344 LOVES OF A BACHELOR. 



As nothing has been said, or indeed cun be said, by the moet 

 malevolent and ingenious of my traducers, with even the appearance 

 of justice, derogatory from my character, during that section of my 

 life which preceded my eighteenth year, I shall pass it over as if it 

 had been a perfect blank, simply remarking that, as I had rather 

 good prospects before me, in relation to the "world's wealth," I had 

 been kept, until then, constantly at school, in order that my educa- 

 tion might, in some measure, correspond with my circumstances in a 

 pecuniary point of view. 



So long as at school I considered myself a mere boy, and, conse- 

 quently, never dreamed of any such thing as love or marriage ; but 

 the moment my academical career was closed, I all at once rose, in 

 my own estimation, to the status of a man, and believing as I then 

 did that one of the most indispensable concomitants, or, more pro- 

 perly speaking, ingredients of manhood, was to pay a certain degree 

 of attention to the sex, I lost no time in aspiring at the character of 

 a gallant and in mixing as much in female society as circumstances 

 would permit. 



1 should here observe that, though only at this time in my nine- 

 teenth year, I was one of the tallest fellows of the town of , 



county of Moray, north of Scotland. The circumference too of my 

 outward man was in striking keeping with its altitude ; so that, when 

 promenading with one or two of my lady acquaintances, I have 

 often had my ears horrified at hearing other girls — I cannot call 

 them ladies — whom we passed, whispering one to another, " See, 

 there goes the great lover;" "There goes the stout lover;'' 

 "There goes the ;[>o«f/ero?<s lover," &c., — expressions which, in every 

 instance, I attributed to the mortification they felt at seeing me pre- 

 fer the company of others to their own. 



I had not been six weeks in my state of manhood when I fell in 

 love, most violently in love. I had been, one beautiful evening, in- 

 troduced by a friend to two young ladies, acquaintances of his, 

 whom we met while taking a walk in the fields. We returned with 

 them, and accompanied them to the door of the house of a friend, 

 with whom they were that evening engaged to drink tea. One of 

 these ladies, Rebina Clarkson, had something peculiarly fascinating 

 about her ; and what added a thousand fold to her abstract charms 

 was the delicious conviction which forced itself on my mind, before 

 we parted, that she had already formed a very favourable opinion of 

 her devoted admirer. I had, some time before that, been reading 

 in the tomes of some philosopher — I forget his name — of great re- 

 nown, that the eyes are the w indows of the soul, and that by observ- 

 ing them, with any degree of judgment and attention, we cannot 

 possibly fail of forming a correct estimate of all that is passing within. 

 I contemplated Miss Clai-kson's luminaries with all the attention I 

 could command, and concluded that, if her beautiful, dark blue orbs 

 were not the greatest deceivers in the world, I had already, without 

 any special effort on my part, made such an impression on her heart 

 as would most effectually pave the way for whatever advances or 

 overtures I should hereafter think proper to make. 



We parted that night, and I went to bed at the usual hour ; but, for 



