fauces, my gums. It was an intense gush, a simple, original, indivisible idea of delight. It rose to my brain, as the vapour of the tedded meadow rises to the sky in the balminess of morning. It descended to the sole of my foot as the sky sends back that delicious vapour in the shape of the dews of evening. It was a joy to be felt once, and no more, I never felt it again,

it was

Odour fled

As soon as shed;

'Twas morning's winged dream,

'Twas a light that ne'er shall shine again

On life's dull stream!

I have tried it over and over, and it will not do. I smoke my cigar still in the evening, and frequently moisten it with a quart or so of rum, naked, in grog, in punch, in flip-every way that can be thought of, but it will not return. That feeling of intense and transporting delight is

over.

P

Days of my youth! when every thing was innocence and peace when my sorrows were light, and my joys unsophisticated-when I saw a glory in the sky, and a power on the earth which I shall never see again-how delightful, yet how sad is your recollection! Here's, then, to the days gone by-to the memory of my first love, and my first libation of rum over a cigar! Some young heart is now going the same round as I was then-revelling in delights which he fondly fancies are to last for ever-anticipating joys which never are destined to exist. Light be his heart, buoyant his spirits—I shall not break in on his dreams by the croaking of experience.

Farewell again, Cecilia! I never saw her after that day—in the evening she left Bristol with her aunt's butler; they were married three days after by the Blacksmith at Gretna, and she is now, I understand the mother of fourteen children, keeping, with her third husband, the sign of the

Cat and Bagpipes, somewhere about the Dock of Liverpool. I never could muster up courage

to enter the house.

The very

sound of her voice

saying, "Eight-pence, sir," in reply to my question of what I had to pay, would inevitably overcome my feelings.

I was born to be unhappy; but I shall not intrude my sorrows on a thoughtless world.

THE SHORT GENTLEMAN'S APOLOGY.

SUBLIMEST, fairest of thy sex, how can I match with thee, When I'm but four feet and a half, and you are six feet three? The time is really past, my dear, of which old writings tell, When the little angels deep in love with giantesses fell.

I'm flattered much, vow and swear, and may my oath be booked,

In not being by so tall a dame entirely overlooked;

Yet what may be a pleasant thing in meaningless nirtation, Might prove, in wedlock's graver time, a pretty smart vexation.

First, now, suppose that courtship had commenced betwixt us two,

How strange a thing, if every time when I came here to woo,

I had to bring a telescope of Herschel's greatest size

To pitch at you, that I might read the language of your eyes!

And if at last, some summer night, you were to blush consent, And I was almost overpowered with love's soft ravishment, You'll own 'twould be, upon the whole, an awkward sort of bliss,

Had a ladder to be ordered in ere I could reach a kiss.

These things, 'tis true, might be got o'er, being only entre nous, But how, my dear, in heaven's name, d'ye think we e'er

should do,

When we were going, man and wife, on friends and foes to call, Already christened by some wag, "The Cannon and the Ball?"

'Twould break my heart, I'm very sure, though a stoutish heart it be,

If, while I walked in Prince's Street, hard trotting by your

knee,

Some purblind dame were to cry out, " La, Mrs. So-and-so,

This lady-sure, her reticule, she hangs it rather low."