we can afford to be haughty an’ peevish.  It makes us more inthrestin’.  We kind iv look thim over with a gentle but supeeryor eye an’ say to oursilves:  ’Now, there’s a nice, pretty atthractive girl.  I hope she’ll marry well.’  By an’ by whin th’ roses fade fr’m our cheeks an’ our eye is dimmed with age we bow to th’ inivitable, run down th’ flag iv defiance, an’ ar-re yanked into th’ multichood iv happy an’ speechless marrid men that look like flashlight pitchers.  Th’ best-lookin’ iv us niver get marrid at all.

“Yes, Sir, there’s no doubt we do a good deal to beautify th’ landscape.  Whose pitchers ar-re those ye see in th’ advertisemints iv th’ tailorman?  There’s not a marrid man among thim.  They’re all bachelors.  What does th’ gents’ furnishing man hang his finest neckties in th’ front window f’r but to glisten with a livelier iris, as Hogan says, th’ burnished bachelor?  See th’ lordly bachelor comin’ down th’ sthreet, with his shiny plug hat an’ his white vest, th’ dimon stud that he wint in debt f’r glistenin’ in his shirt front, an’ th’ patent-leather shoes on his feet out-shinin’ th’ noonday sun.

“Thin we see th’ marrid man with th’ wrinkles in his coat an’ his tie undher his ear an’ his chin unshaven.  He’s walkin’ in his gaiters in a way that shows his socks ar-re mostly darned.  I niver wore a pair iv darned socks since I was a boy.  Whin I make holes in me hosiery I throw thim away.  ‘Tis a fine idee iv th’ ladies that men are onhappy because they have no wan to darn their socks an’ put buttons on their shirts.  Th’ truth is that a man is not onhappy because his socks ar-re not darned but because they ar-re.  An’ as f’r buttons on his shirt, whin th’ buttons comes off a bachelor’s shirt he fires it out iv th’ window.  His rule about clothes is thurly scientific.  Th’ survival iv th’ fit, d’ye mind.  Th’ others to th’ discard.  No marrid man dares to wear th’ plumage iv a bachelor.  If he did his wife wud suspict him.  He lets her buy his cravats an’ his seegars an’ ’tis little diff’rence it makes to him which he smokes.

“‘Twud be villanous to tax th’ bachelors.  Think iv th’ moral side iv it.  What’s that?  Ye needn’t grin.  I said moral.  Yes, Sir.  We’re th’ most onselfish people in th’ wurruld.  All th’ throubles iv th’ neighborhood ar-re my throubles an’ my throubles ar-re me own.  If ye shed a tear f’r anny person but wan ye lose ye’er latch-key, but havin’ no wan in partiklar to sympathize with I’m supposed to sympathize with ivry wan.  On th’ conthry if ye have anny griefs ye can’t bear ye dump thim on th’ overburdened shoulders iv ye’er wife.  But if I have anny griefs I must bear thim alone.  If a bachelor complains iv his throubles people say:  ‘Oh, he’s a gay dog.  Sarves him right.’  An’ if he goes on complainin’ he’s liable to be in gr-reat peril.  I wudden’t dare to tell me woes to ye’er wife.  If I did she’d have a good cry, because she injyes cryin’, an’ thin she’d put on her bonnet an’ r-run over an’ sick th’ widow O’Brien on me.