The interior journal. [volume] (Stanford, Ky.) 1872-1881, 1873-02-21
What NewIy.Married Men have
tO come 10.

Just married; destined TO live in clover,
new-m -mown hay. and such heritage from
nine to twelve months. Then
Some black, ra.cally and stormy night
you are turned out into the streets and
ponds and mill-races, or amid snow
eighteen inches deep, and drifting like
blazes; and told to run for the doctor
When you get home again, eight chances
to ten, little red Misunderstanding thing,
about the size Of abig Merino potato,
awaits you. They call it a baby; and
packed up with it you will find the first
real squalls of married life--you can bet
on that.
Paregoric, and soothing syrup, and
catnip tea and long flannel, and diaper
stuff, and baby colic-they will come
along too; in fact, they will become just
as much at home in the house as Dinner.
Then
One of these nights, in "The wee sma
hours ayont the twaP,' you will turn out
again. Barefoot, an icy, disconsolate
sense of dampness all about you, only
cotton shirt or such matter between you
and the distressed openness Of cane seat
chair, you will distractedly rock that ba'
by back and forth, and bob it up and
down, singing meanwhile, with a voice
like wild OK in slaughter yard: This
thing is playing out, Mary" "Rock o
bye, baby on q tree top" or some such
melody. And all the time that baby
yells. Oh, doesn't he yell ! while Mary
Ann, up to her nose in the warm bed
covers, TO help out, ever now and then
impatiently puts in, just at the wrong
place, "Why don't you trot him faster,
Samuel?"
And you trot him-oh, how you do
trot him! If you could only trot his
wind out so far that it would never come
hack again, or break his neck, or back
or something, you would be immeasur-
ably happy. But no. The little inno-
cent seems tougher than an India rubber
car spring.
Just as you are about giving up, con-
cluding that you must freeze, that there
will certainly have to be funeral in the
house within thirty-six hours, baby wilts
from sheer exhaustion, and then with
teeth chattering like Mccormick reaper,
you crawl in by Mary Ann and try to
sleep again.
Gradually you glide away into a tangled
maze of ice, skating weather, steam
whistle voiced babies, jscky club, sleigh
rides, crinoline immense as the old bell
at Moscow, Indian ambuscades, snow
storms, and forty other equally cheerful
things. Suddenly
A snort. a thrash, wild throwing up
ward Of little arms and legs, and then,
keen and shrill, comes that terrible "ah-
wahl ah-w-aa-h!" again. guess you
wake up, don't your
"Get the paregoric and a teaspoon,
quickl" says Mary Ann, in q sharp,
staccato tone. "Why don't you get
iti"
In just three-eighths of a second you
are Grecian bend out there on the cold
floor dropping paregoric in teaspoon.
Hurry Gracious little Peter describ-
ing diabolical curves with all the arms
and legs he's got, and screaming one hun
dred pounds to the square inch, and Mary
Ann rearing around there in the bed
making rocking chair of her back and
yelling, "by, by, O,"like wild Comanche
ON the war path. Oh, no; circum-
stances are not such as to make you hurry
any.
And then you think as days, and per-
haPs year rolls on, there has got to be
more and more yet Of such distressed
work
Nice, ain'tit?