Here's one has served now under Captain Cupid,

And carried a pike in's youth-you see what's come on't.

HUMOROUS LIEUTENANT.

At an age when the enthusiasm of youth and the vigor of manhood are alike extinct, I sit down to beguile my solitude by the recollection of my past affections. In earlier days I might perhaps have blushed at the idea of disclosing, what all are so anxious to conceal, the mishaps that have attended each successive attachment; but now, when seated by my fire-side, a sexagenarian in years and temperament, I look back upon the past, its poignant realities are blunted. Upon this principle I shall beg leave to recount my amours with the laudable sang froid of a philosopher, but if in the detail I imbibe an occasional warmth from the spirit of the past; if a transient shade of sorrow, or a quick spark of feeling, steal over my pages, it will serve to corroborate the earnestness with which I have once felt. Independently of these peculiar recollections, I have little of interest to communicate. In the prosecution of amusement, I have rarely strayed beyond the dominions of Venus, and, except on the subject of women, am innocence and simplicity personified. From my father, be it premised, I inherited an inflammable disposition, to which was added, as in that case made and provided, a most fastidious refinement of taste. The high-toned enthusiasm of our novelists had inspired me in earliest life with exaggerated notions of chivalry, and in woman, as the orthodox attraction of their pages, I looked for exclusive perfection. I expected her to realize each charm that had bedecked her in romance, and the further she was removed from common life, the higher she rose in my esteem. A worldly female I even now dislike-I then abhorred her. With respect to constitution, I was equally fastidious: a lusty state of health was my abomination. Consumption alone--pale, delicate, interesting consumption, was the idol of my youthful devotion. Oh! the raptures that I used to anticipate in attaching myself to some virgin who was far advanced in the sentiment of a deep decline. How I warmed at the idea of tenanting with her a sweet sequestered cottage, whence she might watch the dying day, and illustrate her similar decline. We would retire, methought, to some secluded vale, and wander heart-linked among its winding dells and superannuated moun ains. And when day broke upon the summits of these same superan

nuated mountains, we would ascend their alpine ridges, and turn upon the world beneath an eye of pity and romance. These, gentle reader, were the first crude rhapsodies of a boy on whom life was opening with the vivid splendor of an Indian dawn, and whom fancy, unblighted as yet by a cold and cheerless world, illumined with a thousand rainbow tints the glittering temple of its mind.

With this disposition, confirmed by an almost entire seclusion in the country, I was one day invited to accompany my father to a race ball, at the town of R. It was my first appearance in public, to borrow a phrase from the drama; and as I was but fifteen at the time, the reader may form some idea of my rapturous anticipations. The assembly was held in the Town-hall, and presented, I well remember, a gorgeous spectacle of beauty and fashion. On my first entrance, I was stupified with delight, until the appearance of a mutual friend with a partner restored me to comparative serenity. I had always been a good dancer, and though I had received my education at home, where I had but few opportunities of display, yet I rarely suffered what I had once acquired to be lost from want of practice. On the present occasion I was desirous, as it is called, to show off, more especially so for the sake of the fair partner who stood beside me. I shall not easily forget her she was tall and thin, with bright black eyes, a Grecian nose, and a countenance expressive of every varying emotion: her years might, perhaps, amount to twenty-five-a time, in my mind, most auspicious to a female-a time when the somewhat awkward but interesting bashfulness of the girl has sobered into the graceful modesty of the woman, and the heart is steadied not blunted by experience. Such was my first love, the fascinating Maria B, who now, in a distant quarter of the globe, at an age rarely attained by woman, achieves again in remembrance the various triumphs of her youth.

In an amiable and beautiful woman there is something ennobling in the enthusiasm with which a young heart bows itself down before her. The adulation of man, experience may lead her to distrust, but the reverential worship of boyhood, when the mantling cheek, the glistening eye, the timid and faultering voice, attest its perfect sincerity, can never never be mistaken. This appeared to be the case with Maria. She evidently marked my embarassment, and with a smile of the most feminine sweetness beckoned me to a seat beside her. She then drew me into conversation, and perceiving the romantic tenor of my mind, encouraged the foible with insinuating and playful address. To the rest of the assembly I lent not the least attention: I had eyes but for one alone, and long before I retired for the night, had settled the matter with my own conscience that I was desperately enamoured. During the whole of the next morning I was restless and melancholy, and kept hovering in the neighbourhood of the house where Maria resided. On the Sunday following the race ball, I unexpectedly met her at

church, and the refreshment which the mere sight of her beautiful person afforded me was attended with the most delightful and devotional results. This love-fit lasted, on a liberal calculation, about two calendar months, during which time I turned a desperate versifier, committed atrocious burglaries on rhyme and reason, and robbed the poets of their choicest epithets, in order to lay them at the feet of my Dulcinea. Sure never was seen in those two essential articles of love and leanness, so ardent, so accomplished a Quixotte. I was all over love-a complete vaccination of sentiment. It was love in the morning, love in the evening; I breakfasted, 1 dined, I supped, and I slept off love. But, notwithstanding the delicate flavor of the diet, I soon became marvellously thin. My father perceived the alteration, but attributing it to any other than its right case, prescribed change of scene as an infallible specific. I was accordingly dispatched to the house of an uncle at Portsmouth, where, in the novelty of other attractions, the enamoured boy of fifteen soon forgot that his Maria had ever existed. She has since that time, I am told, married a gentleman of respectability in India, but often, when past times are the subjects of conversation, talks with kindness of her "little suitor," and his romantic attachment,

My next amour was of very brief duration. I had resided about two months at Portsmouth, when the actors of a neighbouring town, attracted by the arrival of a convoy at Spithead, announced a series of performances at the Theatre. As I had never been to the Play, my relation agreed to take me to see "Venice Preserved." Accordingly, a fine Wednesday evening-I remember the date as well as if it were only yesterday-found our little family party seated in the front row of one of the dress boxes. The piece had commenced on our arrival, and Belvidera, the interesting Belvidera, was applying the first handkerchief to her eye. I saw her as she glided across the stage, in the full meridian of her charms, and "surely never lighted on this orb, which she scarcely seemed to touch, a more beauteous, a more seraphic vision." As the Tragedy proceeded, her part deepened in interest, and the affection which she displayed for Jaffier, the modesty with which she detailed the insults of Renault, together with her closing fit of insanity, completely ensnared my heart. The rest of the tragedy kept this high tone of feeling in countenance, for indeed there is something in its sentiment and garniture peculiarly captivating to youth. From the passionate gong-bell, the shadowy looking wheel, the black scaffold, the white executioner, and his intrepid victim, (Oh! that magnificent Pierre !!) in the last act all is stately, solemn and impressive. What increased the effect was the circumstance of its being my first play, an epoch, says Elia, in the annals of childhood that can never be erased from the mind. The next night my heroine appeared as Ophelia, in "Hamlet,” and my enthusiasm was, if possible, increased. Her face seemed to have the same delicate bloom, her movements the same elegance, PART XIV.-53.-Fourth Edit. 2 C

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and her voice the same sweet intonation that had fascinated me in the wife of Jaffier. How she thrilled to my heart in the plaintive ditties of the insane girl, and more especially in that exquisite passage- "I would give you some violets, only they withered all when my poor father died." And then her love, her subdued, passive, but unchanging love for Hamlet. Was it possible that it could be scorned? No! I myself would be her Hamlet, subdue by gentle perseverance the chaste scruples of her nature, and prove, by the energy of my passion, that

Of all the triumphs which vain mortals boast,
By wit, by wisdom, or by valor won,

The first and fairest in a young man's eye

Is woman's captive heart.

In this desperate condition I was accosted by a young naval friend who had been for some months stationed with his vessel at Portsmouth. After a few uninteresting family enquiries, our conversation turned upon the play which we had just witnessed. "Well," said he, "What do you think of our new Ophelia?” "Beautiful," I replied with animation, "Beautiful as an angel, by God. How happy must he be who can win the heart of such a seraph!" My friend replied with a smile at what he was pleased to term my romance, and then, in a half-serious half-joking manner, volunteered an introduction to the actress with whom he had been long acquainted. Here was a glorious opportunity! An introduction to "the fair Ophelia" was what I had covetted for four hours and some odd minutes, as the summum bonum of existence, so we agreed to meet on the evening at the Blue Posts Tavern, and adjourn from thence to the abode of my fair enamorato. The wished-for night arrived, and as the evening gun thundered from the ramparts, I found myself standing beside the place of appointment, in deep meditation on the mind and manners of the angel I was going to visit. From her appearance on the stage, she must be young, accomplished, and graceful, I observed, and if I can but make an impression on her too susceptible heart, I shall be the most favoured and fortunate of men. I was roused from this romantie reverie by the sound of approaching footsteps, and on turning round, discovered my friend hastening towards me from the hotel. Not a word escaped on either side, but away we hurried silent and thoughtful towards the hallowed abode of Ophelia. When we reached her home, he made a sudden halt, and then telling me, with a most suspicious chuckle, that the mere mention of his name would be sufficient introduction, was out of sight in an instant. On the moment of his departure, I instinctively applied my hand to the knoeker, and insinuated what may be termed a true lover's rap-palpitating, mysterious, and intermittent. A little sandyhaired girl appeared at the summons. "Is Belvidera at home I faulteringly exclaimed; for, in the confusion of my senses, I had forgotten to ask her real name. "Belvidera," she replied with a stare, "MissMuggins, Sir, I suppose you mean; howsomdever

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Muggins, Muggins," I repeated, interrupting her, with disgust; "Good God! what a name. However, show me the way up, girl;" and, as I ascended, the consoling lines of Shakspeare came promptly to my recollection-"A name, what's in a name? a rose by any other name will smell as sweet."-" And even so," I continued, with a slight shudder," may Muggins be equally melodious with Belvidera." On reaching the head of the stairs, I involuntarily halted, overcome by a pleasing palpitation, arising from the consciousness that I was now going to see all that earth yet retained of heaven. My conductress, however, made no allowance for the susceptibility of a lover, but suddenly threw aside a little dingy garret door, with this impressive remark, "A gemman wants Miss Muggins." In an instant I was in the midst of a room, to which the Black Hole at Calcutta must have been a palace. My situation was ludicrously picturesque. There were Miss Muggins and her mother, advancing the one with a poker, the other with a frying-pan towards me; by their side was a pug-dog, fat, frisky and bellirent; and to the right in the distance, flanked by what might be called from courtesy a coal-skuttle, towered a black tom-cat in a high state of wrath and animation. "Where then," the reader will ask, was the fair Ophelia ?" Where was she, who but yester-night, to adopt the language of Gibbon, reared her head in the splendour of unsullied beauty," whose voice, whose countenance were seraphic, and who, above all, would have given me some violets, only they withered all when her poor father died!" God knows! she seemed likely to give me nothing now but a smart box on the ear; for some perverse enchanter, the same doubtless who transformed Don Quixotte's Dulcinea into a kitchen wench, had metamorphosed the "fair Ophelia" into the quadrangular apparition of Miss Muggins. To make the matter worse-this sentimental spouse of Jaffier, this insane daughter of Polonious, she who drowned herself for love of "the Lord Hamlet," was actually (tell it not in Gath) frying sausages for supper. Eternal powers! do I live to record the damning fact: OPHELIA FRYING SAUSAGES!! Had it been lamb, the emblem of innocence-beef, respectable from its knighthood, or even a Michaelmas goose, sacred from its connection with Queen Elizabeth, I might possibly have gulped down the abomination; but sausages-horrible sausagesodious sausages-unprincipled sausages, which have committed adultery with fish, flesh, and fowl-the very thought was torture; it drove me to the verge of madness, and, without one word in explanation of my visit I rushed down stairs, and never once halted until I reached the sea side. From that night to the present I have never been able to look a sausage in the face without a shudder, and whenever I think of Portsmouth and its Theatre, I invariably recal the terrific apparition of Miss Muggins.

**

*

About four years subsequent to this amour, I was sent as a Commoner to Cambridge. Sentiment or folly, call it what you will,