Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

but no jarrings with the servants. To the uninitiated eye, things appear in exemplary confusion; but the solitary head of the household can extract order from this confusion at any moment. It is a maze, but not without a plan. You will chafe, because there is a want of neatness ; but then our bachelor has quiet. Ah ! but you say, how lonesome it looks ! But the answer is ready. The bachelor is not, nevertheless, the inhabitant of a solitude. His domain is peopled with pleasant thoughts and sweet visitors, and, if he be a student, with sublime ones. He converses with great minds, unembarrassed by the voices of little ones. He communes with master spirits in antique books. These counsel and teach him, without ever disputing what he says and thinks. They till, and instruct his soul, without vexing his self-esteem. They bring music to his chamber, without troubling his ears with noise. But, you say, he has none of the pleasures which spring from his communion with children. You say that the association with the young keeps the heart young; and you say rightly. But the bachelor answers and says —if he has no children of his own, he sees enough of his neighbours. They climb his fences, pilfer his peaches, pelt his dog, and, as Easter approaches, break into his fowl-yards and carry off his fresh eggs. Why should he seek for children of his own, when his neighbours’ houses are so prolific \ He could give you a long discourse, in respect to the advantages of single blessedness, —that is, in the case of the man. In that of the woman, the affair is more difficult and doubtful. He is not prepared to deny that she ought to get married whenever she can find the proper victim. To sum up, in brief, he goes and comes when he pleases, without dreading a feminine authority. He takes his breakfast at his own hours, and dines when in the hu mour, and takes his ease at his inn. His sleep is undisturbed by unpleasant fancies. He is never required to rise at night, no mat - ter how cold the weather, to see that the children are covered, or to warm the baby’s posset. Never starts with horror, and a chil ling shiver, at every scream, lest Young Hopeful, the boy, or Young Beauty, the girl, has tumbled down stairs, bruizing nose, or breaking leg or arm; and, if he stays out late o’nights, never sneaks home, with unmanly terrors, dreading to hear no good of himself when he gets there. At night, purring, in grateful reve rie, by his fireside, he makes pictures in his ignited coals, which exhilarate his fancy. His cat sleeps on the hearth rug, confident ot her master, and ‘never dreading the broomstick of the always officious chambermaid; and the ancient woman who makes up his bed, and prepares his breakfast, appears before him like one of those seemingly old hags of the fairy tale who turn out to be princesses and good spirits in homely disguise.” “ See now,” said I to Ned Bulmer, as Tabitha the cook brought in the breakfast things. “ See now, the instance. Tabitha is not comely. Far from it. Tabitha never was comely, even in the days of her youth. Her nose is decidedly African, prononct after the very worst models. Her mouth, a sjiacious aperture at first, has so constantly worked upon its hinges for fifty-six years, that they have lost their elasticity, and the valves remain apart, open in all weathers. Her entire face is of this fashion. She looks like °ne of the ugly men-women, black and bearded, such as they collect on the heath, amidst tliunde v and lightning, for the en counter with Macbeth. Yet, at a word, Tabitha will uncover the dhhes, and enable us, like the old lady in the fairy legend, to fill our mouths with good things. Such is the bachelor’s faiiy. lake THE GOLDEN CHRISTMAS. my word for it, Ned, there’s no life like that of a bachelor. Con tinue one, if you are wise. Paula Bonneau is, no doubt, a de lightful little picture of mortality and mischief. But so was Pan dora. She has beauty, and sweetness, and many virtues, but she will till the house with cares, every one of which has a tearful faculty ot reduplication. Bea bachelor as long as you can, and when the inevitable fate wills it otherwise, provide yourself with all facilities for dying decently. Coffee, Tabitha.” Such was the rambling exordium which I delivered to my friend, rather with the view of discouraging his anticipations than because I really entertained any such opinions. He answered me in a huff. “ Pshaw! what nonsense is all this! Don’t I know that if you could get Beatrice Mazyck to-morrow, you’d change your blessed bachelorhood into the much abused wedlock.” w Fate may do much worse things for me, Ned, I grant you.” “It is some grace in you to admit even so little. But don’t you speak again, even in sport, so disrespectfully of the marriage condition. Don’t I know the cheerlessness of yours. Talk of your books and ancient philosophers ! don’t I know that you are frequently in the mood to throw them into the fire; and, even while you sit over it, the reveries which you find so delicious, are those which picture to you another foim, of the other gender, sit ting opposite you, with eyes smiling in your own, and sweet lips responding at intervals to all the fondest protestations which you can utter. Tabitha, indeed! I verily believe the old crea ture, though faithful and devoted to you, grows sometimes hateful in your eyes, as reminding you of her sex in the most disagreeable manner; —a manner quite in discord to such fancies as your own thoughts have conjured up. Isn’t it so, Tabitha ? Isn’t Ned sometimes monstrous cross, and sulky to you, only because you haven’t some young mistress, Tabitha ?” u l’spec so, Mass Ned: he sometime mos’ sick ’cause he so lonesome yer. I tell um so. I say, wha’ for, Mass Dick you no get you’se’f young wife for make your house comfortable, and keep you company yer, in dis cold winter’s a’coming. I ’spec its only ’cause he can’t git de pusson he want.” “ True, every word of it, Tab ! But never you mind. You’ll be surprised some day with another sort of person overlooking your housekeeping. What do you think, Tabitha, of Miss Bea trice Mazyck.” “ Hush, Ned!” “ She’s a mighty fine young pusson, and a purty one too. I don’t tink I hab any ’jection to Miss Beatrice.” “Very well! You’re an accommodating old lady. She’ll be the one, be sure of it. So keep the house in order. You’ll be taken by surprise. Then we shall see very different arrangements in the housekeeping here, Tabby. Do you suppose that she’d let Dick lie abed till nine o’clock in the morning, and sit up, smoking and drinking, till midnight ?” “Nebber, in dis world, Mass Ned.” “ And, if the power is with her, never in the next, Tabitha. Then, do you think she’d suffer a pack of fellows to be singing through the house at all hours —and such singing, and such songs.” “ Nebber guine le’ um come, Mass Ned. Him no guine ’courage dis racket yer at all hours. I tell you for true, Mass Ned, dis house, sometime, aint ’spectable for people to lib in. You no 3