THE PARADISE OF BACHELORS AND THE TARTARUS OF MAIDS.
I. THE PARADISE OF BACHELORS.
IT lies not far from Temple-Bar.
Going to it, by the usual way, is like stealing from a heated plain into some cool, deep
glen, shady among harboring hills.
Sick with the din and soiled with the mud of
Fleet Street -- where the Benedick tradesmen are
hurrying by, with ledger-lines ruled along their
brows, thinking upon rise of bread and fall of
babies -- you adroitly turn a mystic corner -- not
a street -- glide down a dim, monastic way
flanked by dark, sedate, and solemn piles, and
still wending on, give the whole care-worn world
the slip, and, disentangled, stand beneath the
quiet cloisters of the Paradise of Bachelors.
Sweet are the oases in Sahara; charming the
isle-groves of August prairies; delectable pure
faith amidst a thousand perfidies: but sweeter,
still more charming, most delectable, the dreamy
Paradise of Bachelors, found in the stony heart
of stunning London.
In mild meditation pace the cloisters;
take your pleasure, sip your leisure, in the garden
waterward; go linger in the ancient library, go
worship in the sculptured chapel: but little have
you seen, just nothing do you know, not the
sweet kernel have you tasted, till you dine
among the banded Bachelors, and see their convivial eyes and glasses sparkle. Not dine in
bustling commons, during term-time, in the
hall; but tranquilly, by private hint, at |
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