THE PARADISE OF BACHELORS AND THE TARTARUS OF MAIDS

off the wings of butterflies.

But fine though they be, bachelors’ dinners, like bachelors’ lives,
can not endure forever. The time came for breaking up. One by one
the bachelors took their hats, and two by two, and arm-in-arm they
descended, still conversing, to the flagging of the court; some going
to their neighboring chambers to turn over the Decameron ere retiring
for the night; some to smoke a cigar, promenading in the garden on the
cool riverside; some to make for the street, call a hack and be driven
snugly to their distant lodgings.

I was the last lingerer.

“Well,” said my smiling host, “what do you think of the Temple here,
and the sort of life we bachelors make out to live in it?”

“Sir,” said I, with a burst of admiring candor–“Sir, this is the very
Paradise of Bachelors!”