but for a _man_ it's a different thing:
circumstances alter cases, you know. And then, sittiwated as you be, Mr.
Crane, it's a turrible thing for your family to be without a head to
superintend the domestic consarns and 'tend to the children,--to say
nothin' o' yerself, Mr. Crane. You dew need a companion, and no mistake.
Six months! Good grevious! Why, Squire Titus didn't wait but six _weeks_
after he buried his fust wife afore he married his second. I thought
ther' wa'n't no partickler need o' his hurryin' so, seein' his family
was all growed up. Such a critter as he pickt out, tew! 'Twas very
onsuitable; but every man to his taste,--I hain't no dispersition to
meddle with nobody's consarns. There's old farmer Dawson, tew,--his
pardner hain't ben dead but ten months. To be sure, he ain't married
yet; but he would 'a' ben long enough ago, if somebody I know on 'd gin
him any incurridgement. But 'tain't for me to speak o' that matter. He's
a clever old critter, and as rich as a Jew; but--lawful sakes!--he's old
enough to be my father. And there's Mr. Smith,--Jubiter Smith: you know
him, Mr. Crane,--his wife, (she 't was Aurory Pike) she died last
summer, and he's ben squintin' round among the wimmin ever since, and he
_may_ squint for all the good it'll dew him so far as I'm
consarned,--though Mr. Smith's a respectable man,--quite young and
hain't no family,--very well off, tew, and quite intellectible,--but I'm
purty partickler. Oh, Mr. Crane, it's ten years come Jinniwary sense I
witnessed the expiration o' my belovid companion!--an uncommon long time
to wait, to be sure; but 'tain't easy to find anybody to fill the place
o' Hezekier Bedott. I think _you're_ the most like husband of ary
individdiwal I ever see, Mr. Crane. Six months! murderation! cur'us you
should be afeard I'd think 'twas too soon. Why, I've knowed--

_Mr. Crane_--Well, widder, I've been thinking about taking another
companion, and I thought I'd ask you--

_Widow_--Oh, Mr. Crane, egscuse my commotion; it's so onexpected. Jest
hand me that are bottle of camfire off the mantletry shelf: I'm ruther
faint. Dew put a little mite on my handkercher and hold it to my nuz.
There, that'll dew: I'm obleeged tew ye. Now I'm ruther more composed:
you may perceed, Mr. Crane.

_Mr. C._--Well, widder, I was a-going to ask you whether--whether--

_Widow_--Continner, Mr. Crane,--dew. I know it's turrible embarrassin'.
I remember when my dezeased husband made his s