II. Thank you; thank you:—when I am, I’ll recommend you for promotion, and do for all your sons.
I. Sons! I have no sons. I may say with the great North American Chief,—“There runs not one drop of my blood in any living creature.”
II. But this may not be so hereafter.
I. That’s all over, Sir. I once approached the steps of Hymen’s altar; but the torch of the god was quenched: it never shall be lighted for me again.
II. Ah! I suppose you were jilted?
I. Jilted! Sir, I was shamefully treated. I, for three years, courted a young lady; she was every thing to me; she personified the woman I all my life pictured in my imagination. She was two-and-twenty—tall—fine countenance—bold outline of features;—danced—played;—a perfect scholar, Sir.
II. Take care you don’t make such a beautiful form now, that, like Pygmalion, you will break your rash vow, and pray for the animated reality.
I. Oh, Sir; you delight me. Your classic conversation—I am glad,—glad,—very glad of your acquaintance.
II. Well, about the lady.
I. Ah, Sir! (a deep sigh.) I courted her for nearly three years; she approved—I approved—father and mother approved; and I had absolutely engaged to take a house, Sir—fine, spacious premises, fit for an extensive sch—seminary,—ladies’ seminary; for she was the daughter of the gentleman whose business I had conducted. Well, Sir, we were to be married; and what do you think?—Damn me! if she didn’t run away with a Sergeant of the Lancers, two days previous to our intended wedding!—Ah, Sir! (deep sigh) that broke down my habits of business. I gave up every thing connected with seminaries, or schools, or private tuition, and applied to General Dizzyman, for whom my father always votes: he gave me a letter to Colonel Pepperton, and I am now on my way to that gentleman. It produced a shock, Sir; but the life of a soldier will, I hope, make all things right again.