Fr 20M THE LIVERPOOL ALBION, THE BACHELOR’S FAREWPL TO HIS COMPANIONS, Fevurn-wanxperens.—I am resolved to marry! confirmed—doubly confirmed in my resolution. ‘To all bachelors, old, young, and middle-aged, thereof I say, in the words of Burke, when he left the opposition.—“Gentlemen, I quit the camp!” I cannot, however, take leave of my “half-brother bachelors” without expressing my regret—for what? not for leaving sow, but for not having left before this, the society of a set of fellows hardly to be tolerated in any civilized counry, but I have been duped, delud ed, imposed upon beyond measure of compass. I would not have remained longer in the camp with such a craven, hearted corps—such as undisciplined, weak, irregular dull solidiery; fellows who are bankrupts in purse, in wit, in reputation. But what could be expect ed wrom a class of beings—dalent, and we profitable as old bachelors gen erally are? Fillow-neonederers, you may call my hidden metamorphosis anew or old light, a reformation, a conversion, a whim, or what you please, for Tam re solved to wed, and if it be not the march of mind, PE believe it will to me, be the marcel of comfort. Sam resolved to retire from the noise and confusion—from the folly and prof ligacy of bachelorship to the peaceful haven of matromony, [shall dissolve partnership with the late “extensive firm,” which I joined unsolicited, and leave without regret. The ladies will applaud the defection, for this expos will strengthen their artillery against the already proscribed race of old bachelors. Mothers will read these ob servations to their daugsters, and the daughters for themselves. Nay, every old kid in the country will, “with gree dy ear, devour up my discourse,” it will stregther their weakness against their opponents, the bachelors. “This having eccured the ladies, I care out what be comes of gentlemen,more especially the hachelor part of them. It may be in quired. What evil have you done me, heather bachelors? What good have you ever done me, by chance or design? Have you that teught me to smoke, to take anil, to brick wine? ADL which he ceferth renounce, lacause I am to get married. Have you sot eoticed me to make bet, play cards, and keep late hours? AM which I shall revear because I have resolved towed. Have you not sublected me to the club after clus, alter d routs, balls, taverns, tojauit here and there, dissipate my time, mo nern and mid tone purpose? All which Presolutely give up from this day, and from this simple reason—because I live resolved to get married. Over and above theres w eighty char ges, have Prot been literally pested by your acquaintance for the last thirty years? Are not the generality of old musty bachelors a parcel of scarecrows, calling themselves one’s friends, while they are the greatest enemies to his re pose and happies? One bachelor borrows money of me which he never intends to pay; another solicits to be introduced to my tailor, who measures himynd leaves me measureless in regret, for I have to pay the bill; another pre tends to be an excellent judge of wines, and tastes away an occasional hottde of my best! Then comes in a horde of bee lors on a Sunday, and, as bam famed for having good legs—of mutton, thee soa leave for me—not a buto aiand apor'— Yonst mr' d hotbed disap pear with greater celerity than the lo Comotye eo eives or the railway! They are a dock of d vourih]e locnss, Egypt has never more plagued than I have been, but it is over: the swallows of sum mer will soon disappear in winter, not one of these old bachelors shall eter ms threshold when than married. Prince Henry never left his discolate compan ionas with more satisfation than I leave you, for you have Bardolpha, Pims, and mary a Poins among you. Theed, ] Hay say with the Royal penitent— “Presto vor uit any tire thine ene : For you all must kay, Sasiall de wer! percrive, That fave T have tunes away my former off; So will P thow that keep me company”? You tell me all nations are struggling hard for liberty, and that I should retain mine; but T say again, that I am strug gling to lose my liberty, for I have found it to be the most galling chat of the bost galling servitude! You tell me “the cap of liberty is the only coronet;” but I tell you again, I have not found it “a golden diadem.” The cap of liber ty has imprisoned me too sow—confin ed me among you in a moral Bostile, in carcerated, cramped, checked worse than Sterne’s staring in his cage—*I cant get out, I can't get out! Batl shall get out of your clutches, fellow wanderers! What are the fruits of this liberty? An aching bend, a sunken eye, hagguard, overhanging eyebrows, fever ish pulse, pale cheeks, are some of the “glorious advantages” of a bachelor’s libery. Delusive bauble whole nations have been destroyed by thy siren voice: no wonder individuals should listen to Your decaying blandishments. I am glad I have “screwed up my courage to the sticking point,” and resolved at all hazards, to get married. I will be a Benedict: let horns come if they will, “that is part of a wife’s dowery,” as Shakspeare has it. I could even then laugh at my quondam companions, for their ears are longer than those of Bot tum in the play. Take a single figure from yonder group of miserable old bachelors; see the niggard creature infuse his tea, coun ting every reat least he should make it too strong for his shattered nerves, but all the sugar in the West Indies will not sweeten the cup socially: it wants the fair hand of woman to mix it, and her bright eye to beam upon our souls when we drink it. [Her smile enhances eve ry meal, and her soft voice sweetens ev ery draught, but the cold, phlermatic bachelor; the lonely, stigv, searling, drivelling, revelling, wandering bachel or,lves without aim, and dies unregret ted. He cannot sweeten the social meal, clevrish the drooping heart, or be soothed with children’s innocent prai se. Vor he is ~full of noise ad fury, signiifying nothing.” I may mention here, that,ince my “Defence of Widows’ in the shion of the 25th October last, I have been favored with several com munications from that class of air read ers, and take this opportunity of ac knowledging their kindness. One lady sent me a Christmas cakes another thank ed me, and said “that one who so ar dently defended the widows would be able to protect our orphans, —hat “up on this hint I spoke” set: a third invit ed me to her house, where I was intro duced to half a decy more lively, love ly, toresting widows—creatures whose smiles would chase away the gloom of care from the brow of the most ascetic anchorite; and a fourth sent me a cheese from Somersetshire, Blese their little hearts! Yet this very delesce roused the anger of a fair correspondent Maria, whose neat and pithy defence of the old sisterhood did her inner credit. Ii this meets her pretty eye, I hope she will again trace the fur paper with her fairer hand. And now, ye hoavy-headed bachellors -ye horde of ® jound triflers—ye usual ferable hayd of selfdeceiving, procras tinating, sophists, who must not aspire even to the withered hand of an old maid, not appreach the presence of a buxom widow, much less pretend to a blooming maiden, your cases are des perate, and must be given over to a spe cial commission of the ladies, by whom you will indubitably be found guilty of every count in the indictment. As for me, I have found, that “it is not good for man to be alove,” and have resolved to marry;to have my own dormicil;ring my own hell, command my one servant; curd ths escape the nearest of lodgings and the irconvertence of a boarding house. Parewell! Farower!! the wes song p the na tnkeog ell. The war-premie cattheot the ateltly watch, Farewell !—10 batcheloa's soisy tin fla2 ** Die pong ae Chretacee ni yMariquel? celvhaey, ‘The ilisant otieerios of a barkelute: bh yo Pareweil! Pore wie oe Adjiw trea? gnc f A BATCHELOR.