Looking toward sunset

by Unknown

There is a germ of vanity, more or less expanded in human nature, under all circumstances. Slaves are often very vain of bringing an unusually high price in the market; because it implies that they are handsome, vigorous, or intelligent. It is the same feeling, manifested under a different aspect, that makes many women vain of the number of offers they have received, and mortified if they have had none. Men, on the contrary, being masters of the field, are troubled with no sense of shame, if they continue in an isolated position through life, though they may experience regret. The kind of jokes to which they are subjected generally imply that they have been less magnanimous than they should have been, in not taking to themselves somebody to protect and support. Such a “railing accusation” is rather gratifying to the pride of human nature. Instead of hanging their heads, they sometimes smile, and say, with an air of gracious condescension: “Perhaps I may some day. I have not decided yet. I want to examine the market further.” Now it is ten chances to one, that the individual thus speaking has been examining the market, as he calls it, for a long time; that he has been to the Fair, and tried to appropriate various pretty articles, but has been told that they were reserved for a previous purchaser. He may have been disappointed on such occasions; and if they occurred when youth was passing away, he may have been prompted to look in the mirror, to pull out gray hairs, and ascertain whether crows have been walking over his face. But if he perceives traces of their feet, he says to himself, “Pshaw! What consequence is it, so long as I have a full purse and a handsome house to offer? I shall have better luck next time. There are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught. One only needs to have bait on the hook.” And so when a married acquaintance reminds him that he ought to take a wife, he answers, complacently, “Perhaps I shall. I want to examine the market.” He is the one to confer support; he need not wait to be asked. There is a dignified independence in such a position. Hence the term old bachelor is not so opprobrious as old maid, and no apology is necessary for using it.

It is true, the single brotherhood are not without their annoyances. A meddlesome woman will sometimes remark to a bachelor friend, in a significant sort of way, that the back of his coat has a one-eyed look, by reason of the deficiency of a button; and she will add, in a compassionate tone, “But what else can be expected, when a man has no wife to look after him?” Another, still more mischievous, who happens to know of his attending the Fair, and trying to buy various articles otherwise appropriated, will sometimes offer impertinent consolation; saying, “Don’t be discouraged. Try again. Perhaps you’ll have better luck next time. You know the proverb says, There never was so silly a Jack but there’s as silly a Gill.” Then again, the French phrase for old bachelor, Vieux Garçon, translates itself into right impudent English. Why on earth should a man be called the Old Boy, merely because he has not seen fit to marry? when it is either because he don’t like the market, or wants to look further, in order to make sure of getting his money’s worth in the article.

I have spoken facetiously, but it may well be excused. Women have for so many generations been the subject of pitiless jokes, rung through all manner of changes, and not always in the best taste, that it is pardonable to throw back a few jests, provided it be done in sport, rather than in malice. The simple fact is, however, that what I have said of unmarried women is also true of unmarried men; their being single is often the result of superior delicacy and refinement of feeling. Those who are determined to marry, will usually accomplish their object, sooner or later, while those who shrink from making wedlock a mere convenience, unsanctified by affection, will prefer isolation, though they sometimes find it sad. I am now thinking of one, who, for many reasons would probably be accepted by ninety-nine women out of a hundred. I once said to him, “How is it, that a man of your domestic tastes and affectionate disposition has never married?” He hesitated a moment, then drew from under his vest the miniature of a very lovely woman, and placed it in my hand. I looked up with an inquiring glance, to which he replied: “Yes, perhaps it might have been; perhaps it ought to have been. But I had duties to perform toward my widowed mother, which made me doubt whether it were justifiable to declare my feelings to the young lady. Meanwhile, another offered himself. She married him, and is, I believe, happy. I have never seen another woman who awakened in me the same feelings, and so I have remained unmarried.”

I knew twin brothers, who became attached to the same lady. One was silent, for his brother’s sake; but he never married; and through life he loved and assisted his brother’s children, as if they had been his own. There are many such facts to prove that self-sacrifice and constancy are far from being exclusively feminine virtues.

But my impression is, that there is a larger proportion of unmarried women than of unmarried men, who lead unselfish, useful lives. I, at least, have happened to know of more “Aunt Kindlys,” than Uncle Kindlys. Women, by the nature of their in-door habits and occupations, can nestle themselves into the inmost of other people’s families, much more readily than men. The household inmate, who cuts paper-dolls to amuse fretful children, or soothes them with lullabies when they are tired,—who sews on buttons for the father, when he is in a hurry, or makes goodies for the invalid mother,—becomes part and parcel of the household; whereas a bachelor is apt to be a sort of appendage; beloved and agreeable, perhaps, but still something on the outside. He is like moss on the tree, very pretty and ornamental, especially when lighted up by sunshine; but no inherent part of the tree, essential to its growth. Sometimes, indeed, one meets with a genial old bachelor, who cannot enter the house of a married friend, or relative, without having the children climb into his lap, pull out his watch, and search his pocket for sugar-plums. But generally, it must be confessed that a Vieux Garçon acts like an Old Boy when he attempts to make himself useful in the house. His efforts to quiet crying babies are laughable, and invariably result in making the babies cry more emphatically. A dignified, scholastic bachelor, who had been spending the night with a married friend, was leaving his house after breakfast, when a lovely little girl of four or five summers peeped from the shrubbery, and called out, “Good morning!” “Good morning, child!” replied he, with the greatest solemnity of manner, and passed on. A single woman would have said, “Good morning, dear!” or “Good morning, little one!” But the bachelor was as dignified as if he had been making an apostrophe to the stars. Yet he had a great, kind heart, and was a bachelor because that heart was too refined to easily forget a first impression.

Bachelors do not become an outside appendage, if they are fortunate enough to have an unmarried sister, with whom they can form one household. There is such a couple in my neighborhood, as cozy and comfortable as any wedded pair, and quite as unlikely to separate, as if the law bound them together. The sister is a notable body, who does well whatever her hands find to do; and the brother adopts wise precautions against tedious hours. He was a teacher in his youth, but is a miller now. An old mill is always a picturesque object, standing as it must in the midst of running water, whose drops sparkle and gleam in sunlight and moonlight. And our bachelor’s mill is hidden in a wood, where birds love to build their nests, and innumerable insects are busy among ferns and mosses. The miller is busy, too, with a lathe to fill up the moments unoccupied by the work of the mill. He has made a powerful telescope for himself, and returns to his home in the evening to watch the changing phases of the planets, or to entertain his neighbors with a vision of Saturn sailing through boundless fields of ether in his beautiful luminous ring. He can also discourse sweet music to his sister, by means of a parlor seraphine.

I know another bachelor, who finds time to be a benefactor to his neighborhood, though his life is full of labors and cares. In addition to the perpetual work of a farm, he devotes himself with filial tenderness to a widowed mother and invalid aunts, and yet he is always ready wherever help or sympathy is needed. If a poor widow needs wood cut, he promptly supplies the want, and few men with a carriage and four are so ready to furnish a horse for any kindly service. The children all know his sleigh, and call after him for a ride. None of his animals have the forlorn, melancholy look which indicates a hard master. The expression of his countenance would never suggest to any one the condition of an old bachelor; on the contrary, you would suppose he had long been accustomed to look into the eyes of little ones clambering upon his knees for a kiss. This is because he adopts all little humans into his heart.

I presume it will generally be admitted that bachelors are more apt to be epicures, than are unmarried women. In the first place, they have fewer details of employment to occupy their thoughts perpetually; and secondly, they generally have greater pecuniary means for self-indulgence. The gourmand, who makes himself unhappy, and disturbs everybody around him, if his venison is cooked the fortieth part of a minute too long, is less agreeable, and not less ridiculous than the old fop, who wears false whiskers, and cripples his feet with tight boots.

There is a remedy for this, and for all other selfishness and vanity; it is to go out of ourselves, and be busy with helping others. Petty annoyances slip away and are forgotten when the mind is thus occupied. The wealthy merchant would find it an agreeable variation to the routine of business to interest himself in the welfare and improvement of the sailors he employs. The prosperous farmer would find mind and heart enlarged by helping to bring into general use new and improved varieties of fruits and vegetables; not for mere money-making, but for the common good. And all would be happier for taking an active interest in the welfare of their country, and the progress of the world.

Nothing can be more charming than Dickens’s description of the Cheeryble Brothers, “whose goodness was so constantly a diffusing of itself over everywhere.”