rovelling notions. Pure and sublimated, the soul
looks forward to objects beyond self, and merges all ideas of personal
identity in aspirations of the felicity to be derived from the being
adored. A thrill of rapture pervades the breast--an intense but bland
flame permeates every vein--throbs in every pulse. Oh, blissful period,
brief in duration, but crowded with thoughts of happiness never to recur
again! As I gained the Walk, the moon was high and bright in heaven,
pouring a flood of mild light over the trees. The stars shone with
sapphire lustre in the cloudless sky--not a breeze disturbed the deep
serene. I was alone. I thought of my love--of what else could I think?
What I had just heard had kindled my passion for the divine Theodosia
into a quenchless blaze. Yes, I exclaimed aloud, I _do_ love her. Such
an angel does not exist on the earth. What charms! What innocence! What
horsewomanship! Five hundred a-year certain! Ten thousand pounds in
perspective! I'll repurchase the lands of Ballyburke--I'll rebuild the
hunting-lodge in the Galtees--I'll keep a pack of hounds, and live a
sporting life. Oh, dear, divine Theodosia, how I _do_ adore you! I'll
shoot that Brady, and no mistake. How dare he interfere where my
affections are so irrevocably fixed?

"Such were my musings. Alas! how we are changed as we progress through
the world! That breast becomes arid, which once was open to every
impression of the tender passion. The rattle of the dice-box beats out
of the head the rattle of the quiver of Cupid--and the shuffling of the
cards renders the rustling of his wings inaudible. The necessity of
looking after a tablecloth supersedes that of looking after a petticoat,
and we more willingly make an assignation with a mutton-chop, than with
an angel in female form. The bonds of love are exchanged for those of
the conveyancer--bills take the place of billets, and we do not protest,
but are protested against, by a three-and-six-penny notary. Such are the
melancholy effects of age. I knew them not then. I continued to muse
full of sweet thoughts, until gradually the moon faded from the sky--the
stars went out--and all was darkness. Morning succeeded to night, and,
on awaking, I found that, owing to the forgetfulness in which the
thoughts of the fair Theodosia had plunged me, I had selected the bottom
step of old Barney Pulvertaft's door as my couch, and was awakened from
repose in consequence of his servant-maid (one Norry Mul