The Cass County Republican. [volume] (Dowagiac, Mich.) 18??-1880, 1861-07-25

You would have known it for bach
elor's den the minute you put your
head in the door. Blue, spicy wreaths
of cigar smoke, circling up to the cell
ing-newspapers under the table
CASTLE soapin the tinny bronse card re-
ceiver slippers on the mantle piece, and
confusion everywhere. And yet Mr..
Thornbroke-poor and deluded mortal
-solemnly believed that his room was
in the most perfect order! For hadn't
he poked the empty champagne bot
ties under the bed, and sent the wood
box to bear them company, and hung
his morning gown over the damp tow
els, and busted the sprinkled hearth
with his best silk handkerchief He'd
like to see a room in better trim than
that-guessed he would! And now
he was mcnding himself up preparato-
ry to going calling, to call on the pret-
tiest girl in New York. Not that he
was particularly fond of the needle,
but when a fellows whole foot goes
through hole in the north east corner
of his stocking, and there isn't but
ton on his shirt, it's time to repair dam
ages.
Now, as Mr.. Thornbroke's whole
stock of industrial implements consist
ed of lump of wax, an enormous pair
of scissors, and one needle, the mend
ing didn't progress rapidly. His way
of managing the button question, too,
necessarily involved some delay; he
had to cut all these useful little appen-
dages from another shirt, and sew them
on, and next, when the shirt was want
ed, why, it was enough to make trans
fer again! See what it is to be a bach
elor of genius! 1t never occurred to
him to buy a few buttons extra, oh, no.
"Buttons are not much trouble, said
Mr.. Thornbroke to himself, as he wiped
the perspiration from his brow, "but
when it comes to coat sleeves, what the
deuce is fellow to do? / havn't any
black thread ether" and he looked
dolorously at small tear just in his ell
bow, where some vicious nail had
caught in the broadcloth. A black pin
may do for tonight, and tomorrow III
send it up to the tailor. The fact is, ]
ought to be married; and so I would
if l only dared to ask Lillian. Oh
dear / know she wouldn't have me
and yet Pm not certain either-if
could only muster the courage boldly
to put the question! But Just as sure
as l approach the dangerous ground
my heart fails me! And then thai
puppy Jones, with his curled mustache
and hair parted in the middle-alway!
hanging around Lillian and quoting
poetry to her-if 1 could have thu
privilege of kicking him across th'
street, I'd die happy! He isn't bash
ful, not be! If somebody would onl.
J invent some new way of popping tn
question-something that wasn't quit
so embarrassing"
Our hero gave his black glossy curl
an extra brush, surveyed himself crit
cally in the glass, and then with dee
sigh, set forth to call on the identics
Lillian Raymond, revolving, as he ha
a thousand times before, that if-peI
haps-may be-
Oh the bashfulness of bachelors!
When Mr.. Thornbroke arrived with
! in the charmed precincts of Mr.. Ray
d mond's handsome parlors, velvet cal
e peted, chendaliered with gold and Of
molu, crowded to the very doors wit
those charming knick-knacks that onl
woman's taste provides, Miss Lii
"was at home" in bewildering pin
merino dress, edged with white lac
around the pearly shoulders, and
to crimson moss twisted in among th
ia 10 rippling waves of her soft hair. Sf
I'd never . looked half SO pretty before an
'g .nank Providence, Jones wasn't c
in hand Tor once in his life. But wh;
d, was almost as bad, Lilies cousin W.
ne there-a tall black-eyed girl, with arc
lips, and cheeks as red as a Spite
r. burg apple. Oh, how Tbornbrol
wished that Miss Ester Allen was
- the bottom of the Red Sea, or an
" where except in that particular narlo