Connecticut western news., 1879-09-17
Wouldn't Get Married.

Wouldn't Get Married.
 He wouldn't get married no, not he he despised matrimony. It bound 8 fellow hand and foot; it tied him mp to troubles of one sort or another. Oh, it was despicable thing-this matrimony; he'd keep clear of it, he warranted that.
 And who was hea Some cynical or stoical bachelor, so ugly in person, so whimsical in tastes, that he stood no chance of winning lady fair, unless, indeed, he outlived the more gainly, the more lovable portion of his sex, and were "that last man" of whom there has been great deal of prating. An, no, not he; but young fne-looking fellow, with a face that would delight an artist-so charming in profile, with such dark, lustrous eyes, such noble brow, and such wealth of the deepest shade of auburn hair clustering about it in the grace of negligence. His, too, was splendid figure and we'll did he know how to set it of at best advantage. Nature, too, had kindly given him brains-not mere moiety, but Q gen. erous lot-and we'll and carefully had he improved them. He was decidedly man of talent :; one. too, of exquisite tastes, and last, but not least in this age of golden placers, his purse was a long ard weighty one. h short, he was one whom his fellows loved to look upon, even though they feel an enyious spite crawl toward him; one upon whom elderly ladies smiled most gra- ciously, and whose footstep, laugh, words and merest whisper even, had a magic influence over the hearts of gentle maidens, throwing them into such wild pnlsations that they feared the laced bodice would burst it's lettering ties.
 This was the man, the man of i've and-twenty summers, who wouldn't get married whom the wealth of the Indies we were going to write, but that is ob- solete now-whom the wealth of Cali fornia and Australia combined would not tempt to give up his lone bachelor hood.
 "An Arab life for me, he would say. "I can come and go then as I will pitch and strike my tent as see fit. No fretful wife, no squailipg babes, no lit tered pariors, no one to dictate break fast. dinner or supper hour no, no but freedom, freedom. A blessed boon I'll keep it thoushr'
 Yet he was far from being an ungal- lsnt man. None could, none did wait upon ladies with such delicate grace. And he WAS SO kind-hearted, too, in his courteeiee-singling cut usually the ne- glected wall flower for his partners in inc dance, and always offering to assist aged women with bundles out of the omnibus, and young nurses with babes into the same rattling vehicle carrying school children-albeit they were com mon, everyday sort of children, with tangled, red hair, snub noses, and dirty faces, such children as never peep into poets dreams-we say he would carry them across the street when the drench- ing hne-storms had flooded them yes, and give them each fourpence-he never dealt in coppers-to buy them candy with. Oh, he was indeed mod ern Raleigh, and in truth would have . been perfect man-that is, as human ity goes-but that he wouldn't get mar Iied nay, nor so much as hear of such Q thing.
 "You'd make glorious good hus- band, " exclaimed his Cousin Mary to him one day as he entered her parlor bearing whole budget of trihes she had commissioned her husband to bring, but which, as Edward knew he would forget, he had troubled himself to re- member. "You have such a memory, Ned. O, dear, if Will had such a mem ory!" Gentle reader, did you ever know husband that had good memory if his wife wanted him to go shopping on rainy day, when her thin shoes wouldn't let her go out? elf you had not been my cousin, Ned, I should have set my cap for you.''
 "Little good, though, would it have 0OAOe SOuo4A u1O1k"I h14 uOG Q maTrVlnU man, you know"
 "Shame on you to persist in such a Shaker-like resolution, Ned, when so many fair maidens are waiting for bridals, and when you have what so few men do have, the elements of a good husband wrought in your very nature. :"
 "TLen you really think I would make a good husband, do you, little coz ? Pray tell me if you judge phrenologi- cally, or whether you have taken your degree in physiognomy? ?"
 "I judge by your daily deeds, Ned. Yes, and you will make such father, too 1" continued she, ,as Will junior came toddliDg into the parlor, catching his little gaitered feet in the mat snd bump ing his head against the footstooI.
 See, you have stlllei him in mo- ment, when Will would have been an hour about it.
 . And in truth, as though nothing had happened to his curly pate, the baby was stridipg Cousin Ned's shoulders,