that a reasonable number of visitors have been shocked and bored by the evidences of thy existence, and the precocity of thy genius; that thy nose, to say nothing of the rest of thy person, hath been suitably bumped, producing developments as yet unclaimed by Phrenology; and that thou art able to walk at an angle, something less than thirty degrees. And here thou hast reached a most important era, in the history of thy life. Thou hast become the subject of serious debate. A solemn and most important council has been held in thy behalf. Thy gymnastic feats have become no longer endurable, and thy vaultings, albeit in perfect innocency, no longer to be tolerated. Thy tunics are, therefore, to be discarded, and thou art to appear in the panoply of thy sex. Great is thy rejoicing-great thy anxiety-great thy impatience. To thee it is a day, "big with the fate of Cæsar and of Rome." sers. Now behold thyself making sundry ambitious attempts to balance thy dumpy figure upon one foot, while the other is to be thrust into what is termed a pair of trowDost mark thy chuckling face, red with exertion, thy shapeless hands clinging to the apron of the female Vulcan, who is to encase thee in the armor of manhood? All will not do; and thou art unceremoniously hoisted into her lap, while thy extremities are thrust in one after another, and thou art hoisted up and down, and shaken in with as little remorse as a pillow into its case. The suit is completely filled; where it might have been too tight in one place, the fat is squeezed to where it is too large in another; and now thou art deposited upon the floor, resembling much a meal-bag filled to bursting. Nor is this all. I must detail thy whole shame, for thou, even thou, quiet and well-bred as thou now most assuredly art-didst clap thy fat hands upon thy well-filled corpo ration, and straddle thy short legs and strut about the room, thy arms trussed up for the better display of thy person, with all the pride and pomp of a new Militia Captain, or a young capon lately fledged; and this too, while mama looked on with infinite delight, cousins shouted, and elderly aunts wiped their spectacles, showed their straggling teeth, and laughed till their eyes ran Rejoice, oh, Elderly Gentleman, that these days of thy shame are past for ever! over. I will not dwell upon the times of thy boyhood, when thou didst snivel on the road to school, with “ 'shining morning face," bearing in thy innocent hands a permit for a sound flogging, in lieu of an apology for thine absence; nor dilate upon the times when thou wert perched upon a platform, squeaking at the top of thy lungs, and with most triumphant emphasis, "You'd scarce expect one of my age I will say nothing of the unseemly and uncomfortable application of the birch, nor of the sonorous and discordant sounds that accompanied the ceremony. Let these pass--pass, too, when thy chivalry made it legal for thee to dodge corners, and go all the way round Robin Hood's barn, lest thou shouldst encounter some gingerbread champion, who technically owed thee a "hiding." These are amongst the trials thou must encounter, ere thou art | qualified to enjoy the "otium cum dignitate" of the Elderly Gentleman. But I see thee again, like Tasso's young Rinaldo, the down is beginning to shade thy chin, and thou art given to star gazing; thou dost rave, what thou wouldst fain should be considered poetry; art addicted to moonlight serenades, while thy teeth are chattering in thy head, and thy mistress is unconsciously snoozing under seven woollen night-caps: dost sigh and lay thy hand upon thy chest, to indicate a heart somewhere in that region, and roll thy eyes, like a goslin in a thunder-tempest. All in vain; she will wed the rich soap-boiler over the way, and leave thee and thy fine speeches to find their way with other lost things, to the land of lunatics, even the Moon. But let us have done with these horrors--let me no longer shock thy sensitive nerves, by dwelling upon what may not be recalled, what thou couldst not indeed have escaped-they are the natural penalties of thy existence. I will pass over all the intermediate stages of thy folly and disgrace, and suppose thee at last safely landed in this haven of rest, this Eldorado of human life. From henceforward thy existence is a privileged one. Thou needest consult no will but thine own. Now, thou mayest truly be said to repose "under thine own vine and fig-tree, with none to molest or make thee afraid." Who taketh umbrage at the language of the Elderly Gentleman? Who disregardeth his council, or slighteth his reproof? Not one. Young maidens smile upon him without reprehension, and matrons take him by the arm and lead him to the most desirable places, desirable as well for the comfort of the body, as for the gratification of the mind. Who would not be an Elderly Gentle man? My friend, Mr. Greenleaf, is the very ideal of an ElHis manners have a dash of the olden derly Gentleman. time; that is, he raises his hat to a lady, and inclines his body with the most elegant air in the world. His voice is distinct, but inclining to be low; he thinks the loud, boisterous manners of modern beaux, the very height of the vulgar. His coat is black and well-fitted: and I observe he always wears a ring upon the first finger of the left hand, which is supposed to have been the gift of a lady-an old flame of his-whom he still visits, and regularly presents her increasing family with Christmas and New-Year's gifts. He is partially a bon vivant, and tips his old Madeira with a free, generous air, that would seem to say, I am no cynic, but obey the apostolic injunction, "take a little wine for thy stomach's sake." But as for "infirmities,” he is never ailing. His feet are never pinched with tight boots, nor does he need to go with half a dinner, because of the tightness of his waistbands. I have seen him recline in his elbow-chair, with his feet upon the fender, but he generally rises upon the approach of visitors. I never knew him to spit in the grate, nor is he guilty of that disgusting English fashion, of spitting in his pocket handkerchief. He is a great favorite with the ladies of every age; little children anticipate his coming with great delight, for he has always something kind to say to them, and not unfrequently presents them with some coveted toy. His judgment is considered excellent, and no one of his acquaintance would think of engaging in any enterprise, || without first consulting his opinion-for should a failure be the result, ten to one it would be charged to the omis sion. But I believe my friend never appears to better advantage, than when in the society of young, ladies; and, if I mistake not, he is never better pleased than when thus engaged. I observe in addressing them, he not unfrequently pats them on the shoulders, by way of lending emphasis to what he is saying; an innocent liberty which never gives offence as coming from him; though I|| have more than once seen the eyes of a lover looking daggers at a privilege he himself was too chicken-hearted to claim-perhaps my friend observed the same thing, and it may be, the trifle became of more value from that single circumstance. Be that as it may, he rarely parts with a pretty girl without a valedictory kiss, and I have often remarked that his taste is very nice in these matters, it being altogether superfluous to perform the operation upon an ugly face. But I must stop, for Mr. Greenleaf would be greatly shocked should he discover what I have been doing. I think he would die at the very idea of being in print, for he adheres to the belief that such things are never done without the cognizance of the original, and that no man of sense ever did, or ever will appear as an author, unless driven to it by necessity of one kind or other. Now let me recapitulate a few of the many benefits to which thou art entitled as an Elderly Gentleman. Thine oddities of whatever kind, are not only to be treat ed with indulgence, but will be looked upon as quite agreeable and necessary to thy individuality. Thou mayest be gruff or urbane, loquacious or taciturn, and each will be considered equally proper, and suiting thy condition. Thy character is supposed fixed, and be it what it may, no radical, even were he as daring as Luther himself, will presume to interfere with thy established habits. No one will attempt to make thee over. Thy bon mots will be patiently heard, and duly appreciated-if stale, they will become current as having been repeated by thee. Thy moralizing will be oracular, and thou shouldst gesticulate slowly in order to add weight to what might otherwise appear common-place. It is thy privilege to say that it shall pass for wisdom, profound as his who had applied himself to the study of all knowledge, albeit he was led to confess, that "all is vanity and vexation of spirit." Thou mayest ask thyself to dinners, more especially if thou givest dinners in return, mayest introduce whist and cribbage, mayest talk of the weather, and even of thine own rheumatism, and not be noted a bore; presuming thou hast courage to do this, knowing the prescriptions that will be showered upon thee-knowing how maiden ladies will bring thee catholicons and lineaments, and more than hint at that judicious recipe of the king of Israel, as infirmities gathered about him. Now, also, it is optional with thee, whether to reply to things said in thy presence, or even addressed to thyself. Thou mayest roll up thine eyes, give a whiff, reply, or be utterly silent, as may best suit thy pleasure, the capaci ty of thy understanding, or the circumstances of the case; and be assured, whatever thou doest, will be pronounced the best thing possible, all things considered. Thou mayest husband thy knowledge, and retail it with a sparce hand, for it is taken for granted that all things are familiar to the Elderly Gentleman, and thy silence passes unsuspected. It will be well for thee to read a few old, rare authors, and quote therefrom, and thy erudition will be placed beyond dispute. Over and above all, in addressing the young of thy acquaintance, by all means, commence by saying, “young man," or "young woman," it makes what thou mayest thereafter say, more impressive, and fills them with suitable respect for thyself, the wisdom and value of thy counsels, and the sageness of thy conclusions, as well as à proper and most desirable sense of their own inferiority. But I must have done, for dwelling upon this beaú ideal of human life has so far lessened the value of all other periods, that even at the risk of irreverence, I am led to exclaim, Original. out of mercy-sheer mercy-to your earnestness and SKETCHES BY LAMP-LIGHT.-NO. I. waywardness-” BY JOHN NEAL. THE NEWLY-MARRIED MAN. "As I live, there she goes now! Look! look! The very woman I told you so much of. The most beautiful creature, and the most of a- —oh, hang it! I've no patience with you newly-married men! Why don't you look, George, hey!" Well, Harper," yawning, and turning languidly toward a group of fashionably-dressed women, who appeared to be passing out of some church, auction, or fair in the neighborhood, "well, Harper, to oblige you, I will look-which is the lady?" "To the point, Harper, to the point! My waywardness will not bear trifling with, just now.' "Very well; to the point then. Propound your questions, keep your temper, and after you are satisfied, we'll have a bit of a blow up, if you say so; and if, on the whole, it should appear expedient, under all the circumstances-hey?" "With all my heart! Are you acquainted with that woman?" "No." "Have you ever spoken to her?" "Never. "How long is it since you first saw her?" "Three months," counting his fingers, "five daystwo hours, and a-" pulling out his watch, "and about "No trifling, if you please." "Which? How can you ask, after seeing that step, and carriage, and the swaying of those white ostrich-a-a-" feathers, and the cast of that magnificent drapery, and the-zounds and death! what ails the man?" "Harper-Harper! it were as much as your life is worth-" "So, so, waked up at last, are you? Pale as death at the sight of a beautiful woman, married though you are, and newly married too-actually muttering in your sleep! One would believe you rehearsing a speech for the jury, in a capital case, or acting Macbeth in the dagger-scene, to look at your hands, your attitude, your eyes-to see you, as you stand there, with your lips moving, and sweat-ay, George, big drops of sweat-standing upon your forehead!" Harper-Harper!" gasping for breath and playing with his fingers, and trying to smile, "you have no idea who that woman is, hey?" "Not the least in the world." I "Your hand, my dear fellow! I've wronged you. had an idea that you were desperate and wicked enough -but no matter how could I have been such an ass?" "Nothing easier in the world-for a married man. But I say though, George, there seems to be a kind of a —of a—what d'ye call it?-you men that make poetry, and speeches, and wry faces, and do tragedy in the public streets a kind of a mystery here, hey?" "Rather. But before I explain that mystery, my friend, there are two or three questions, if you please, that must be answered." "Must be answered, hey! And by whom?" "By you, Harper." "Must!" "Must, Harper, must. I've no time for ceremony." "Nor I neither, George: and, therefore, although I don't much like your manner, nor your look, nor your language-you'll excuse me, but my notion is, that you are rather too fond of the Park and the Bowery, for a married man, hey? rather too much given to the melodramatic, for every-day people-to out-Heroding Herod, on small occasions-to Cook-ing Kean, where both are out of place. However, as I said before, although I don't much like your way of popping the question, still, "I am particular, because you are. I saw her first, as you may remember, for I told you of it the very next day, on the fourth of July last past." "And are you sure, quite sure, that the woman we just saw turning that corner, is the very woman that Millar, the profligate scoundrel, appeared so infatuated with?" "The same. He grows more and more infatuated every hour; he follows her every where-by Jupiter! there he is now! I knew he could'nt be far off." "His reputation for what?" "For what! Why for success, to be sure; for being such a favorite with the most prudish and cautious of our fashionable women-for being so faithful and so trustworthy! Ah, my friend, there lies the danger, after all!" "Danger, indeed! The miserable, effeminate wretch; how can a full grown woman stomach such a thing! Were I a woman, it appears to me I should quite as soon fall in love with a girl upon the stage, rigged out as Romeo or Hamlet." you men of the law say-of the handsomest woman to be met with hereabouts; yet, some how or other, for some reason or other, actually jealous of the favor which another handsome woman thinks proper to lavish upon a fellow you happen to hate most cordially." "Hate! No, indeed, the poppinjay! No, no; at the most, I only despise him just enough to-well, well, no matter." "Of a truth, Solomon was more than half right, when he said that jealousy is as cruel as the grave." "And love-as strong as death!" "Bravo! bravissimo! That would be worth half-adozen rounds to you, at a Fourth of July recitation. And love as strong as death, hey? Bravo! bravissimo! Hear, “Bear what? Why don't you explain yourself? Here am I, boxing all round the compass, to find out some-hear, hear! thing, which two words from you would clear up, I dare say; and yet, for want of a little, a very little-not more than half-a-thimble-full-of that common sense, which you twit me with having so much of, you leave me to guess all sorts of things to your disadvantage." "To my disadvantage! How?" "Let you know the worst, hey? the very worst? You can bear it, hey? And pray, sir, what business have you -a married man-to know the worst of any other woman alive, but your own wife? Have a care, George." "Why, to tell you the truth, my friend, I-I-" getting embarrassed, "I had an idea that you meant something more than you that you knew more-that is to say-that you-in short-” "What question?" "What question! Well, hang me if I don't begin to believe-almost-that you are afraid to have me see your wife?" "Afraid! of what? of whom? of which?" "Not so much of her, perhaps-no, no, I dare say not -as of me, Tom Harper-your old good-for-nothing, baldpated, single friend, that seems to play double to every body." "Pshaw!" "I say, George, you've cracked her up so much and so "Exactly. And then, what business have you-a mar-long, I hope she isn't hump-backed-or deaf-or blind ried man, as I said before, newly married too, and married of one eye, hey? Does'nt squint, does she? Oh, ho! to such a lovely woman-what business have you to talk you are getting serious, are you?" about what you can bear, on account of any other woman, hey? Answer me that, will you?" "You are right, my friend; it was very foolish of me, and must have appeared exceedingly strange to you." "You may well say that. I'll be hanged if I did'n't begin to think you were jealous." "Jealous! I! I hope you don't imagine, sir-" "But, beware! Beware of jealousy, saith Iagohonest Iago!" "You shall judge for yourself. Come this evening at six-it is now half-past four, you see." "Capital! But I say, George, maybe you never met with the story of a man, who was so very proud of his young and beautiful wife, and so very confident of his own hold upon her affections, if not of her virtue, that he wouldn't be satisfied till he had subjected her, under the greatest possible disadvantages, to the admiration of a dear friend-just such a fellow as I am, to a T-a frosty "Sdeath and fury, man! What mean you by this pated old bachelor?" ribald trifling?" "What a coxcomb you are, to be sure! And what 'Hoity-toity! You'd better try for a birth at Bartlemy was the result?" Fair. 'What a terrible thing to be father-in-law, To a most magnificent three tailed bashaw!" Harper-Tom Harper-don't drive me mad?” "Mad! You're mad now, mad as a March hare! Not satisfied with the unquestioned monopoly of one beautiful woman-" am!" "Oh, you must read the story for yourself. You'll find it in the Spectator, or the Arabian Nights, or the Vicar of Wakefield, I forget which; but the result was just what might have been expected, to a proud and beautiful, a tempted, and a slighted wife. My maxim is-never be too sure of ourselves, nor of others, and where people withstand temptation, be sure to give them the whole Unquestioned, hey? True-true-what an ass I credit of it. But you husbands have no idea of this, I Ex-act-ly, as I said before, ex-act-ly-them's my sentiments! By-the-way, George, when do you mean to let me see her, as you have promised, face to face, at your own supper-table? I don't half like this being acquainted with such a glorious creature at second-hand. But, to finish what I was going to say. Here are you now, a married man, the happiest fellow on earth, if you are to be believed, in the actual possession and enjoyment-as believe. You depend, after all, a thousand times more upon yourselves than upon your wives-upon their love for you-and your power over them; as if, in point of fact, you never thought of their virtue, or faith, nor cared a snap for the resisting power they may happen to be blessed with, as high-minded women." "Indeed!" Pulling out his watch-" At six precisely, you know. Stay-there is one question more." "Well, what is it?" "You spoke of your fears. Have you any reason to believe that Millar is encouraged?" "Oh, ah!-allowed to hope, you mean?" "You understand me." "Why, in the first place, though I never saw any decided encouragement, as I have told you already, yet, whenever I see her, I am sure, that he isn't far off; and that, you know, looks a good deal like an arrangement, or understanding, or a-" nodding. "Or an assignation, hey?" "How bitter you are! Why, if the lady were a mistress of your own, you couldn't bear it worse; and then, no longer ago than last Friday, I saw them riding together in his cream-colored barouche: and to tell you the truth, my dear fellow, her magnificent India shawl, and sky blue bonnet, and snowy feathers, cut a famous flourish there, I promise you." "Last Friday!-are you quite sure?" "Yes, perfectly sure." "And what time o' day was it?" "In the afternoon, about four, I should think. You returned from Philadelphia the next day, I believe." "About four, hey?" musing; "oh, but he's a precious villain! And she well may she be called a 'beautiful mischief;' but I'll—I'll—I've made up my mind-I'll-" "What are you muttering now, hey?" "I'll do such things-what they are, I know not-" "As Shakspeare says. But, George, a word with you. I hate mystery, and I don't half like this agitation, and paleness. One would think you were about making your maiden speech, in a matter of life and death. "Of life and death, hey? It is a matter of life and death, friend." 66 my 'George Elsworth! Let me be serious with you. It cannot be that you are involved with that woman your self?" "Sir!" “Oh, you need'nt trouble yourself to Sir me. But just answer my question, will you? If it be true, George, that you a married man-a man of exalted virtue, as I have always believed, notwithstanding your whims and follies about the stage-the husband of a young, lovely and faithful wife-are so wretchedly infatuated with another woman, as to be made unhappy by the attentions that are lavished upon her--stop, stop! where nowwhat's your hurry?" “No, sir. Who said any thing about another woman? Ay, sir, and who that lives dares to question her faith? At six precisely for your life, sir, let me not be disappointed." "Gone, hey! Actually gone! Sir, sir, sir? Going, going, gone! For your life, sir, let me not be disappointed! There's an invitation for you; or was it only a challenge? No, sir, I'll see you hanged first, and your beautiful wife with you. Beautiful! I don't believe her eyes are 'Can't say I have. Precious little understanding between them both, I should say; though, when they passed me in the barouche, I thought her manner rather freerather-for an unmarried woman." "Free, hey-rather free for an unmarried woman, But if she were a married woman, Harper ?" We "Why that, to be sure, would alter the case. might not blame her so much, then, for carrying those beautiful ostrich feathers, and that princely shawl with such an air." "Bold, hey—rather saucy and free?" "Rather. And to tell you the truth, George, notwith standing her beauty, I did'nt much like her manner; she had'nt altogether, somehow, the air of a gentlewoman.” "Zounds and death, sir! What do you mean?" "Tut, tut, tut man, what's to pay now?" "Not the air of a gentlewoman! She! I'll tell you what 'tis, my friend, there's no accounting for tastes, you know; but for any body to think of saying that of a—of a-of a-of the woman we saw there, why its downright blasphemy." "Well, if you are'nt the strangest fellow! Of course, you are well acquainted with her, and take a deep interest in her; and yet, you don't mind her being rather free, and bold, and saucy, so that she carries it like a gentle woman!" man ever took in woman." "George Elsworth! I pity you-from my soul, I pity you! This may be a matter of life and death to you and to yours: I beseech you, therefore, to deal frankly with me. If you are entangled in any way with that lovely, though most imprudent woman, be she married or unmarried-ah, you breathe freely again-married or unmarried, I say, it matters not-you are married, and that's enough-wake up from your delusion; tear yourself away from her, and for ever, or you are lost!" "Tear myself away from her! Oh, my friend, if you but knew her, if you had but seen her face, you would never have the heart to name such a thing." "Her face-man alive! Why, what should put it into your head that I have'nt seen her face?' "You told me so yourself." "No such thing. I told you I had'nt spoken to her; that I was not acquainted with her, that I had no idea who or what she was, whether maid, wife, or widow." "And that you say now, hey?" "To be sure I do." "But you have seen her face-" |