Sweet, Restful Home. (From the 'Danbury News')

Waikato Times, Volume X, Issue 579, 5 February 1876, Page 1 (Supplement)

Sweet, Restful Home. (From the 'Danbury News ')

A 'coiter's Saturday night' in danbotiy. It is Saturday night — the dear cloit of a tossing, struggling, restless week. Tomorrow is the >abbath — when all labor and care are held in abeyance. Saturday night stands like a rock before the day of rest, and ■ays to toil and worry : ' Thus far sh»lt thou come, and no farther ' Blessed Saturday night. The wearied husband and father approaches his home. He looks a-head and | sees the light streaming in cheerful radiance from the windows and wonders if that boy has got in the kindlings. He steps up on the stoop and opens the door. Bis faithful wife naeecs him at the entrance, and greets him with, • Why on earth don't you clean I your feet, and not lug the home fall of mud ? Don't you know that I've been scrubbing all day V And thus he steps into the bosom of hm family, ijrateful for the merciei he has received, and thankful that he has a homo to come to when the worry and care and toil of the week are done Yes, he is home now, and ban set his dinner-pail on one chair ami laid his hat and coit on another, and with hw eye full of soap from the wash is shoutiog impeiously for the towel. Saturday ni^ht in the household ; What a beautiful sight ! The bright light, the cheerful figured carpet, the radiant stove, and neatly laid table with the steaming teapot, the pictures on the walls, the spotless curt*ms, tha purring c«t and the bright-eyed children rubbing the places with cheir hngers and looking hungrily at the canned cherries. Evan the weaned wife is visibly affected, and ai she steps to a closet with his vat and coat, she unconsciously observes to her husbind: • Will you never learn to hang your things up, or do you tnink I've got nothm' else to do but chase after yon all the while you »re in the house ?' He makes no reply, but as he drops into his seat at the table, with a sigh of relief, he says : . 1 What's the matter with that infernal lamp ? Is the oil all out, or ain't the chimney been cleared? It don't give no more li^h"; th»n a fire-bag.' I 'Turn it up tben,' she retorts. 'It was right enough when 1 put it on the table, but I suppone the children have been fooling with is They never can keep their hands out of miichief for an instant,' « I'll fool 'em,' he growls, Jif tkey don t keep their finders offu things.' Aft<r this nally a silence reigns, broken only by a subdued rustle of plates and cutlery. Tuen comes a wnisper from one of the youth-, which is promptly met in a loud key by the mother : • Mot another mouthful, I tell you. You have had one dishful already, and that's enough. 1 ain't going to be np all night wrasthng around with you young woman ; and the quicker you straighten tha6 faos the better it'll be fur you ' The offender looks with abashed inquiry into the faoes of her brothers and sisters, and gradually steals a glance into the face of her father, hut tiding no sympathy thero, fills | o making surrep itious grimaces at the mother, t) th j relief of taer«tlf and the iut^nve edification of the other children Tne tea is fiually over, that delightful Saturday night's meal, and as the appeased father stretches back in his chair and looks dreamily at the flame dancing in the stove, he says to his fi»st born : | 'Is them kindlings out, joug man V I

Of courqa they have not been, and theyouth replies : # 'I'm going right out to do it now, .and stepf about lively for hia hat. ' You'd better ; and if I come home igara and find them kindling* not cut, I won't leave a whole bone in your body. Do you hear me ? ' ' Yes. pa.' ' Well, then, start yonr boots.' They are started, and the relieved fatb.tr comes back with his eyes to the gl*d flam* and watches it abstractedly, while hit thoughts are busy with the bright anticipations of the coming day of re»t. ' Ain't yon going down street, or are you going to sit there all night ?' aska the wif» Ha tnrns around and looks at her. It's » sort of mechanical movement, without any apparent expression. • There's got to be something got /or dinner to-morrow, and I want you to go to A^ am ' 8 sn> »cc if my bat is done, an' Thomas must have a pair of shoes, an' there ain't a bit of blacking in the houte,' resumes the mother. ' You can tell Burroughs that the last butter he lent up ain't fit for a hog to eat, an' if he ain't got anything better than that we don't want it. You'd better get a small piece of pork while you are down, an 1 if you see Parks ask him when he's coming here to fix that wall. He hns got the plaster off, an' there it stands, an' there is no use of trying to put the room to rights until the wall it fixed. I don't see what the old fool is thinking of to leave the room like tint.' HereTipon the head of the honss gets upon hiq fpet, takes a brief, longing glance at the pleasint Btove, and wants to know where^ in thunder his coat and hat are, and if nothing can be left where it is put. Then she tells him that if he looks where he ought to he'd find tbe things fast enough. He does find thorn, and then goes into the kitchen, and a moment later appears with a very red face, add passionately asks if a basket can be kept in that house for five minutes at a time, and moodily follows his wife to where the basket is, and looks still more moody when he is broughtjface to face with it, and sarcastically anked if he could see a barn if it was in front of his noae. Thus primed with the invigorating utterance 3 of the home* circle, h« takes up. hia basket and goes down street, leaving hi< faithful wife to stand as a wall of granite between the children and the'cannedjcherries, and to finish up the work. As he reaches the gate the door opens and she shouts after him : ' Remember to get some matches ; there ain't one in the house ; and don't be all night. for I'm tired, and want to get to bed at ft decnt hour, if possible ' ' Go to bed, then, an' shut up your mouth,' and with this parting injunction he strides gloomily out into the darkness. It is Dot exactly known what he ib thinking of as he moves along, but it is doubtless of the near approach of the Sabbath. As be comes into the light of the stores it is evident that bright influences and tender memories and glad anticipations are weaving themselves in his heart for he meets Parks with a smile, and after a ptasant chat about the winter's prospect, thf y part laughing. Only twice in the trip does his face fall, and that's when he goes in after her hat, and when he gets tbe shoes. A half hour later he is in the grocery sitting on a barrel, while hi» goods are being pnt up, and carrying on an animated discussion with the grocer and several acquaintances. At nine o'clock he starts for home. He has several receipted bills in his pocket - each of which being in. excess, of course, of what his wife h»d estimated before he left home ; and ai he strucolea along with an aching arm, and against various obstructions, he remembers it is Saturday night, the end of the week of toil, and tries to recall bits of verses and sentences of beautiful sentiment appropriate to the hour. He don't believe in grumbling at everybody, and 10 he^ reserve* his trouble with the grootrj btU, his indignation at the miiliner, and the various annoyances he has been •nbj< i cted to, until he gets home, and then he hurl* his thunder at all these people and objtots through the head of bit wife. And she, the dcv companion of his life, having got V> e children from back of the stove and to pid i by the hair, and discovered that h« bat forgotten the matches, and got more bob* than meat in the steak, is fully prepare^ to t«ll him just what she thinks of him. , And while they talk the flame in 'the stove dances happily, the lamp sheds ft fioh soft glow over the room, and the color*, in the carpet and in the pictures and the reSleotire surfaces of the mantel ornaments blendinnto a scene of quiet beauty. It it the niftft& before the Sabbath— the calm restful Sabbath —and as the two workers prepare to seek their well-earned repose, she says that if she has got to be harrassed like IMb shell be in her grave before the winter is over, and he is confident that if the bills keap mounting up as they are doing the whoTt family will be in the peor-houie— the first thing they know.

Bacolics —One of our great cattle-breeders 1 was visited by an old college friend, who freqaently overtaxed the other's memory by using Latin quotations long forgotten by reason of disuse. One day the host got even with his pedantic guest ; pointing to a herd of young cattle in prime condition for the market, the visitor said, ' You mutt hare hud good luck since yon commenaed this pursuit?' 'Yes.' replied thel host, 'It ii due to my lack that I can say Hine ilia lack* rgnce, in looking at my herd.' 'What do y»u mean?' cried the astonished guest?' 1 Why don't you see ? Hence these steers. The other evening as bedtime approached for the two young sons of a family, the sra*ller, a lad of six, stood before his father and said, ' Father, they say it's dreadfully unhealthy for two persons to sleep together, and if you can't get another bedstead for Bill you'd better sell him, and get me » velocipede !' James Wharton, wealthy, but with a reputation for fastness, married recently. On the morning after the wedding the bride asked her husband to perform an office of the toilet for her, made necessary by the absence of her maid Her husband did it willingly, and when it was concluded was astonished to find his pretty wife in tears. ' Why, my own precioas,' said he, • what is the matter with her hubby's pet V ' O Jimibie, Jimmie !' replied the poor girl, crying as if her heart would break, ' if you hadn't laced a thouiand corsets you never could have done it like that !' The Glasgow Times would appear to have figured the thing out pretty accurately when it remarks : ' The man who is curious to see how the world could get along without him could find out by sticking a cambric needle into a mill-pond and then withdrawing it and looking at the hole.' 'Apt alliteration's artful aid' isn't a bad thing in its place, but, really, it would seem that one of our great poets goes too far when he writes : ' The Summer it summeth the sweetneßs of things ; departed the dirge which the doodlebug sings ; no hummingbird bummeth the live-long day, nor bumble* bee bummerh the hours away !' A. F*ir Offer— Athletic Barman: 'Now, if you don't take yourself off, I'll precions soon turn you out.' Sb "-ty O'Connell (with a yell) : ' Tur-r-rn me out ! la it tur-r-rn me out ! Thin, bedad ! come outside an' tur-r-rn me out ['—Punch.