1 MISADVENTURES OF A LOVEH. 



nut at once udopt this course? Why not, instead of seeking tcte-u- 

 tete interviews, betake myself from the first to advertising and letter 

 writing ? Deeply did I reproach myself for my former follies when in 

 quest of a wife. However, better do well and wisely late than never. 

 I hoped, 1 believed, that the blessed results "of the present affair 

 would amply compensate for all my previous misfortunes and miseries. 



The appointed hour for the interview approached. Properly 



brushed up for the occasion, I went to No. 33 Lane, Holborn. 



Tremulously for in all such cases, I suppose, persons feel a certain 

 degree of tremour tremulously I lifted and let fall the knocker of 

 the door. A very polite maid, as I had been made to expect, opened 

 the door in an instant. " Is Miss Young within ?" enquired I, " Yes, 

 Sir, walk up-stairs if you please, 7 ' said the " she domestic 7 ' simperingly. 

 The damsel, with all apparent respect, conducted me up one pair of 

 stairs, and then showed me into an elegantly furnished apartment. 

 *< Miss Young will be here presently, Sir," said the maid, as she 

 held the door in her hand when quitting the room. She disappeared. 

 The door was shut: I was left alone. This was an epoch in my 

 history. The intensity of my anxiety to see my future partner in 

 life made my pedestals quiver beneath me; my whole frame shook. 

 In about half a minute I heard footsteps approaching. In a second 

 more, the handle of the door was lifted. I sprang to the door, and, 

 ere it was well opened, seized in my arms, and most cordially em- 

 braced, the lady who was making her appearance. In the warmth 

 and fervency with which I embraced Miss Young, my future wife, I 

 actually lifted her off her feet, and carried her several yards towards 

 the centre of the apartment. She at first uttered a wild shriek, and 

 then set up as loudly as her lungs, which were certainly of the sten- 

 torian caste, would permit, a frightful yell of " Murder ! Murder!" 



" My dear Miss C. D." said I, "I am A. B. ; don't be alarmed." 

 The only answer she made was a bound towards the poker, which 

 she seized and hurled at my head with tremendous force. That the 

 article did not come in terrible contact with my cranium was more a 

 matter of miracle than any thing else. I was so overwhelmed with 

 astonishment at this singular circumstance that 1 stood for some 

 moments in the centre of the floor as motionless as the dome of St. 

 Paul's. While thus standing a perfect personification of stupefaction, 

 in rushed, " like a torrent down upon the vale," half a dozen young 

 fellows, exclaiming in discordant chorus, "What's the matter?'' 

 " What's the matter?" "What's the matter?" These harshj sounds, 

 bellowed out by the idiots, brought me so far to my senses again ; 

 and it was only now, for the first time, that I recognised the personal 

 aspect of my intended. " Ye powers I earthly and unearthly !" I 

 unconsciously ejaculated to myself: " what a female to make a wife 

 of!" Macbeth's weird sisters I had before pictured them to myself 

 that moment recurred to my mind. But for the physical impos- 

 sibility of the thing, I would have sworn that one of the three stood 

 before me. My wife " that was to be" was an antiquated withered- 

 featured hag. She must have belonged to another age : she had 

 clearly outlived her time by the noted period of threescore and ten 

 allowed to other mortals. Her very appearance, as the Scotch pro- 



