The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1886-01-30
Select STORY.
MY FRIEND EDITH.
THE STORY OF A BACHELOR.

From Temple Bar.
CHAPTER 1.
[ have been accustomed for some time,
longer than care to remember, to de-
scribe myself as a man of middle age, yet
people speak of me as an old bachelor
sometimes in derision, but frequently: L
fancy, with envy.
Yes. 1 am bachelor-the adjective l
consider unnecessary-rather by mischance
than anything else, for 1 never started on
life with any intentions of celibacy, or when
young asserted myself aggressively on the
subject.
All all might have been very different
if-but that has nothing to with the story.
At all events, l am bachelor now, and
intend to remain one My-well, the ply
steal disadvantages which time has brought
"a tendency to embonpoint, and more than
partial badness although allies, are scarce
ly sufficient protection, for l continually see
such Benedicts as myself striking their
colors and falling victims, mellow and over
ripe, or even withered and gray ones, to
brisk widows or bright-eyed maids hardly
out of their teens. But am made of
sterner stuff; and having been exposed
for am man of property-to several Sc
we're tests, and having come Oft unscathed
from the encounter, may justly conclude
that my heart is Cupid-proof, and so l
Journey on in middle-aged meditation "fancy
free" I am sure could have made one
woman happy, if l had had the chance, but
| never did. 1t is too late now, SO | must
be content with making myself happy, a
thing not so easy as it looks, for this work
a-day world is full of briars, even for old
bachelors. 1t is fortunate that | have no
encumbrances, for my nerves are not strong;
the least bother interferes with my diges-
ton, although, if people will let me alone,
am peptic enough. l have only one rel
.ative in the world-a nephew, my poor
sisters only son. Poor soul how she used
to dote upon the boy. But she died sud.
denly, and her pension with her; so found
myself the natural guardian of a bright
handsome young fellow, but as impetuous
and self-willed as loving mother could
make him. l had no desire to avoid the
responsibility, for am the last man in the
world to shirk duty, and besides, fell
great affection for him; nevertheless, We
managed to quarrel, although it was GER
tainly not my fault.
We got on together remarkably well fol
some time. until | decided l must get hin
something to do, and naturally with my
experience I was the fittest judge of whal
was best for him. A remarkably good
opening was offered me for Charlie-that' Z
the bows name-in the Office of an emf
nent firm of solicitors. | made the ar
rangements without consulting my nephew,
thinking it would be pleasant surprise t
him; but such is the perversity OF youth
that he actually scoffed at the idea, declar-
ing that he would rather enlist for sol
dier than perch himself on an office STOOL
I was very much disgusted, for l had beer
praising the young mans zeal and aptitude
to the partners in prophetic terms. Now
Charlie had been dabbling in art IN al
amateurish way for some time, and although
I could see he had talent-for am {
man of artistic discernment-he had nevel
learned to draw correctly.
aThen what the deuce do you intend t.
do for living?" said l angrily.
81 mean to take to art, said he, blush
ing little.
aArt indeed y cried l, sarcastically; ''yo'
don't call those confounded daubs OF your
art p
aHardly yet" said he, getting reddei
'but 1 hope to-"
'Do you expect people will be fool
enough to buy any picture you're likely t
paint ?"
ssTll wait and see, said he; sat any rate
I'd rather be bad artist than bad attol
ney. At least can t cheat anybody"