Jeffersonian Republican

A Married Man's Reverie.

What a blockhead my brother Tom is! not to marry! or rather, perhaps I should say, what a blockhead, not to marry some twenty-five years ago, for I suppose he'd hardly get any decent body to take him; as old as he is now. Poor fellow!—what a forlorn desolate kind of life he leads; no wife to take care of him—no children to love him—no domestic enjoyment—nothing snug and comfortable in his arrangements at home; nice social dinners; pleasant faces at breakfast. By the way what the deuce is the reason my breakfast does not come up? I've been waiting for it this half hour. Oh, I forgot; my wife sent the cook to market to get some trash or other for Dick's cold. She coddles that boy to death.—But after all, I ought not to find fault with Tom or not getting a wife, or he has lent me a good deal of money that came quite convenient, and I suppose the young ones will get all he's worth when he dies, poor fellow! 'They'll want it, I'm afraid, for although my business does very well, this housekeeping eats up the profits with such a large family as mine. Let me see; how many mouths have I to feed every day?—There's my wife and her two sisters—that's three; and the four boys—seven, and Lucy and Sarah and Jane and Louisa, four more—eleven, there's the cook and the housemaid, and the boy—fourteen; and the woman that comes every day to wash and to do odd jobs about the house—fifteen; then there's the nurserymaid—sixteen; surely there must be another—I'm sure I made it out seventeen when I was reckoning up last Sunday morning at Church; there must be another somewhere; let me see again:—wife, wife's sisters, boys, girls—oh it's myself!—Faith, I've so many to think of and to provide for, that I forget myself half the time. Yes, that makes it, seventeen, Seventeen people to feed every day is no joke! and somehow or other they all have most furious appetites; but then bless their hearts, its pleasant to see them eat, what a hay-oc they do make with the buckwheat cakes of a morning, to be sure! Now poor Tom knows nothing of all this. There he lives all alone by himself in a boarding house with nobody near him that cares a brass farthing whether he lives or dies.—No affectionate wife to nurse him and coddle him up when he's sick; no little prattlers about him to keep him in a good humor; no dawning intellects whose development he can amuse himself with watching day after day—nobody to study his wishes and keep all his comforts ready.—Confound it, hasn't that woman got back from the market yet? I feel remarkable hungry. I don't mind the boys being coddled and messed if my wife likes it, but there's no joke in having the breakfast kept back for an hour. O, by the way, I must remember to buy all those things for the children to-day. Christmas is close at hand, and my wife has made out a list of the presents she means to put in their stockings. More expense, and their school bills coming in too; I remember before I was married I used to think what a delight it would be to educate the young rogues myself; but a man with a large family has no time for that sort of amusement. I wonder how old my young Tom is; let me see, when does his birthday come? Next month, as I'm a Christian; and then he will be fourteen. Boys of fourteen consider themselves all but men, now-a-days, and Tom is quite of that mind I see. Nothing will suit his exquisite feet but Wellington boots at thirty shillings a pair; and his mother has been throwing out hints for some time as to the propriety of getting a watch for him; gold of course—Silver was quite good enough for me when I was a score of years older than he is, but times are awfully changed since my younger days. Then, I believe in my soul, the young villain has learned to play billiards, and three or four times when he has come in late, at night, his clothes seemed to be strongly perfumed with cigar smoke. Heigho! Fathers have many troubles and I can't help thinking sometimes that old bachelors are not such wonderful fools as they are. They go to their pillows at night with no cares on their minds to keep them awake; and when they have once got to sleep, nothing comes to disturb their repose—nothing short of the house being on fire can reach their peaceful condition. No getting up in the cold to walk up and down the room for an hour or two, with a squalling young varlet, as my luck has been for the last five or six weeks. It's an astonishing thing to perceive what a passion our little Louisa exhibits for crying: for so sure as the clock strikes three she begins, and there's no getting her quiet again until she has fairly exhausted the strength. forward screaming. I can't for the life of me understand why the young villains don't get through with their squalling and roaring in the day time when I am out of the way. Then again, what a delightful pleasure it is to be roused out of one's first nap, and sent off post haste for the doctor, as I was on Monday night, when my wife thought Sarah had got the croup, and frightened me out of my wits by her lamentations and fidgets. By the way, there's the doctor's bill to be paid soon; his collector always pays me a visit just before Christmas. Brother Tom has no doctor to fee, and that certainly is a great comfort; bless my soul how the time slips away! Past nine o'clock and no breakfast yet wife messing with Dick, and getting the three girls and their two brothers ready for school; nobody thinks of me starving all this time. What the plague has become of my newspaper, I wonder? that young rascal Tom has carried it off, I dare say, to read in the school when he ought to be poring over his books. He's a great torment, that boy. But no matter, there's a great deal of pleasure in married life, and if some vexations and troubles do come with its delights, grumbling won't take them away, any how: nevertheless, brother Tom, I'm not so very certain but that you have done quite as wisely as I, after all.