as well as grief's.

Enter _L'Eclair_.

_L'Ec._ So, Captain! you are well encountered. I have sad forebodings
that our shining course of arms is threatened with eclipse. If I may use
the boldness to advise, we shall strike our tents, and file off in quick
march without beat of drum. Our laurels are in more danger here than in
the midst of the enemy's lines.

_Flor._ How now! my doughty 'squire: what may be our present jeopardy?

_L'Ec._ Ah! captain, the sex--the dear seductive sex; this house is the
modern Capua, and we are the Hannibals of France, toying away our severe
virtues amid its voluptuousness. One damsel throws forward the prettiest
ancle in anatomy, and cries, "Mr. L'Eclair, I'm your's for a Waltz":
a second languishes upon me from large blue melting eyes, and whispers,
"Mr. L'Eclair, will you take a stroll by moonlight in the grove?" while
a third, in all the ripe round plumpness of uneasy health, calls the
modest blood to my fingers' ends, by requesting me "to adjust some error
in the pinning of her 'kerchief." O! captain, captain, heros are but
men, men but flesh, and flesh is but weakness; therefore, let us briefly
put on a Parthian valor, and strive to conquer by a flight!

_Flor._ Knave! prate of deserting these dear precious scenes again, and
I'll finish your career myself by a coup-de-main. No, no; change
churlish dreams and braving trumpets to mellifluous flutes. I am to be
married. Varlet, wish me joy.

_L'Ec._ Certainly, captain, I _do_ wish you joy; when a man has once
determined upon matrimony he acts wisely to collect the congratulations
of his friends beforehand, for heaven only knows, whether there may be
any opportunity for them afterwards. May I take the freedom to inquire
the lady?

_Flor._ 'Tis _she_--L'Eclair, 'tis _she_, the only she, the peerless,
priceless Geraldine.

_L'Ec._ "_Peerless_" I grant the lady, but as to her being
"_priceless_," I should think for my own poor particular, that when I
bartered my liberty for a comely bedfellow, I was paying full value for
my goods, besides a swinging overcharge for the fashion of the make.

_Flor._ Tush! man, 'tis not by form or feature I compute my prize.
Geraldine's _mind_, not her beauty, is the magnet of my love. The
_graces_ are the fugitive handmaids of youth, and dress their charge
with flowers as fleeting as they are fair; but the _virtues_ faithfully
o'erwatch the couch of age, and when the flaunting rose has wither'd,