University of Virginia Library

GROUNDS FOR A DIVORCE.

Charles T—was married a few years ago.
He was a happy man. His business was a thriving
one, and he snapped his fingers, and said he did not
care a fig for the presidents, cashiers and directors
of all the banks in Christendom, for he owed them
nothing; and was not obliged to bow, and stoop, and
cringe to them for a discount, as many do now-a-days,
until it is quite impossible to stand erect in
the presence of an honest man. He had a house in
Broadway, near the Bowling-Green, and lived more
like a nabob than well becomes a decent republican

in this democratick country. His wife had been a
belle and a beauty; but, like many others of her sex,
she had a will of her own, which she did not lay
aside with her bridal garments. Everybody envied
Charles his good fortune. Matters went on swimmingly.
Charles was a high fellow—fond of his
friends—fond of his horses—fond of his dogs—and
fond of having his way in everything. He liked
company—frequently gave parties at his own house,
and attended balls, routs and soirees at those of his
neighbours. He was, in short, a fine, gay, dashing
spark—full of health and spirits, and in the very
bloom of life. Yet, with all his good qualities,
Charles T—had one fault, which his wife endeavoured
in vain to correct. He would occasionally
stay out until midnight; and, whenever this
occurred, Mrs. T— met him at the threshold
of his own door, with chidings and complaints.
Now, Mr. T— had a touch of Gloster's condition,
which “could not brook the spirit of reproof;”
so that the course his wife took to remedy the defect
in his character, only made matters worse—and discontent
and family bickerings were the result; frequent
wranglings followed, and an open rupture
finally ensued; consequently, in process of time,
both husband and wife grew heartily tired of each
other. One day a grand entertainment was given at
the Astor house, in honour of a distinguished senator.
Charles T—, of course attended. The
dinner was excellent—the speeches eloquent—the
wines sparkling, and the company even more sparkling
than the wine. Charles did not go home that
night at all, but arrived at his own door just as St.
Paul's clock struck the hour of four. The morning
was drear and cold. Not a light was to be seen—
not a footstep to be heard—the watchmen were
turned in and the gas-lamps were turned out; and,
more dismal still, the door of Mr. T—'s dwelling
was locked! This had never happened before;
and Charles's patriotism gave way to his petulance.
He pulled most lustily at the bell—he broke the
wire—he dashed the handle on the pavement; but
no one answered his summons. He addressed himself
to the knocker—rap, rap, r-a-p, and repeated;
r-a-p, r—a—p, r-r-a-a-p-p, and again repeated;
but all in vain. The inmates were either asleep, or
dead—it was not certain which; but it was certain
that no one came to his relief. It was striking five
o'clock; and an old dunghill cock, in an adjacent
stable, had “thrice done salutation to the dawn.”
The musical timepiece, on the marble mantel in the
front room of his own house, was playing the popular
air of “How brightly breaks the morning”—but
no friendly hand withdrew the bolt that kept him
from his bed. This was too bad. Rap, rap, rap,
went the knocker once more, and louder than ever.
Up flew the windows of almost every house in the
neighbourhood, except his own—and out shot various
night-caps and bandanas to inquire what the deuse
was the matter? Charles endeavoured to explain,
when, with a bitter reproof for disturbing people in
their virtuous beds, and for waking them out of their
innocent sleep at such unreasonable hours, down
went the sashes, and—presto!—the night-caps and
bandanas disappeared in less time than you could say
Jack Robinson! Charles was boiling over with rage.
He tried the window-shutters, the cellar-door, and the
grate to the coal-vault, but all to no purpose. Finally,
a thought struck him, and he resolved to scale the garden-wall.
He repaired to the rear of the house with
that intention. While clambering over the bricks,
he was arrested by one of the guardians of the night,
who had awakened from a delicious nap, just in the
nick of time to seize him by the leg and bear him
away to the watch-house. Here he remained until
day-break, when he was dismissed by Mr. Justice
Lownds, with an admonition to keep better hours in
future! How the lady explained the matter—how
it happened that none of the household heard the
bell and knocker—and why a night-latch was added
soon after to the front-door, are matters that we
know nothing about; and, if we did, they are not
worth recording here. We pass over these and other
uninteresting particulars for the sake of brevity, and
leave the reader to account for a mysterious advertisement
which has recently been published in the
Albany Argus, wherein it is set forth that a certain
very ill-used lady claims to be divorced from her
husband, on the grounds that he is given to late hours
and bad company!