SAXBY'S DAY.

Westport Times, Volume III, Issue 557, 21 September 1869, Page 2

SAXBY'S DAY.

(To the Editor of the Westport Times.) Silt,—As a visitor en passant I have remarked the extreme peril to which Westport is exposed in case of a high flood tide or tidal wave, and with satisfaction have noted the precautionary measures which are being taken (slight though they may be, slight as they must be) in case of any such occurring on the much dreaded 7th of October. Instead of such being a matter only to laugh at, I think it indicates a wise and commendable prudence. But I understand that certain of your small notabilities contemplate a proceeding alike discreditable to themselves and calculated to injure that community feeling and desire to be mutually helpful which should always be in lively vigour in the prospect of any pending, or possibly pending, common calamity. I have heard it rumoured that a certain clique of separatists, or would-be separatists, propose beating a retreat into the recesses of the bush. Now it may be that any appeal to the timid, selfish, unpatriotic natures, that would act thus—(who could mount among the pigeons or caw-caws on tree tops apart, and unmoved contemplate whatever might occur below)—would be completely useless; and I believe it would. Tet is it of some moment that their conduct be rightly appreciated in order that others may see more forcibly the duty and the privilege that they may have to exercise of patient waiting, and in case of need of right shoulder to shoulder action. Then it is to be remembered that though gilt-buttonista and red-tapists have little to lose, and are wont to consider their own dear little salaries mainly, that storekeepers have their stocks and their premises, and they, for the more generous motive, as well as for their mutual interest, will, I trust, seek mutually to protect each other, manfully remaining at their posts, and if need be (which we all hope in God there will not) concentrate their energies on any weak or exposed point.—l am, &e., Z. Z. Westport, Sept. 18.

A married man's praise of marriage (says a bachelor friend) is never to be trusted. It is astonishing what a relief it is to our unhappiness to see another in the same scrape as ourselves. In fact, a man by marriage virtually deserts his sex, and enrols himself in the ranks of the petticoat brigade. Marry, marry, is his constant croak, too often successful with some inexperienced youth conscious of a missing shirt button. He paints the delights of " his ain fireside," but ignores the prohibited latch-key and nightly lecture. He describes the delights of watching his rising offspring, but never mentions the horrors of a squalling baby, and the midnight rambles in light attire while acting the part of nurse. He talks of the superior freedom of "ahouseandhoineofyour own," and forgets the abuse he receives when he crosses the sacred threshold with muddy boots. He talks of the pleasure of having an intelligent companion ready to enter into conversation at all times. H 6 forgets how soon the most intelligent companion becomes a bore. Six months I have always found enough to suck dry tbe cleverest man. Mr Yawn must perforce hear Mrs Yawn, and Mrs Yawn Mr Yawn to the end of the chapter. Shall I ever marry ? you ask me. Well, my shirt buttons are so shaky that I must either get a wife or a sewing machine, and I prefer the latter, as it can do its work without a tongue. The following description of a Yankee maid-servant is from G. A. Sala's " Diary in America in the midst of the War :"—" An American ' help ' is no menial. She is spoken of, not satirically, but in simple good faith, as ' the youug lady ' who ' p'cks up the house ' and ' fixes ' the dinner table. Before she agrees to enter a family she cross-examines her mistress as to whether the houseis provided with Hecker'sflour, and Beebe's range, brass pails, oil-cloth on the stairs, and hot aud cold water laid on. Then she states the domestic ' platform ' on which she is prepared to act. ' Monday I bakes ; and nobody speaks to me. Tuesday I washes; I'se to be let alone. Wednesday I iron ; you'd best let me alone that day. Thursday I picks up the house. I's awful ugly that day in temper, but affectionate. Friday I bakes again. Saturday my beau comes. And Sunday I has to myself.' " Aif old friend of ours, with a very rubicund countenance, went to the railway station recently to await the arrival of a gentleman whom he had invited to dine, and was jostled by the crowd into the middle of a procession of male and female teetotallers. To back he couldn't; go forward he must; aud, making a virtue of necessity, he strutted on under the shadow of a huge banner inscribed with a Scriptural text. But his lace betrayed him ; for a ragged urchin perched on the top of an adjacent wall, elbowing a companion, and pointing to the kenspeckle veteran who angrily and reluctantly found himself an ark on the seething waters of self-denying invasion, exclaimed—' O'd Jock, there's ane no lang joined at ony rate.' A " Girl of the Period " comments thus upon Mormonism :—" How absurd—four or five wives for one man ; when the fact is, in these times each woman ought to have four or five husbands. It would take about that number to support her decently."