The Union And Eastern Journal

Leap Year—the Ladies

Leap year has come again, when, by long-established custom, ladies are privileged to "pop the question." Crusty old bachelors go about in terror, giving a wide berth to every pretty girl they meet, and blessing heaven for the invention of hoops, which prevents the fair creatures seizing them vi et armis. Sweet little creatures, for whom coy swains have long sighed in vain, pluck up courage, and by a few gentle hints, which are no longer unladylike, bring the modest youths to the point. Maneuvering mammas, thanking their stars that leap year comes once every four years, but secretly wishing also that it came every year, look for a fine harvest out of bashful lovers, and hurry their daughters "into society" that they may take advantage of the blessed time. Even papas, rubbing their hands in glee, rejoice over the privileges of leap year, as they calculate the annual cost of their daughters and the cent per cent they could make out of that money if saved. Lucky leap year! Propitious leap year! The inventor of the happy custom ought to have a statue raised to him by the ladies.—Or, if the inventor was a woman—for we doubt our sex having sagacity enough for such a splendid coup de main—they should honor her by a leap year festival, as the ancients honored Ceres.

We have always thought it cruel to our sex, that they had to take the initiative in that terrible process. "Popping the question." It is said that Henry the Fourth when he carried Cahors by assault, was in such a tremor of fright, it being his first conflict, that he fairly dropped his battle axe at the gate of the town. But with all this physical fear, he had a brave soul; so, picking the weapon up, he turned to his troops, and crying "Cahors," struck manfully at the solid doors. At every stroke his knees trembled, but still he cried "Cahors," to stimulate his men, and still rained his blows on the iron ribbed oak. Many a poor fellow, in popping the question, has had as hard a struggle to keep up his courage. What shaking knees, what chattering teeth, what fluttering hearts, what a choking in the throat, what a peculiar and indescribable "all-overishness" seizes on the bravest, when he attempts in cold blood to pop the question to some angelic miss, who is perhaps, secretly, as frightened as himself. It is only by crying to one's self "Now, or never, go it old boy," just as the great hero cried "Cahors. Cahors." that one can muster pluck to make the assault at all. Blessed, therefore, beyond all other mundane blessings are picnics, moonlight rambles, and especially cosy sleigh-rides, for somehow, on such occasions the question often pops itself. Yes, out it comes, like a champagne cork that cannot stand it any longer. It is a lucky dog who gets into this high-pressure condition. Ham, or beef, or even pudding may be taken cold, but popping the question never. We would as lief jump into the Delaware when ice was forming, as pop the question in set form and by deliberate purpose. The whole thing is monstrous. The women, who have twice the tact of our sex, ought to do this business for us. They'll do it, we hope, this leap-year. If we were a bachelor, it would make our very mouth water to think of sitting up in state and have lots of pretty girls popping the question to us. Ah! the "good time is coming."

Don't be prudish, ladies, we beseech you, any longer. Matrimony is the best condition for us brutes of men as well as for your charming selves: and you will really be doing a service by seizing all stray bachelors of this leap year, and impounding them in matrimony. Some old rogue once said that marriage was like those wire rat-traps, where a hollow cone, the big end out, invites the victim to enter, by the smell and sight of toasted cheese within: but where, when he attempts to leave the sharp wires of the little end of the cone hint pointedly at the impossibility. The story is a wicked libel on matrimony, ladies, which is not a rat-trap, any more than you are toasted cheese. The man that don't know that matrimony is good for him is so far forth demented, and the sooner he is put into the husband's straight jacket the better for him. You have a prescriptive right to civilize our rougher natures. Franklin aptly said that the sexes were halves of a pair of scissors, and neither was good for much without the other. Children don't know what is good for them, neither do we men always. So, as leap year is here, make an onslaught, one and all, on the bachelors, and let it be as fierce as a farm-wife makes on her poultry at Christmas. It's the destiny of turkeys to be eaten, and of men to marry the girls. Forward march!—Phila. Ledger.