The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1875-12-31
The Editors Wife.

Yes, Pm Mrs. Peter Snow, an editors
wife. l well remember the day when
Mr.. Snow asked me to become his wife.
[ confess I liked Mr.. Snowy and, think
ing it would be a very fine thing to be
the wife of an editor, said yes, as pretty
as l knew how, and 1 became Mrs.
Snow. l have seen ten years of married
life, and find my husband to be an
amiable, good-natured man. He al
ways spends his evenings at home, and
is in that respect model man; but he
always brings a pile of exchanges,
which is only limited by the length of
his arms, and reads, while I patch the
knees and elbows of our pantaloons and
coat. After we have had Quaker
meeting of an hours length, break the
silence by asking:
"Mr. Snow, did you order that coal I
spoke to you about ?n
"What did you say, my dear ?'' he
asks, after few moments silence.
"Did you order that coal 1 spoke to
you about Pr
Indeed, my dear, am sorry, but 1
forgot all about it.n
Another hours silence, which is re-
lieved by the baby's crying, and, rather
liking to hear a noise of some sort, 1
make no effort to quiet him.
my" says Mr.. Snow, after he has
cried minute or so, "you had better
give the baby some catnip tea to quiet
him; he troubles me-"
The baby is still; another hour passes
without breath of noise. Becoming
tired of silence, I take lamp and retire
for the night, leaving Mr.. Snow so en-
gagged with his paper that he does not
see me leave the room. Towards mid
night he comes to bed, and lust as he
has fallen to sleep, the baby takes no.
ton to cry again. 1 rise as quietly as
possible, and try to still him. While 1
am walking the room with a young
Snow in my arms, our next-a boy Of
three years-begins to scream at the top
of his lungs. There is no other course
but to call Mr.. Snow, so 1 call out:
"Mr. Snow! Mr.. Snow ~
The third time he starts up and re-
plies:
"What Tim; more copy? ?n
AS though l was Tim, that little imp
running about the office. Ireply rather
tartly:
''No, don't want any more copy-I
have had enough of that to last me my
lifetime-I want you to see what
Tommy is crying abont."
Mr.. Snow makes desperate effort to
rouse himself; as Tommy stops to take
a breath, he falls asleep again, leaving
me to pace the room in as much vexa-
tion as | can comfortably contain. The
next morning, at breakfast, when I gave
Mr.. Snow an account of last nights ad-
ventures, he replies
''Indeed, my dear, I am sorry the
children troubled you"
This is always the way. If I even
complain, it is, Indeed, my dear, l am
very sorry"
But should the very same thing occur
the subsequent night, directly before his
eyes, very likely he would not see or
know anything about it, unless it hap
pened to interrupt his train of ideas.
Then he would propose catnip tea; but
before l can get it into the infants
stomach, he will be far away in the
realms of thought. leaving me not lit
tie vexed at his stupidity.
Mr.. Snow knows the nature of every
paper 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 own baby. He
knows how every contributor looks, but
l do not believe he can tell whether my
eyes are black or blue.
They say Mr.. Snow is getting rich.
All 1 know is, he gives me money to
clothe our boys, and that, too, without a
complaint of poverty. hope the world
is right in Its opinion, and when 1 am
satisfl ed it is, shall advise him to re-
sign his editorial honors and spend
few months in becoming acquainted
with his wife and children. The little
ones will feel much flattered in making
the acquaintance of so literary man.