University of Virginia Library

BACHELORS.

There is no character in the comedy
of human life that is more difficult to
play well, than that of an old bachelor.
When a single gentleman, therefore, arrives
at that critical period, when he
begins to consider it an impertinent question
to be asked his age, I would advise
him to look well to his ways. This
period, it is true, is much later with some
men than with others; I have witnessed
more than once the meeting of two
wrinkled old lads of this kind, who had
not seen each other for several years,
and have been amused by the amicable
exchange of compliments on each other's
appearance that takes place on such occasions.
There is always one invariable
observation; "Why, bless my soul! you
look younger than when last I saw you!"
Whenever a man's friends begin to compliment
him about looking young, he
may be sure that they think he is growing
old.

I am led to make these remarks by
the conduct of Master Simon and the
general, who have become great cronies.
As the former is the youngest by many
years, he is regarded as quite a youthful
gallant by the general, who moreover
looks upon him as a man of great wit
and prodigious acquirements. I have
already hinted that Master Simon is a
family beau, and considered rather a
young fellow by all the elderly ladies of
the connexion; for an old bachelor, in
an old family connexion, is something
like an actor in a regular dramatic corps,
who seems "to flourish in immortal
youth," and will continue to play the
Romeos and Rangers for half a century
together.

Master Simon, too, is a little of the
chameleon, and takes a different hue with
every different companion: he is very
attentive and officious, and somewhat
sentimental, with Lady Lillycraft;
copies out little namby-pamby ditties
and love-songs for her, and draws
quivers, and doves, and darts, and
Cupids, to be worked on the corners of
her pocket-handkerchiefs. He indulges,
however, in very considerable latitude
with the other married ladies of the
family; and has many sly pleasantries
to whisper to them, that provoke an
equivocal laugh and a tap of the fan.
But when he gets among young company,
such as Frank Bracebridge, the
Oxonian, and the general, he is apt to
put on the mad wag, and to talk in a
very bachelor-like strain about the sex.

In this he has been encouraged by the
example of the general, whom he looks
up to as a man that has seen the world.
The general, in fact, tells shocking
stories after dinner, when the ladies have
retired, which he gives as some of the
choice things that are served up at the
Mulligatawney club, a knot of boon companions
in London. He also repeats the
fat jokes of old Major Pendergast, the
wit of the club, and which, though the
general can hardly repeat them for
laughing, always make Mr. Bracebridge
look grave, he having a great antipathy
to an indecent jest. In a word, the
general is a complete instance of the declension
in gay life, by which a young
man of pleasure is apt to cool down into
an obscene old gentleman.

I saw him and Master Simon, an
evening or two since, conversing with a <