WANTED—A BRIDE.

Thames Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 17663, 14 August 1929, Page 6

WANTED—A BRIDE.

j CARTER'S PLAIN PROPOSAL. i EPISTLE TO ARABELLA. ■ A correspondent 'of a Taranaki cont..niporary forwards the following:— i Speaking of the dairy factory leads me to think of civ am. and thinking of Ci earn leads me to think of Bill—Captain. Bill, we call him—the cream carrier. It may he remembered that last week he confided to me that a proposal of marriage made by him in • writing had entirely missed the mam —the young lady treating it with t:,e utmost sco). n. As Bill is a handsome man, with raven locks and a dark and roiling eye I naturally wondered, what on earth lie could have written for a indy to pass him by like .that. And in this connection it may be remembered, too, that Bill withdrew si copy or the precious document from out of , his tobacco pouch for my inspection. Alter spending a week meaning it, I am happy to say that L am now in a position to read it, so here goes:

“Snookeville,” May 6, 1929. Dear Arabella, —Just a few lines to ask you to be my wile. You see, as it is I have to send all my shirts and things to get washed kind mended, and 1 find it comes pretty expensive, bo I thought if I could get a wife it could come a good deal cheaper. , Are you a good hand at darning? Mr?. Randle told me a good while ago she thought you would never get into the way of Housekeeping, and as_ far as that goes, I often thought the same thing myself. Still, I'm willing to chance it. They say marriage is only a kind of lottery at the best of times, and at that rate it can’t make much difference who I marry; I thought I would give you the first show because you’re getting to look fairly old lately, and I thought there wouldn’t be the same risk of refusal from you as from a younger girl. I know I ain’t much of a beauty—but neither are you for the matter of that—so we oughtn’t to fall out on that score. Your eyes don’t look so bad, but you’ve got a nose like a eilothes-peg. Of course I haven’t saved much money cut Mr..'. R. ncib teis me you haven't either, though I. can’t see what you can have done with all the money you must have earned. However, . when we get married and you shape alright, I'll get you a mangle and a tub, and you may be able to take in a' bit- of washing and ironing to fill in the t.me, as well as t-o increase the funds. That’s fair, isn’t it?

I've health thinking seriously of going out as a missionary; I’ve heard some clo pretty well out of it—get sent te heathen parts and get hold of some really good land for a mere, song —or hymn. And there’s always the Sunday School pennies to reckon on, too. Of course there’s the risk cf being chewed up by savages, but I’d try and look out for a far off place near at hand where it would be pretty safe. However, we can think of these little things •afterwards. Now if I have allowed my sentiment to run away with my judgment anywhere, please excuse me. In love matters I have always been a bit shy and emotional. If we do come to terms I will give you an engagement ring as soon as I can gel ill out of pawn. It’s one I got for another girl once, and, I think it'll about fit you. S'. e was a wretched girl—sne married someone cdse. I know you’ll hardly believe it, but it’s true. If the ring .won’t fit lay it by. Wearing it might lead to vanity, and it .would cost too much to alter it.

If you happen to be wandering along bv the post office any time you might drop me a line to say what you think cf my proposal, as I have another girl in view .if you fail me. Believe me to remain, dear Arabella,

Your devoted William. I saw Bill the next day and I handed him back his “love letter.” He- said: “Well, what do vou think of it?” J said: “Not much. .Bill.” He said: “Why—isn’t it plain enough?” I told him I didn’t want to argue over it, but to me it proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that lie was hoi'll to die a bachelor.