the only one left.

But to come back. Love, like the small-pox, is most dangerous when you take
it in the natural way. Those made matches, which Heaven is supposed to
have a hand in, when placing an unmarried gentleman's property in the
neighborhood of an unmarried lady's, which destine two people for each
other in life, because their well-judging friends have agreed, "They'll do
very well; they were made for each other,"--these are the mild cases of the
malady. This process of friendly vaccination takes out the poison of the
disease, substituting a more harmless and less exciting affection; but the
really dangerous instances are those from contact, that same propinquity,
that confounded tendency every man yields to, to fall into a railroad of
habit; that is the risk, that is the danger. What a bore it is to find that
the absence of one person, with whom you're in no wise in love, will spoil
your morning's canter, or your rowing party upon the river! How much put
out are you, when she, to whom you always gave your arm in to dinner,
does not make her appearance in the drawing-room; and your tea, too, some
careless one, indifferent to your taste, puts a lump of sugar too little,
or cream too much, while she--But no matter; habit has done for you what
no direct influence of beauty could do, and a slave to your own selfish
indulgences, and the cultivation of that ease you prize so highly, you fall
over head and ears in love.

Now, you are not, my good reader, by any means to suppose that this was my
case. No, no; I was too much what the world terms the "old soldier" for
that. To continue my illustration: like the fortress that has been often
besieged, the sentry upon the walls keeps more vigilant watch; his ear
detects the far-off clank of the dread artillery; he marks each parallel;
he notes down every breaching battery; and if he be captured, at least it
is in fair fight.

Such were some of my reflections as I rode slowly home one evening from
Gurt-na-Morra. Many a time, latterly, had I contrasted my own lonely and
deserted hearth with the smiling looks, the happy faces, and the merry
voices I had left behind me; and many a time did I ask myself, "Am I never
to partake of a happiness like this?" How many a man is seduced into
matrimony from this very feeling! How many a man whose hours have passed
fleetingly at the pleasant tea-table, or by the warm hearth of some old
country-house, going forth into the cold and cheerles