Wanted—A Wife.I DO wish somebody would tell me how to get a wife. For the last ten years I’ve been continually proposing, at all sorts of times, in all sorts of places, to all sorts of girls, and in all sorts of positions. I have knelt in the clear moonlight, while the soft zephyrs of June fanned my heated brow, and with my hands on my heart made the most passionate appeal romantic maiden could desire. I have proposed in the giddy mazes of the waltz; I have besought a fair girl to be mine while skating, reminding her at the time that the path of life was far too slippery to be trodden alone; I have popped the question on the stairs, and in fact everywhere I could; the last time being in the surf at Long Branch, where I begged the object of my affections to let us breast the waves of life together.But it’s of no earthly use! No one will have me except some superannuated female, and I’m not partial to aged charmers, though, goodness knows, I want a wife almost bad enough to take one. I’ve hardly a button on any of my shirts, or other undergarments, and am consequently obliged to fasten them with pins, (which occasionally prick me at most inconvenient times). My toes are poking out of my socks, and my fingers out of my gloves, while to crown all, I, who am a great lover of cleanliness, am forced to sit in a horribly dirty room. I have changed my boarding house ever so many times, but it does’nt make a particle of difference. My landlady always says it isn’t her business to “clean up” after me; the servants invariably remark that its no business of theirs, and I’m sure nobody can say that I ought to get a broom and dustpan and keep my own room clean.My washerwoman is everlastingly cheating me, besides continually suppressing various articles of clothing; and when I mildly inquire where they have gone to, she solemnly swears she never had them; though I could swear equally solemnly that she had. Then she cuts the pearl buttons off my shirts, and declares they came off in “the wash;” and if I venture timidly to suggest that she should put them on again, she thanks God that all the gentlemen are not as mean as I am.Oh, dear! It’s very hard upon a poor fellow not to be able to get a wife when he wants one! I’m not so very bad looking either; to be sure I squint a little, but then that peculiarity is sometimes admired, and if it were not, surely some kind-hearted girl might shut her eyes to the fact and confer upon me the inestimable benefit of becoming my partner for life. I’m not bad-tempered, and don’t drink nor smoke. I’m only thirty, and though I now belong to a club, I’ll promise to give it up if required. I possess enough money to keep a wife comfortably; have a good disposition; and what more could a girl ask. If, after trying six months longer, I cannot induce any girl to have me, I will emigrate to some tropical climate where clothes are almost superfluous, and washerwomen unknown, and consequently where a wife will not be one of the absolute necessities of civilized life.
Wanted—A Wife.I DO wish somebody would tell me how to get a wife. For the last ten years I’ve been continually proposing, at all sorts of times, in all sorts of places, to all sorts of girls, and in all sorts of positions. I have knelt in the clear moonlight, while the soft zephyrs of June fanned my heated brow, and with my hands on my heart made the most passionate appeal romantic maiden could desire. I have proposed in the giddy mazes of the waltz; I have besought a fair girl to be mine while skating, reminding her at the time that the path of life was far too slippery to be trodden alone; I have popped the question on the stairs, and in fact everywhere I could; the last time being in the surf at Long Branch, where I begged the object of my affections to let us breast the waves of life together.But it’s of no earthly use! No one will have me except some superannuated female, and I’m not partial to aged charmers, though, goodness knows, I want a wife almost bad enough to take one. I’ve hardly a button on any of my shirts, or other undergarments, and am consequently obliged to fasten them with pins, (which occasionally prick me at most inconvenient times). My toes are poking out of my socks, and my fingers out of my gloves, while to crown all, I, who am a great lover of cleanliness, am forced to sit in a horribly dirty room. I have changed my boarding house ever so many times, but it does’nt make a particle of difference. My landlady always says it isn’t her business to “clean up” after me; the servants invariably remark that its no business of theirs, and I’m sure nobody can say that I ought to get a broom and dustpan and keep my own room clean.My washerwoman is everlastingly cheating me, besides continually suppressing various articles of clothing; and when I mildly inquire where they have gone to, she solemnly swears she never had them; though I could swear equally solemnly that she had. Then she cuts the pearl buttons off my shirts, and declares they came off in “the wash;” and if I venture timidly to suggest that she should put them on again, she thanks God that all the gentlemen are not as mean as I am.Oh, dear! It’s very hard upon a poor fellow not to be able to get a wife when he wants one! I’m not so very bad looking either; to be sure I squint a little, but then that peculiarity is sometimes admired, and if it were not, surely some kind-hearted girl might shut her eyes to the fact and confer upon me the inestimable benefit of becoming my partner for life. I’m not bad-tempered, and don’t drink nor smoke. I’m only thirty, and though I now belong to a club, I’ll promise to give it up if required. I possess enough money to keep a wife comfortably; have a good disposition; and what more could a girl ask. If, after trying six months longer, I cannot induce any girl to have me, I will emigrate to some tropical climate where clothes are almost superfluous, and washerwomen unknown, and consequently where a wife will not be one of the absolute necessities of civilized life.
I DO wish somebody would tell me how to get a wife. For the last ten years I’ve been continually proposing, at all sorts of times, in all sorts of places, to all sorts of girls, and in all sorts of positions. I have knelt in the clear moonlight, while the soft zephyrs of June fanned my heated brow, and with my hands on my heart made the most passionate appeal romantic maiden could desire. I have proposed in the giddy mazes of the waltz; I have besought a fair girl to be mine while skating, reminding her at the time that the path of life was far too slippery to be trodden alone; I have popped the question on the stairs, and in fact everywhere I could; the last time being in the surf at Long Branch, where I begged the object of my affections to let us breast the waves of life together.
But it’s of no earthly use! No one will have me except some superannuated female, and I’m not partial to aged charmers, though, goodness knows, I want a wife almost bad enough to take one. I’ve hardly a button on any of my shirts, or other undergarments, and am consequently obliged to fasten them with pins, (which occasionally prick me at most inconvenient times). My toes are poking out of my socks, and my fingers out of my gloves, while to crown all, I, who am a great lover of cleanliness, am forced to sit in a horribly dirty room. I have changed my boarding house ever so many times, but it does’nt make a particle of difference. My landlady always says it isn’t her business to “clean up” after me; the servants invariably remark that its no business of theirs, and I’m sure nobody can say that I ought to get a broom and dustpan and keep my own room clean.
My washerwoman is everlastingly cheating me, besides continually suppressing various articles of clothing; and when I mildly inquire where they have gone to, she solemnly swears she never had them; though I could swear equally solemnly that she had. Then she cuts the pearl buttons off my shirts, and declares they came off in “the wash;” and if I venture timidly to suggest that she should put them on again, she thanks God that all the gentlemen are not as mean as I am.
Oh, dear! It’s very hard upon a poor fellow not to be able to get a wife when he wants one! I’m not so very bad looking either; to be sure I squint a little, but then that peculiarity is sometimes admired, and if it were not, surely some kind-hearted girl might shut her eyes to the fact and confer upon me the inestimable benefit of becoming my partner for life. I’m not bad-tempered, and don’t drink nor smoke. I’m only thirty, and though I now belong to a club, I’ll promise to give it up if required. I possess enough money to keep a wife comfortably; have a good disposition; and what more could a girl ask. If, after trying six months longer, I cannot induce any girl to have me, I will emigrate to some tropical climate where clothes are almost superfluous, and washerwomen unknown, and consequently where a wife will not be one of the absolute necessities of civilized life.