious use of Mrs. Winslow's
Soothing Syrup. Matilda and I were
walking pensively among the garden
sauce back of the house, and ] was re-
peating those touching words by John
Bunyan:
Two beets with but a single head,
Two cabbages with one.
Around us. the frolicsomeVJune bug
gaily waltzed,, and the cheerful hum of
the mosquito added pathos to the scene
while in the adjacent mill pond the guile,
less bullfrog performed select anthem
to the parting day. Afar off in the
western horizon the sun was setting,
which he did in his usual hunky style,
without bursting ary button off his trow-
sers. Nothing disturbed the solemn
stiffness but the gentle heaving Of her
m,and the gentle heaving Of small
boy who had been smoking cheroot in
the woodshed. l was trying to imagine,
with the pure affection of youth, how
many stamps she had laid away, and she
was engaged in heaving an elegant as
sortment of sighs, varying from a small
to large size.
The ecstatic rapture which stepped my
soul in bliss o'ercame me, and, seizing
Matilda,by her waterfall, I imprinted a
pure kiss of betrothal behind her left
ear.
She gazed at me in silent rapture, and
while the lovellght cleaned with dewy
softness from those liquid orbs upraised
to mine, she said;
"Skinner, have you taken bath late
w she continued: "You are an old
fool. If you amt got spunk enough to
bring this bile to head 1 have. Come,
set the day, my ethereal bloat,my festive,
bal6-beaded minikin.'
Thus, with honeyed words of love, did
we beguile the time.
We were married in church, my chill
dren as chief mourners, occupying front
seats. There were no cards, except a
game of euchre to see who should sleep
in the front side of the bed. We took a
short bridal tour; she went to bingham
to see her Aunt Abigail, and / came to
Boston to buy a set Of type for the
Trombone. 1t was about tie time that
all was SO quiet on the Potomac, but
that day Boston was in fever of ex-
citement, because it was limited in official
circles that the commanding general
would move as Sc on as his rent became
due, though he hated to leave Mason and
Dixon's line, it was so handy to hang
the clothes on on washing days.
My second venture in the sea of mat
rimony has not been success. Meta
phorically speaking, my second plate OF
matrimonial hash has soured on my
hands. On returning to my domicil in
Slunkville, my wife addressed me in the
following chaste language:
"Skinner, l am now boss of this she
bang, and really hope, for your mothers
sake, that l shant be obliged to use the
mop handle over your head more than
twice day, and once Sundays"
Another cccentricity Of hers is plant
ing her feet in the small of my back af.
ter 1 have retired for the night, and
whirling me playfully across the room
The first overture of this kind occurred
one very cold morning, when I suggest
ed the propriety of her getting up and
building the fire. If my memory serves
me right, and / think she do, / built the
fire myself that A. NJ, and I have made
it point to do SO ever since If there
is anything | dote on, it is rising with
the lark and building the fire.