The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-05-16
VrColLEC1IOns OF A BACHELOR.

.aerns 10 me, in certain moods, the sunnuDl
bo,,,,. Of earthly enjoyment. I am not going
to remark that man at that time of life is
.leverer. or more virtuous, or more profit
able member of socitey than when his beard
becins to grizzle. / only say he is happier;
that he has probably never been so happy
before. and that he certainly will never be so
again. The iollity of schoolboys is, fancy,
overrated We look back upon that so-called
golden period of early youth through plea
SAINT but deceptive halo, which makes us for
Get the alloy of discomforts which it con-
t,inod. In the old Greek epigram, certain
hero halls with reverence both Mnemo-
svne and Lethe in one breath. Let
ma cries he, remember all the good |
have done, and forget my errors" And, after
this fashion, we indulge in a retrospect of
cricket and round jackets. We call to mind
tbe delights of 'breaking-up day." our unim-
paired appetite for pastry, the glow of pleasure
with which we received our prizes (you may
yuess how many fell to my share), but we
forget the miseries we endured; the horrors of
pr0pria o,ig mdribuS and PORS dSiRorum; the
fussv platitudes of that old pedagogue in a
trencher cap the brutal conduct of the young
sixth-form tyrant for whom we had the honor
of tagging; the depressing chill OF early
stchapels;" the cruel scars which were left
upon -: no; not even if Mr.. Gunter himself
were TO offer me the whole contents of his shop,
bride-cakes and all; not if | might be captain
of the school eleven; not if | could read
"Euripides" as easily as the "Iimes" news
paper: not for the rosest cheeks in the world,
the most generous "tips'' that could be hoped
for-nay, not to be that model OF scholastic
perfection, Mr. Thomas Brown himself-would
j 90 back to fifteen again
~,
WELD the razor with consciousness of real
necessity (boys used to shave in lS4-); to live
in lodgings or chambers Onone's own account
90 out or come home when one likes; to enter
Hpon life with a keen zest for life's enjoy
ments with health, spirits, hope, and a tole-
rably easy conscience-ah! that is the true
golden age; those are the rosy hours when,
taking old Father Time kindly by the hand,
setting his scythe and hour-glass in the
chimney-corner and passing the loving-cup
across the table to him, most of US would cry,
'Here, venerable sire, here let US linger ~
believe a common protest is raised from
time to time, by old fOgeys that young men
in this country are not what they used to be;
and, upon my word, though l disregarded
the notion dozen years ago, | begin to have
some faith in it now. One faculty, at least,
they seem to be losing-the faculty of enjoy
ment.
Look at Young England in a ballroom, at
the theatre, or during a picnic. Does he
look happy, amused or impuiSed in any way
Or is he mere listless young dandy, blast,
and bored-or affecting to be so-with every
thing and everybody around him l vow
there are some young gentlemen of this
description whom | never see without
feeling strong desire to slap them
heartily between the shoulders Cant you
imagine their horror at such greeting y and
ask what on earth they think worth caring
for. Early in the last decenniu,n, we young
fellows, whose whiskers We're Just beginning
to bud, not only enjoyed life, but didn't mind
showing that we enjoyed it. Our tastes were
none Of the most intellectual, am afraid.
We courted the Muses. after a rough and
ready fashion-oVer pipes Of birds eye and
tankards of pale ale. There weren't so MANY
novels to read then as there are now; but
somehow | fancy they had better stuff in them.
know we looked forward every month to
the appearance of Mr.. Thackeray's two
leaves, with zest which is unknown
to the rising generation. There was not a
chapter in david Copperfeld' that we didn't
discuss, laughing at Peggotty and Mr. Micaw-
ber, indignant with Uriah Heep, pitying Door
little Dora, and deeply touched by the fate of
handsome, reckless, proud, misguided Steer
forth. Pendennis we voted somewhat of a
PllS, puI HIS lIleuuj OeOBre WdrrlnSLOn-WaS
not that character to study, to admire, to emu
late believe when the great satirist of our
day, in his profound world-wisdom, sketched
that hfe-like portrait, half the interest with
which he invested it was due to the fact thai
he was unconsciously describing himself
Only few of us had kept up our Latin: anc
Raikesmere, of the State Sinecures Office (wh,
went up from Eastminster to Oxford but lef
that university, for reasons which need no
here be named, without taking his degree)
was mighty apt with his quotations fron
Horace when we met at the Cimbrian Store
to dine, or sat gossiping round some third-foo
fireplace in the Temple. "Nunc est biber
dun ~ he used to cry, blowing off the frot
from his pewter; and most of the young artist
who heard him, not having themselves ha
the advantage, as the phrase is, of a classci
education, regarded that thriftless reprobate a
miracle of wit and learning But when W
came to talk of books in our own mother
tongue-of English poets, from Chaucer dow
to Mr.. Tennyson-my goodness, what chat
tering there was what fierce putting of three
penny cheroots what an Outpour of earnest
frank and beer-inspired arguments
The Cimbrian Stores was an old-fashione
tavern, where an eighteenpenny ordinary wa
held at o'clock. The bitter ale (and a yer
decent tap too) came to fOurpence, and on
gave twopence more to the waiter, which
YOU see, exactly made up the two shi
lings - a modest but sufficient item
our daily expenses. I've had worS
dinners in my time l can tell yol
They gave us soup or fish, cut c
the roast, vegetables, and famous piece
Cheddar cheese. There was wine at a mod
rate tariff for those who liked it, Mr. VOkin
the respected landlord, took the chair pr
cisely as the quaint old mahogany ceased cloC