The Ladies' Garland

FROM THE NEW-YORK MORNING COURIER.

CONFESSIONS OF AN OLD MAID.

London, 1828—Reprinted. New-York—Confessions of an Old Maid! confessions of an old fiddlestick! they are as much the one as the other. 'The book is a real take-in—it is a thorough catch-penny. With such a captivating title, one that excites the hope that old maidenhood, like Freemasonry, is about to be divested of its mysteries, the book is an absolute bore— paper, ink, 'et præterea nihil.' We bear too profound a respect for the fraternity—no, the society of gentle spinsters, to suppose that one of their number is the authoress. The title is an imposition. We are ready to make affidavit that the author is a surly old bachelor, with a decreasing leg and an increasing waistcoat. It is a moral impossibility that any woman could write so flat a novel.

But if a real, bona fide old maid would only write her confessions, how the book would sell: How the fair promulgator would be abducted— how the newspapers would teem with renunciations of old maidenhood—what a noise it would make in the West!

The confessions of an old maid! And what would old maids have to confess? That they were ever anxious for matrimony, but that nobody asked them? Certainly not. There is scarcely an old maid in existence that might not have been married, had she thought proper to accept Tom, Dick, or Harry, for a husband. It is fastidiousness which makes old maids. It is chance which brings congenial hearts together and chance does not happen to all, despite Solomon and his wisdom. Many a woman dooms herself to singleness, because chance has not offered her a husband worthy of her love and respect. Therefore do we honor old maids, and therefore shall we ever couch our lance in their defence. It is not true that they are cross peevish, and disagreeable. As a class, they are just the reverse; they are generally well informed, sociable, and good hearted—they seldom take any airs upon themselves, which young ladies are prone to do—they are acute observers of men and manners—and he who gains their good will, finds not only firm friends, but judicious advisers. If works of active benevolence are to be done, if the sick are to be visited, and the poor relieved, one old maid is worth a dozen wives. The sympathies and charities with which the latter embellish home, are carried by the former into the dwellings of distress: She is the Secretary of Foreign Affairs in the cabinet of charity. She acts her part and fulfils her destiny, by diminishing the evils of humanity, and who will refuse to say: 'Well Done!'?

Let old maids then be held in proper esteem by the world—and let all old bachelors, who cannot give a good account of themselves, be— hanged!