The Greenville enterprise. [volume] (Greenville, S.C.) 1870-1873, 1870-08-03
5turg fur tbe Tahira.
BACHELORS LovE-MAKING.

onSoCLo" AoN - Ia 1knhANu'
You would have known it for a
bachelors den, the moment you
put your head in the door. Blue,
spicy wreaths of cigar smoke cir
cling up to the ceiling-newspa.
pers under the table-castile soap
in the tiny bronze card receiv er-
slippers on the mantle piece, and
general confusion everywhere.-
And yet Mr.. Thornbrooke-poor,
deluded mortal-solemnly bcliev-
ing 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 towels, and busted the
ashes sprinkled hearth with his
best silk handkerchief! He'd like
to see a room in better trim than
that-guessed he would! And
now lie was mending himself up,
preparatory to going a calling, to
call on the very prettiest girl in
New York. Not that he was par
ticularly fond of the needle. but
when fellows whole foot goes
through a hole in the northeast
toc of his stocking, and there isn't
a button on his shirt, it is time to
repair damages.
Now, as Mr.. Thornbrooke's whole
stock of industrial implements
consisted of lump of wax, an
enormous pair Of scissors, and one
needle, the mending didn't pro-
sress rapidly. His way of man.
aging the button question, too,
necessarily involved some delay !;
he had to cut all these useful ap-
pendages from another shirt and
sew them on, and next time when
the second shirt was wanted, why
it was easy enough to make a
transfer again. See what it is to
be a bachelor Of genius 1t new
er occurred to him to buy q few
buttons extra.
Buttons are not much trouble" !"
said Mr.. Thornbrooke to himself,
as he wiped the perspiration from
his brow, but when it comes to
coat sleeves. what the mischief is
a fellow to do? | havn't any black
thread, either ;" and he looked dol
orously at small tear jus: in his
elbow, where some vicious nail
had caught in the broadcloth.-
"A black pin may do for tonight,
and to morrow I'll send it to the
tailor. The fact is, / ought to be
married and so l would, if l on.
ly dared to ask Lillian. O, dear, |
know she wouldn't have me-and
yet Pm not SO certain either-if |
could only muster courage boldly
to put the question. But just as
sure as I approach the dangerous
ground, my heart fails me. And
then that puppy Jones, with his
curled moustache and hair parted
in the middle-always hanging
round Lillian and quoting poetry
to her-if / could have the privi.
lege of kicking him across the
street I'd die happy. He isn't
bashful, not he. If somebody
would only invent a now way of
popping the question-something
that wasn't so embarrassing"
Our hero gave his black, glossy
curls an extra brush, surveyed
himself critically in the glass, and
then, with a deep sigh, set forth to
call on the identical Lillian Ray
mond, resolving as be had done q
thonsand times before, that if
perhaps-may be-
Oh, the bashtulness of the bach
elorsi
When Mr.. Thornbrooke arrived
within the charmed precincts of
Mr.. Raymond's handsome parlors,
yelvet.carpeted, chandeliered with
gold and ormulu, crowded to the
very doors with those charming
knicknacks that only woman's
taste provides. Miss Lily was at
home in bewildering pink meri.
no dress, edged with white lace
around the shoulders, and a Grim.
son moss rose twisted in among
the ripping waves of her soft
brown hair. She never looked
half 80 pretty; and, thank Provi-
dence, Jones wasn't on hand for
once in his life. But what was al.
most as bad, Lily's cousin was
there--a tall, slender, black eyed
girl, with arch lips, and cheeks as
red as Spitzenberg apple. Oh,
how Thornbrooke wished Miss Es.
ther Allen was at the bottom of
the Red Sea, or anywhere else ex.
cept in the parlor. And then her
eyes we're 80 sharp-he hadn't
been doing the agreeable more