CHAPTER X.
SHIRT BUTTONS.
IN a previous chapter, I gave the reader one of the Experiences of my sister's husband, Mr.John Jones.

I now give another.
There was a time in my married life, (thus Mr.Jones writes, in one of _his_ "Confessions,") when I was less annoyed if my bosom or wristband happened to be minus a button, than I am at present.

But continual dropping will wear away a stone, and the ever recurring buttonless collar or wristband will wear out a man's patience, be he naturally as enduring as the Man Of Uz.
I don't mean by this, that Mrs.Jones is a neglectful woman.

Oh, no! don't let that be imagined for a moment.

Mrs.Jones is a woman who has an eye for shirt buttons, and when that is said, a volume is told in a few words.
But I don't care how careful a wife is, nor how good an eye she may have for shirt buttons, there will come a time, when, from some cause or other, she will momentarily abate her vigilance, and that will be the very time when Betty's washing-board, or Nancy's sad-iron, has been at work upon the buttons.
For a year or two after our marriage, I used to express impatience, whenever, in putting on a clean shirt, I found a button gone.