Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1873-02-14
MARRIED LIFE.
Some Things that are Nice about It.

Some innings tnaC are N1Co aOOuC IL.
From the Cincinnati Times Chronicle.
First-Just married destined to
linger in clover, new-mown hay, and
such heritage from nine to twelve
months. Then
Second-Some black, raseally, stor-
my night you are turned out into the
streets and ponds and mill-races, or
amid snow eighteen inches deep, and
drifting like bazes, and told to run for
the doctor. When you get home
again, eight chances to ten, little red
flannel locking thing, about the size of
big merino potato, awaits you, They
will call it a baby, and packed up with
it you will find the first real squalls of
married life-you can bet on that.
Third-Paregoric, and soothing syr-
up, aud 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
Fourth-One Of these nights, in
'The wee sma hours ayont the twal''
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 dis
tressed openness of cane-seat chair,
you will distractedly rock that baby
back and forth, aud bob it up and
down, singing, meanwhile, with voice
like wild OK in slaughter-yard
"This thing is playing out, Nary"
Crock bye, baby, on tree-top,"
or some melody. And all the time
that baby yells. Oh, doesn't he yell /!
while Mary Ann, up to her nose under
the warm bed covers, to help out, every
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 he could never
get any of it back again, or neck, or
something, you would be immeasurea-
bly, happy But no, The little in
nocent seems tougher than an India
rubber car spring
Just as you are about giving up,
concluding that you must freeze, that
there will certainly have to be fun
eral in the house inside Of thirty-six
hours, baby willis from sheer eShaus-
ton, and then, with teeth chattering
like a Mccormick reaper, you crawl in
by Mary Ann and try to sleep again.
Fifth-Gradually you glide away in
to a tangled maze Of ice, cammomiIe,
more ice, skating weather, steam-whis-
tls-voiced babies, jockey club, sleigh
rides, crinoline, immense as the old
bell of Moscow, Indian ambuscades,
snow storms, and forty other equally
cheerful things. suddenly
Sixth-A snort, thrash, a wild |
throwing upward of little arms and !
legs, and then, keen and shrill, comes
that terrible "ahwaah ah-w a h |"
again. | guess you wake up, don't
you?
sect the psregoric aud the teaspoon,
quick r says Mary Ann, in sharp, |
staccato tone, and don You get it?
In just three eighths of second |
you are Grecian bend out there on
the cold floor dropping paregoric in a
teaspoon. @
Hurry! Gracious little Peter del
scribing diabolc curves with all the
arms and legs he's got, and screaming
one hundred pounds to the square inch,
and Mary Ann rearing around there in
the bed, making rocking chair of Ter
back and yelling "By, By, o." like
wild Comanche on the war path. Oh,
no circumstances are not such as to
make you hurry any.
And then to think that 'as the days
md perhaps years roll on, there has
rot to be more and more yet of just
such distressed work
Nice, amt it?