Washington telegraph., 1854-02-01
The OLD Bachelor Fogy.
By sYLvAyus URBAN, THE YOUNGER.

By sYLvAHUs URBAN, THE YOUNGER.
An old bachelor is the true old fogy, and
all others are but 'counterfeit presentments.
Moving isolated through world composed
OF social circles, calling no woman wife, no
child son, or daughter, he becomes the very
= incarnation Of selfishness, and having wilfui-
ly ignored one of the objects of his creation,
he lives lonely. and dies unloved and unre-
GREETED. With all his affections burnt out
Of him, he remains like the tabled apples of
the Dead Sea, fair enough to the eyes, but
within all dust and ashes. His first folly
was that of believing himself sufficient for
his own happiness; his second, the obstinate
persistence in this belief, in spite of reason,
instinct, and the impulses of his better feel
lngs. His penalty is to lead cheerless
life, with no tender heart to sympathse in
his troubles; no gentle hand to smooth his
pillow IN sickness; nor any dear voice to
whisper comfort in his agony, or to lull hin,
to slumber with low murmuring song.
which calls up old memories and links to-
gether IN magic chain Of melody, the past,
the present. and the future.
IF he lives in lodgings, his suspicious ma
ture suggests that his landlady-haply
widow-seeks to caiole him into matrinony.
IF he tenants domicile Of his own, he is
tortured by the imaginary forwardness Of
his housekeeper. At his club, he is crusty
and uneommunicatiYe; and while PLAYING Of
IN evening his customary rubber f whist,
with other old bachelor fogies, they mutual
ly complain Of the dreariness of the game,
and testify accuse their respective partners
Of not playing so well as formerly.
When he hears that his former compan-
ion, Smith, rejoices in an afectionate wife.
and happy family of Juveniles, he eurls his
lip contemptuously, and cries, bah. IT'S
all sham. | don't believe IT. But he
does believe it, notwithstanding aud the
iron enters still deeper into his soul Pre-
sently, he ventures to call on Smith: and,
forthwith, he hates Smiths wife for smiling
50 sweetly, and tor keeping her house in
such beautiful order. And he hates Smiths
children also, from the chubby little thing
growing Justify in the cradle, to the blue
eyed eldest daughter, just tenderly blooming
on the margin of womanhood. He hates
them all; grins sardonically at Smith for
modestly ayowing his felicity, aud goes back
alone, through the silent streets, to his dark
and silent home. No tiny footstep runs to
meet him at the door; no soft matronly voice
welcomes his return with smile h as
cends the stairs TO his chamber, be never
felt 1t SO gloomy before; and his ample couch
there, looks 50 cold and solitary
Strange memories suddenly steal into his
thoughts; and, as his eyes are Fixed for mo-
ment on vacancy. there rises slowly before
him graceful shape with fair but melan-
choly face. Then all at once he cries out
in his great agony. "Oh, Alice, dear, if l
had known!-If I had only known" and he
buries his face within his hands, partly to
itife the mighty sobs by which be is 50 ter
1ibly shaken, and partly to shut out the light
Of those mild reproachful eyes; but when he
ventures to look up again the Presence has
disappeared