A Cure for Bad Temper.

Cromwell Argus, Volume III, Issue 135, 11 June 1872, Page 7

A Cure for Bad Temper.

I found the cherished face of Maria Ann wreathed in smiles the other evening when I returned from my arduous daily toil. (I am hired as standing-man at a Saloon. So many candidates are treating, that the saloon-keeper hires six of us to be treated. We drink with every candidate who comes in, and it makes business pretty brisk.) Said my chosen one, " Joshua, I am afraid you do not always find me an angel in disposition." Said 1, "That's so—hie—my dear, I don't seldom find you 'nangel in anything." "And," she added, "you are not always the most pleasant man in the world." I did not feel called on to reply. "Now," said she, "read that." She had cut an item from the columns of somo paper wherein a demented writer told about some impossible woman who, being troubled with a bad temper, counted twentyfive every time she got provoked, and thus became a sweet, amiable, and dearly loved ornament of the house of her delighted husband. I read the article as well as the condition of my head would allow, and remarked, "Bosh." Maria Ann paid no attention to me, but unfolded her plan. She said that every time [ got mad I should count twonty-five, and that every time she got mad she -would count twenty-five. I asked her who she thought would pay our rent while she sat and counted twenty-live over the whole day long. Then she said I was always raising objections to her plans for our mutual improvement, and I said I was not, and she said I was enough to try the patience of a saint, and 1 said she was too, and she came for me, and I told her to count twenty-five ; but she forgot all that, and just tallied one in my left eye. Then I was go ; ng to remonstrate with the poker, and she told me to count twenty-five, and 1 said I would not ; but I did before she had pulled more than half my hair out. Tueu she made mo count twenty-five, over and over, until I was out of breath and felt rather pleasant and good-natured. So we went to supper. Now, the cat was curled up in my chair, but I did not see it until I sat down ; and I did not see it then ; but I was pretty sure it was there ; in fact, I knew it was there as well as I wanted to, and more too. I felt inclined to rise up suddenly, but as I gathered to spring Maria Ann brandished the toi-poi and murmured, "Joshua, your temper is rising; count twenty-five or I'll beak your head "; and tha!; cat was drawing a map of the Tenth Ward with her claws avound behind me, with the streets and boundaries marked in my blood. I rose to explain, ami said, "My dear—l—" but she ciromed on my head with a well-shot teacup, and 1 sat down and counted twenty-five ; but it killed the cat. The old fellow died hard though. I could feel him settle as his nine lives went out one by one. A few days' practice of this rule, under the loving instruction of Maria Ann, has enabled ni3 to conquer my temper completely. Nobody can get me mad now. lam in a state of perpetual calm, and I want to see the man that wrote the story I want to make him | lit for the hands of the undertaker, and make a demand for mourning goods among his friends. Then I can die happy—counting twenty-five.—From the Utka Herald.