the treatises of all the moral philosophers that have written upon human nature. It is, indeed, not only extraordinary, but baffles all reasoning, to make out of what gossamer materials, and what fineness of texture, its web is composed; how capricious it seems, how weak, how strong, how impossible, how easy to break through. But hear Romeo, who calls it "Any thing, of nothing first created; A heavy lightness, serious vanity; Misshapen chaos of wellseeming forms; Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health; If this baffled poor Romeo, well may it me; so I give that part of the matter up, and confine myself to facts, as Bacon confined Natural Philosophy to experiment. My first question then shall be, How is the love we are treating of detected? This, perhaps, is the easiest part of the inquiry, unless it be the case of a practised coquet; which character let no one, not even Bacon himself, pretend to understand, though he may know all the properties of quicksilver. But for an unpractised boy or girl, in vain do they sometimes think to conceal from themselves the growing empire which so pleases them. We may apply to them the eloquent passage of Addison, that de scribes 66 the secret overflowings of gladness which diffuse themselves through the mind when we behold gay scenes of Nature on the return of the Spring." The difference is, that everybody knows what the Spring is, not everybody what indicates love. The colouring at the unexpected entrance of a favoured object, nay, at the mere sound of his name, has told a secret in a moment, which has, perhaps, been kept a twelvemonth; and I once knew an affection disclosed by the sudden pause (as sometimes happens), in a general conversation which left an unfortunate pair without notice, who instantly dropped their voices, and became abashed, so as to challenge everybody's remark. Had they boldly continued their subject, they might have escaped; but their consciousness, and consequent confusion, betrayed them. One young lady betrayed herself when talking of the musical talents of a certain gentleman, by simply saying he played well, but that he played better. Being asked whom she meant by the second he, her face became suffused, and she hesitatingly named a young soldier whom she knew. All the world gave them instantly to one another: and the conclusion was afterwards verified. Another lady, still more unlucky (or lucky, I don't know which), allowed her secret to escape thus. The gentleman it seems was diffident; and though he had sufficiently shown his passion, had never declared it. One morning he gave her a rose, and modestly asked her, "If she did not think it sweet?" She, all expectation of something else, as modestly answered, "It was just as Papa pleased." I need not say they came together. But the most extraordinary discovery in this chameleon subject which my penetration ever made was, that love may not only exist, but be professed, pursued, felt seriously, or abandoned inconsiderately, and renewed again, and yet the lovers be not even acquainted with one another at the time. Etheredge first opened my eyes to this, in what he told me of his own secret passion for Lady Isabel; secret, but not undiscovered, as we shall see anon, when we come to that interesting part of these memoirs. Meantime, take a picture of what I have asserted. Mirabel saw Millamant at a ball. Headmired her for all that can make a woman at a ball admirable. Yet he never saw her before, and did not know even her name. He approached, watched, fastened upon her every look and motion, followed her round the waltz, or through the maze of the quadrille; wherever she is, his eye (a very dazzling one) measures her from head to foot, but always with respect. It is impossible not to see that Millamant has made a conquest, and no despicable one. On his side he perceives that his homage is observed, received, and, he hopes, not disapproved. There is more airiness in her foot, and more grace in her manner, when under his gaze, than with any other observer. Their eyes meet; there is a little consciousness, and a little constraint on her part. She ventures to think him bold; and to avert his gaze, perhaps to punish him, turns from him, and now avoids the part of the room where he takes his stand. He is angry; looks at her no more; looks at another, with whom he attempts to flirt. But Millamant has the advantage; for as she passes, she sees him again eyeing her, as if to ascertain whether she observed him or not. This was dangerous on his part; for it convinced her he was not indifferent; and she used him cruelly on that account. Though neither of them yet knows the other, there is thus quite a lover's quarrel already established between them, which ends as lovers' quarrels generally do, in greater attention on both sides. All this I saw, and drew judicious inferences for my own guidance. In trying to make Millamant jealous, Mirabel's was, as I said, a hazardous experiment; for as he could not keep it up, but by looking at her, when he meant to be absorbed by another, she found out his play, and, knowing the game as well as he, beat him. All this was dumb show, but who will not say there was love in it, aye, in all its mazes? The sequel proved it. They were introduced, grew intimate, naturally explained this very rencontre, and in a month were married. In a month! you will say too soon! Not so, if you can believe an honest Irishman I once knew. Dermot for the first time met Judy at a fair; treated her; danced with her; and the next day, having got her consent, went to the priest. Father Murphy did not approve of love at first sight,-Dermot differed. "Plase your Reverence," said he, “I am bound to you for your advice, but I hope you will excuse me for differing, and thinking my scheme better than yours." "For this raison," replied Dermot; "love at first sight sparkles and burns like whiskey; but an ould engagement is like dead small bare." We have said, that as love may come, so it may go, we scarce know why in either case; but when it does go, care should be taken to make all |