Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1856-02-21
EVENING STAR.
A BACHELORS TROUBLES.
BY PHINEAs PHuMBLE.

Tney'l set and they'u think, Till they wear out
And wish for a wife-but, alas It's In vain,
Sing down-derry down."
Confound the luck. Here I've been half
an hour looking after my Sunday boots, and
finally, L found one of them on the centre
| table, beneath a thousand, more or less,
| books and papers, and the other away back
| in a cuddy-hole, where store away old rub
| bish. Well, I've found my clean shirt at last;
| and where do you think it was! hope to
holler if hadn't put it in my hat box ; and
my hat had placed in chest where keep
my linen. Hat all smashed to thunder-cost
| Ave dOllars-oh, oh
Je-ru-sa lem Here's q discovery. This
| shirt hasn't got a button on it-and the wrist
| bands and collar are all frizzled up with
derliceurs" like the fringes Il believe that's
| the name) on a wOman's-what d 'ye call en-?
neck encircler; that's near enough, any way.
Why, what's the matter with this shirt
Rip! | can't get it off, nor on. Rip that s
the way the money goes Shirt costs one dol
| lar and half; another expense, by Jupiter
| Crackee how cold it is why the fire has
| "clean gin out" That's another job. Crack
| crack! phiz. Why, what's the matter with
the Goals! Come to think, l threw a pail Of
water over them. Have to borrow some splin-
| ters.
"Mrs. Sanctimonious, will you give me a
| few splinters ?"
| ."Mercy on US! Why, if Mr.. Phumblc
| hasn't come right out afore me, with nothing
| on but his breeches! and his wig off, too.
Law sakes L never knew he wore a wign'
0, dear. Why did mt 1 throw something
| over me My wig is off, too. Now it'll be
all over town in few minutes that Phumble
wears wig. Wouldnt have it known for
fifty dollars. No, sir-ree,
Well, must have a fire some way. Let
me see. Blowed if don't make splinters of
| that old washstand it isn't of any use to me;
and the wash bowl will do just as well on my
linen chest Truly necessity IS the mother Of
invention.
Slap. bang, That's the way to use old
rubbish. WhiI bang There's something
coming.
"Mr. Phumble, how can you make such
racket on the Sabbath day? ?"
"Allow me to tell you, Mrs. Sanctimonious
that it's none of your business L reckon I'm
lord of my own room, if / do live in a board
ing house; and if L wanted to, I'd break my
neck, for all of you"
Mighty fine talk, Mr.. Phumble-mighty
fine, you old hedgehog Oh, mercy if you
havn't broken up my washstand-my favor
ite washstand, the last gift of my dear, de-
parted husband. Boo. hoo hoo :"
Tears for an old wash stand Botheration,
I'd rather hear it thunder any time, than to
see woman in tears and hear her blubber-
ing. My heart begins to melt-it's all |" run
ming down, like clock, or butter on a hot
summers day.
Dear, Mrs. Sancty-heaven bless you
Here's ten, for smashing your treasure. Now
dry up; there's good woman-and please
leave this room in a triHe shorter than half a
dozen seconds"
"Dear, Mr.. Phumble, ten dollars, as live
why, that's enough to pay for half a dozen
such keepsakes. What winning way the
m an s got you're ajewel, Mr.. Phumble-that
you are"
And you're a confounded old swindler ten
dollars gone to her capacious pocket 1 wish
my heart was made of iron.
Well, the fires going at last. Crack-crack
-whiz-tur-rr-r; what a cheerful glow it
sends through the room T? But it cost ten dol
lars That's very much like lighting cigars
with ten dollar bills.
"Well, what am to do for shirt? Thank
fortune, and my usual foresight, I've got half
dozen in my chest-my wash-stand rather,
as it is now. What wonderful knack I have
Of " killing t~o birds with one storo"--half a
dozen sometimes. Now that chest ans uers all
the purposes Of a mantel piece, a side table
for books and papers, and eating table some
times-and now it comes in play as a wash
stand-s capital washstand, and the inside a
perfect museum. Linen, cigars, pipes and
tobacco, matches, "schnapps," letters, and
"other articles too numerous to mention"
All, there's great deal in knowing how to ar
range things. l know a woman could mt ar
range, and ecOnomize, and turn everything to
advantage, half as we'll as I.
Moses and the prophets if the water asn't
leaked out of the wash bowl, and got all
"mixed up" with my linen and other fxings
Crash slap, dash there goes the rest of the
water, bowl and all, right on to my shirts
Bowl all smashed to pieces, another expense
l guess that chest won't do for a wash stand
without make place for my linen under the
bed. A capital idea! I'll arrange it all to-
morrow. Well, I'll have to dry shirt before
/ can wear one.
There it hangs on the back of chair before
the blazing ire-looking for all the world
"like a shirt on a bean pole" Reminds me
Of an answer lady once gave me. saw some
sort of an undeTgarment once, drying before
the fire, like my shirt.
Miss" said to young lady in the room,
"can you inform me what that outlandish
thing is?'
That" she answered, blushing, "is a
Shtnsmyset "
She didn't think 1 heard her, when she
muttered in a low tone, 'I'll bet my old shoes
that man isn't married ="
A queer name, truly-that /" shimmyset."
should think shimmy-rest or hang, would be q
good deal more proper.
Ten O'Clock, as l live; and church will COM
.
ready? L shall have to wear the shirt as it
is. As good luck would have it the bosom
isn't wet, and as that's the only part shown,
it won't make " diff of difference. great
practice-that Of putting the best on the out
side" Bosoms are no exception-and whocan
tell how many bosoms-bosoms white as the
driven snow-Ctis'nt every one has a good
wash woman) bosoms that rise and swell like
the heaving of the ocean-(or a swell clerk
and cause real bosoms to swell ditto-are,
when you search below-false as my wig, and
fastened to the body by false strings? Thank |
my stars, L never wore false bosom, and |
never will!
WELL at last have got to church-but with |
heart in which angry passions rise," and |
in state Of mind very unfit for that holy |
place. Somehow the chime of the old bell |
don't sound as sweet as it is wont, and the |
singing of the choir, though always beautiful |
heretofore, seems but hollow mockery. All
when the heart is not right, how vain the hope
Of deriving pleasure from religion, or, indeed,
anything else. ....
What cracked voice the minister has got