His ideas of matrimony were early developed. At the age of twenty-two he is reported as wandering about the neighborhood in search of any eligible single ladies who were supposed to be in the matrimonial market. By so going about from house to house he became acquainted with the wants of each household in any special particular. Was a family out of cats, at the next visit in his capacious pocket a kitten was found nicely and snugly curled up. Would some farmer like a dog, Uncle Ned brought along a puppy on the occasion of his next hunt in the matrimonial line. Had the family spinning wheel worn out its spindle and become useless for the want of one, Uncle Ned did not fail to bring one next time. Did the good housewife need some saleratus from the store at the distant corners, in these days before soda became known, Uncle Ned brought the desired pound package of saleratus, that the family cake should rise in the dough and be toothsome and pleasant. In fact, Uncle Ned gradually became, with his obliging attentions to the wants of his neighbors, and by his quaint idiosyncrasies, the darling of the neighborhood. And he never ceased, from the time he was twenty-two years of age up to his seventy-fifth year, to go the rounds of his neighbors, always careful to supply their little wants, and always in search of a wife. Did he at one time think of breaking the route, and of stopping at another and a new farmer’s house for dinner, he would approach the man of the house, out in the field, and without a word of apology or preface, ask, “Does your wife make strong tea?” “Well, I never heard of any complaint on that point,” he is answered. “Ah! I thought I would stay to dinner with you, but if your wife don’t make strong tea I won’t stop.” He decides to stop, and earnestly enquires about a maiden lady living in an adjoining township, who is known to the farmer, he having removed from the township and locality of the maiden. On his tip-toes, and as silently as an Indian, Uncle Ned approaches the farmer, who is about his work in the field, and whispers in his ear: “Has she got a farm?” “Oh, yes; she has three hundred acres.” Uncle Ned retreats some rods, to the point from which he so noiselessly advanced, exploding with loud and jovial laughter. Up again he comes on tip-toe, and whispers, “Is she engaged?” “No, I think not.” And away he backs off again amid another burst of laughter. Again he steals up, and whispers, “Can she spin flax and make her own shifts?” “Oh, yes; she can spin as well as any woman in the county.” And he backs away, with the laughter louder than before. Now he comes again: “Has she got red hair?” “Yes; she has red hair.” No laughter this time, but he hangs his head and backs away, muttering to himself, “Well, that’s too bad. I do hate red hair. But then, since she has three hundred acres, that will make one overlook the red hair after all.”