I plead not for libertinism, though only in so simple and innocent a form as kissing.  I do not long for the repetition (or more properly commencement) of Polydore Virgil’s days of “promiscuous” kisses.  Let these remain, as heretofore, in fiction, and in fiction alone.  “A glutted market makes provisions cheap,” saith Pope.  True, saith experience.

“------The lip that all may press,
Shall never more be pressed by mine,”

saith Moore. Sic ego.  But there is a medium to be observed between gluttony and absolute starvation, and “medio tutis-simus ibis,” saith the proverb; and I do beg to tell those over cautious ladies and gentlemen, who seem to know no medium between the cloistered nun and the abandoned profligate, that Nature will prevail in their spite, or, as Obadiah wisely and truly said, “When lambs meet they will play.”  And now, reader, kind, courteous, gentle, or whatever thou art, I bid thee adieu, with the hope, that if we agree at this, we may meet again on some future occasion.  IOTA.

* * * * *

THE SKETCH-BOOK

* * * * *

THE GAY WIDOW.

A Leaf from the Reminiscences of a Collegian.

(For the Mirror.)

Why she came to the university was best known to herself.  I cannot bring myself always to analyze the motives of people’s actions; and if Mrs. Welborn really desired, in lieu of acting mamma to children she did not possess, to play the part of gouvernante to a couple of wild, uncouth lads, (her nephews,) during their residence in college, it speaks much for her good nature, at all events.  They were not, I believe, grateful for the means she adopted to display this amiable trait in her disposition, nor did people in general appreciate it as they surely ought to have done. Ill nature—­and there is often a frightful preponderance of that quality in a small town—­did not hesitate to assert that the widow Welborn’s motive for pitching her tent amid scholastic shades was in toto a selfish one; even that of a design, if she could but accomplish it, of adding another self to self.  I dare not, in this era of refinement, speak plainer, but will take for granted that I am understood.  The widow Welborn, or, as she was more commonly termed.  “The gay Widow” from certain gregarious propensities, resided with a couple of female servants in a small house, situated in the most public street of the town; which I know, for this reason,—­the principal court of our college was opposite to it, and its gateway was the approved lounge, from morning till night, of the most idle and impudent amongst us.  Various were the surmises as to who, what, and from whence the gay widow was; by many she was supposed to be immensely rich; and by a few, some lady of quality