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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, January 01, 1912, Image 20

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1912-01-01/ed-1/seq-20/

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It is a tradition among women
that they can do no wrong be
cause they have no vices they
do not smoke nor drink. But
this smug virtue causes as much
wretchedness in some homes as
man's drunkenness or brutality
does in others.
There is no use whatever in
trying to train a woman of fifty
years into new ways. The hus
band might go on strike, with the
possible chance that the wife
would be frightened into behav
ing. But the probabilities are
that in a week he would be meek
ly enduring the same old round of
domestic torture.
Neither of these letters can be
answered satisfactorily, but they
may serve to warn some women
that husbands are not necessarily
blind because they happen to be
devoted and obedient!
Samantha lived on a farm for years an' yearned fer a man with
sighs and tears. Then finally leap year came along an' Samantha
said: "I've waited long; there ain't goin' to be no more delay, I'll
get myself a fyansay." When the time arrived fer the huskin' bee,
Samantha was there dressed up in G. She grabbed the fust red ear
she saw an' planted a kiss on Henry's jaw. She said: "Now let's
get married, Hank; I've got 200 in th' "bank." An' Hank took her
up quicker'n scat an' the neighbors call Samantha "cat!"
The regal duchess said: "Dear me! I do detest this poverty.
I must find a Yankee man of gilt; a regular Pierpont Vanderbilt.
My ancient name to him I'll give. And my castle, too, that leaks
like a sieve. For these I think we may arrange a propah dowry in
exchange. A million pounds would suit me. Ah ! I think I'll write
to some fond mamma and awsk for the hand of one of her sons and
they say 'pook!' to all my duns."
With vigor she corralled his hand and squeezed his waist to beat
'the band. 'Twas at the Chowder club's grand ball; 'twas held at
Finkclmeyer's hall. "Come on kid, let's get spliced," she said. "I'm
sick with love till I'm almost dead. I know a justice down the street
who'll tie the knot both cheap and neat. You dance the waltz so
dreamy slow I cannot live without you, 'bo.' "
The maiden fair, demure, petite, delicious, fascinating, sweet,
was seated on a tete-a-tete wtih a young man, the hour was late.
With movement quite unconscious and so sly, she softly touched
his hand. The young man wondered what she meant. Of course, it
was an accident. Around his waist her arm she placed and o'er his
brow the blushes raced. She said: "Oh, John, er'r Mister True
I've something dear, to say to you."

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