He can't live the life of a jolly bachelor, with pipe and slippers, jovial friends and nocturnal suppers.

The pipe is put out, sir--the slippers run down--and the joyous laughter of his good companions becomes only the recollection of dead merriment.

He progresses, sir--does the married man--from bad to worse; he lives in a state of hen-pecked, snubbed, unnatural apprehension; he shrinks from his shadow; trembles at every sound; and, in the majority of cases, ends his miserable existence, sir, by hanging himself to the bed-post!" Having drawn this awful picture of the perils of matrimony, Mr.
Roundjacket paused and smiled.

Verty looked puzzled.
"You seem to think it is very dreadful," said Verty; "are you afraid of women, sir ?" "No, I am not, sir! But I might very rationally be." "Anan ?" "Yes, sir, very reasonably; the fact is, you cannot be a lady's man, and have any friends, without being talked about." Verty nodded, with a simple look, which struck Mr.Roundjacket forcibly.
"Only utter a polite speech, and smile, and wrap a lady's shawl around her shoulders--flirt her fan, or caress her poodle--and, in public estimation, you are gone," observed the poet; "the community roll their eyes, shake their heads, and declare that it is very obvious--that you are so far gone, as not even to pretend to conceal it.

Shocking, sir!" And Roundjacket chuckled.
"It's very wrong," said Verty, shaking his head; "I wonder they do it." "Therefore, keep away from the ladies, my young friend," added Roundjacket, with an elderly air--"that is the safest way.