THE COMING WIFE.

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume IV, Issue 361, 23 February 1876, Page 3

THE COMING WIFE.

She's a little bit of a woman, all patience and sunshine, and I'd spoil the best Bilk hat that money could buy for the privilege of lending her my umbrella in a rain storm. She's married, and she's got an old rhinoceros of a husband; He makes it a practice to come home tight at 11 o'clock every other night, and he has for years, and he can't remember that she aver gave him a croas word about it. When he falls into the hall she is waiting to close the door and help him into the sittingroom, where a good fire awaits him. She draws off his boots, unbuttons his collar, and all the time she is saying, "Poor Henry! How sorry I am that you had this attack of vertigo! lam afraid that you will be found dead by the roadside some night." " Whazzer mean by verahigo?" he growls. But she liolpß him off with his vest, and pleasantly continues, " I'm so glad you got home all right ! I hope the day* will come when you can pass more of your time at home. It' dreadful how your business drives you." " Whaz bizshness ? Whaz yer talk' ing !bout ?" he replies. " Poor one ! How hot your head is I" she continues. And presently he.breaks down and weeps,and exclaims, "Yez, zur — zic's a 'orse — wearing zelf out fast' can. Wishzi was dead ! Next morning she never refers to the subject, but pleasantly enquires how he slept, and if Mb mind is clear. His boots may be missing, and he yells out, "Where'n thunder's my boots?" "Here, my dear," she replies ; and she handß them out, all nicely blacked up. If she wants a dress, or a hat, or a cloak, and he yells out \' that household expenses are eating him up," Bhe never " sasaes" him back, nor tells him that she will write to her mother, and tell her just how it is. " That's it, my dear ; times are hard," she Bays, and gets up just as good a dinner as if he had left her £50. He may come home tight at toa»titne, but she is not shocked. She remarks that it is an unexpected pleasure to have him home so early, and she pretends not to notice his sijipid look. He sees three chairs where there is but one, and in. trying to sit down on one what he thinks the nearest, he strikes on the floor like the fall of a derrick. " Whazzer that chair 'way for?" he yells. And she cries, "It's that hole in the carpet, I knew you would stumble." And she helps him up, and brings him up a strong cup of tea. They do not keep a servant, and when good weather came she never thought of setting herself opposite him, and saying, " Now then, you'll get up and light the fires, or there won't be any lighted. Mark that, old bald-head." Noj she didn't resort to auy such base and tyranioal measures. When daylight comes she slips out of bed, makes two fires, warms his socks, and then bending over him, she whispers, ." Arise, darling, and greet the festive morn." He's ill sometimes, and I've known that woman to coax him for two straight hours to take the doctor's medioine, turn over hia pillow 22 times, keep a wet cloth on his bead, pare his corns down, and then wiah she had a quail to make him some soup with. When he gets into a fight down town, and comes home with his ears bitten up and his nose pointing north-east, she inquires how the horse happened to run away with him, and Bhe says she is so thank' ful he wasn't killed. She has an excuse for everything, and she never admits that any one but herself is to blame about anything. Lor' bless her ! I hope a he'll slip into heaven, and never be asked a question. — American paper.