themselves in their seats and cleared their voices as if for a long and not a silent sitting. They had all smiles in their faces, or at least that tendency to smile, that sort of relaxation of feature, which is produced by pleasure. I observed, too, a few glances passing between some of the junior guests, which I strongly suspected to be "side-long looks of love," from their being accompanied by a little heightening of colour; and I actually caught one young rogue slily pressing the hand of a meek and modest-looking girl, who had placed it, no doubt unconsciously, in rather a tempting position near his own. Not to dwell, however, on these unnecessary details, the ladies favoured us with their company over the bottle half an hour at least beyond the accustomed period. When they were gone, observing that my friend Gisborne had not ventured to say much on the subject, I rallied him on his silence. "How is it, Gisborne," I began, "that you did not support the cause of your own corps, the bachelors? Is it not cowardly to dissemble your principles in this manner, especially as you have so literally acted up to them by leading a single life?"

This attack, as I intended, roused my friend from his silence into one of his fits of declamation. 66 My sentiments on this subject," he replied, reddening as he spoke, "are well known, but it would be invidious to urge them in the presence of the fair sex: nor do I know that it answers any good purpose," (here he glanced his eye at two young men, who had been painting the pleasures of matrimony in glowing colours), "to try to dissipate those splendid visions, to destroy those webs of fancy, which are formed by youthful minds; at least, time, I think, is the only agent that can accomplish it. When they are brought into the situation which they so much admire at a distance, the illusion will vanish-the fair fabric of smiles and blushes, amiable feelings, warm caresses, and tender endearments, will disappear at the touch of experience. The hill which charms us at a distance, by its uniform celestial colour and even surface, discloses, when we are upon it, all its rocks, and caverns, and rugged asperities; and the vaunted state of matrimony, which shines so lovely to the imagination, will be found disfigured by cares, anxiety, indif

ference, petulance, gloom, and animosity. In both cases, equally

" "Tis distance lends enchantment to the view."

I myself, I confess, once revelled in all these golden dreams, and it has required years of soberness and reflection to reduce my estimate of the married life to something like rationality. Tint after tint faded from the visionary prospect; star after star went out from the hemisphere of my imagination, till I at length found myself in the pure daylight of truth. These illusions are, in fact, in the highest degree dangerous, and he who enters into matrimony under their influence can scarcely fail to make a shipwreck of happiness: he will be in the situation of one who, expecting to enter a magnificent saloon, suddenly finds himself in a dark closet. Our great poet, Milton, furnishes us with an eminent example of the difference between the fictions of fancy and the reality of truth. Contrast his glowing description of the felicity of connubial life in the bowers of Eden, with his own actual experience--his quarrels with his wife, and his domestic misery!"

At the conclusion of this harangue he suddenly started up and left the room, saying, that he had an engagement which would occupy him about half an hour, but that he would rejoin the company as soon as he was at liberty. When he was gone, a stranger, who had hitherto taken little share in the conversation, remarked what extremely different views men in the same situation frequently entertained. "It is fortunate for Mr. Gisborne," he continued, "that he can console himself, in his state of single blessedness,' by reflecting on the miseries he had escaped. I hope he is sincere, although I half suspect he imposes on his own mind, and accustoms himself to declaim against matrimony, to banish his regret at having missed, irrecoverably missed, some of the sweetest pleasures of life. This is the feeling, at least, which I think I have remarked in most old bachelors: it is pretty strongly expressed in some verses which I will do myself the pleasure of reading to you; but I must first give you an account of the singular way in which they came into my hands. Walking a few days in the streets of the neighbouring town, I saw before me a well-dressed middle-aged gen

ago

tleman, going along at a very brisk pace. A sudden jerk, in drawing out his handkerchief, threw from his pocket, unperceived by himself, a paper, folded in the form of a letter. On reaching the spot, I took it up and endeavoured to overtake him ; but much to the relief of my curiosity he turned suddenly down a narrow and winding alley, and disappeared, I could not tell how. I say, much to the relief of my curiosity, for that alert prompter had been inciting me to read the paper while the owner was yet in sight, and was almost in an agony of hopelessness when I appeared to gain upon the object of my pursuit; as soon, therefore, as he had vanished, my delicacy yielded to its more powerful antagonist, and I ventured to open the paper, allaying all scruples by the just reflection that it was the only way of finding out to whom it belonged :

"Ye prudes in virtue, say,

Say, ye severest, what would ye have done?"

On opening the sheet I found it contained the following verses, but without any signature, or mark, or indication by which I might discover the writer. The poem is entitled

F