Literary Cadet And Rhode Island Statesman

MISCELLANY

From the N. Y. Literary Gazette

A SKETCH.

The Philosopher of old, when asked, 'is it best to marry, or not to marry?', replied, "do as you will, you will repent"--This is as true a maxim as any on record. There is probably no unmarried man, who when the hey-day of youth is past, finds himself, as it were, alone in the world, and neglected by the young beaux and belles, but repents he did not wed at twenty-five; always excepting the members of the Bachelor's Club, of which we may give some particulars when time and inclination serve.

Again, there is no married man no matter what his situation in life may be, but repents the day he ever saw his wife. There are so many cares attending the matrimonial state, so many jibes and jeers, even among the most loving couples, that wedlock is often a very irksome and unpleasant lock; in which, instead of silken jessies, and rosy fetters, the hapless cot-quean finds himself pinioned down, with adamantine chains, galling as those of the galley slave.

Sorely troubled and worn out with the labours of the day, the married man returns home,
"Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm."

And then comes a tirade! of 'where have you been to so late? I wish to go to the play, opera or ball;' or again, 'I have invited three and fifty of my dear friends to a party, next week, and I want money to purchase the necessary articles and decorations, to outrival Mrs. Shinewell's last route,' or a thousand other unreasonable things, which none but a woman's brain could conceive.

It is not thus with every man--but very different with many. There are few who do not admit,
"That marriage rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good
A paradise below."

He who is blessed in a fair wife, when evening arrives, turns for a refuge and shelter from the cares of the world, to his own fireside, and says with Cotton,
"From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire
Where love our hours employs;
No noisy neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,
To spoil our heartfelt joys."

Such a man is happy indeed,--his wife blessed. But the Bachelor, when night comes and the business of the day is done; where, does he go? he has no magnet to direct his compass: no friend to whom he can unbosom himself: he lives an unloved frigid thing. Go he to his boarding house, who cares for him there? much respect and affection may likely be expressed--but let poverty overtake him; or sickness lay him low, where is all the proffered respect and affection?
"Fled like the speedy wings of night."

If it should be, that he keeps "Bachelor's Hall," who has he there to commune with? his cheerless fireside, or empty walls. The evening is long, the night longer and he is wretched, till morning arrives, that he may again plod at his business: his sole employment is in the accumulation of riches, and when he dies, where goes all his wealth? To heartless and needy relations who ten to one, cursed him for living so long.

As I have seen many strange characters in my travels and intercourse with mankind, it has been my delight to study their lights and shades, these I generally note down in a book kept for the purpose from which I glean when occasion suits, to elucidate the opinions that I advance:--and now for a Sketch of THE BACHELOR.

'I am a bachelor,' said my good friend Frank Coldblood, to me the day he attained majority, 'and I glory in the title; I am as free as air, no petticoat to control my actions, no woman to care for me, nor to be cared for by me' Ten years afterwards, said he, 'I am a bachelor still, thank heaven!' In ten years more, he cried, 'I am a bachelor, so shall I live, and so shall I die; 'tis a noble and independent life;' and, added he, 'my good friend Bob, Celibacy is a glorious life, I have opened an account in my ledger, entitled Matrimony. I can now speak to a fraction on the subject; I know 'tis a happy life, marriage a ruinous business, it would make a man a bankrupt in a year. Well to show this clearly to the Credit of the account, I have placed all the endearing charms and attractions, (spoken ironically) that the husband experiences--wife, children, home, in short, every happiness that the most blessed in wedlock ever knew, but which, my dear Bob, I need not particularize; my brave fellow, you can see the items by looking into the account itself, which is always at your service. Then Sir, to the debit I post, (bracing himself up and speaking in a firm and self-applauding tone) wives sick, cross, scolding, &c. House out of order, servants quarrelsome and lazy, &c.--meals too late and miserably cooked, &c.--children fighting by days, and bawling by night, disturbing one's natural sleep, &c. Madam dunning for a new gown, misses for a new frock, &c. Young master for a shobby horse, old nurse for higher wages.