Page 16 - Poetry-Family

I am informed, on reliable information,
He despises cooking, like all true lords of creation;
Considering it beneath his dignity as a man
To touch the dish-cloth, much less the dish-pan.

Again, it is whispered, the birds that he cooked
Resembled dry cinders, instead of birds looked;
Cooks generally read not the affairs of the nation
Whilst a dinner is undergoing preparation.
At his housekeeping I would like much to get a sight,
Everything, I dare say, in a very, very said plight;
Dishes no doubt piled high in the pan,
With chaos ruling supreme as when the housekeeper’s a man.
But there seems no chance for such a peep,
‘Tis evident his secret he means to keep;
For when about to go out, the curtain descends,
To shut out the questioning eyes of his friends.
He is a very nice man, very quiet and so on,
But indeed ‘tis not edifying the sight of the demijohn
Which he carries about; and I heartily wish his wife would appear,
For when she’s around, of that he shies clear.
We are very good neighbors, this Mr. J.B. and I,
Very good indeed when his wife is by;
We talk, and laugh, and joke, as friendly as can be;
But when she’s away, it’s quite a different thing, you see.

He goes past my house some four, or six, or eight times a day;
I smile, but never to him a word do I say,
Deeming it well, in the absence of wives,
With the lonely husbands not to sympathize.

To be sure, he has his dog, his gun, and his pipe—
Ah! what would he do without that last solace of his life;
And then besides there’s the carpenter’s shop,
Where nought goes on, those idle days, but smoke and gossip.
Well, those few days of keeping solitary “Bachelor’s Hall,”
Will increase his love and appreciation tenfold, that’s all;
‘Tis a little strategy of us wives, I guess,
To give our husbands thus a taste of “Single Blessedness.”

— To Mr. J.B. by Mrs. J.L. (Demorest, 1874)

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