Making Love for the fun of it.

EVERY one in College knows N. Every lady who ever walks in Chapel-St., knows him by sight, if they have not the pleasure of his personal acquaintance. He is always dressed in the very best. His coat is perfectly irreproachable. His vest of a unique pattern. His boots fit excruciatingly well; and—we ask the modest reader's pardon-his unmentionables are of the most singular pattern, calculated to strike the beholder with astonishment, as well as admiration. He has a handsome face, though some say it lacks expression. He has very white teeth, and a most fascinating smile. The first dawn of a moustache begins to show its rays, or raise its show on his upper lip. He is more proud of this, than any other feature of his appearance. He is willing to dye in its behalf.

He is not much of a scholar. He had a very high rank in his class the first term of Freshman year, but ever since, it has been declining. He is something of a writer, and took a Composition prize in his Sophomore year. He occasionally attempts poetry, and can quote Byron by the hour. There is one character in which he flatters himself that he excels, viz: that of a Ladies' Man. He considers himself perfectly irresistible with the fair sex. To tell the truth, he has some foundation for this belief, as the number of billet-doux he is constantly receiving bears witness. We have thought this preface necessary, in order that the reader might appreciate the following "ower true tale."

"L.," said he to me last winter, "I have seen the prettiest girl in the world, this afternoon, in Chapel-St. She is adorable, angelic. Dark, lovely eyes, beautiful form,—

She walks in beauty like the night,

Of cloudless morn and starry skies,
And all of heaven"-

"No more raptures," said I, interrupting him, "I don't believe in your beauties. You have found at least twenty divine creatures since you have been in New Haven, while I have been unable to discover no one more than passably good looking."

"You will not say so," answered he, " after seeing Miss R—. She is perfectly enchanting. I am going to make her acquaintance this evening. Charly knows her, and he will introduce me.

love me to distraction."

She shall

"Perhaps,” said I, using the pithy speech of a Statement of Facts

orator.

"There is no 'perhaps' about it," replied he. "She is a girl of sense, and I am not without some personal attractions."

He stroked his moustache and departed. I met him the next day in Chapel St. He was in the highest spirits possible.

"I tell you what, L.," said he, "I expected considerable from Kate, (her name is Kate R.,) but my highest anticipations were more than realized. She is perfectly delightful in conversation. Is literary without affectation. Sings divinely, and executes admirably."

"I see she has done considerable execution, as far as you are concerned," replied I.

"I wish I could show you some verses I wrote last night, after I returned, inspired by the light of her eyes. I only remember the first.

'I met thee; and thy flashing gaze

Thrilled me with love before unknown:

Thy beauty none can fail to praise,

And thou art queen on every throne.'

"What do you think of that?"

"Pretty fair poetry, but very poor sense. Some one might make her reply,

'I met thee; and thy flashy vest

Thrilled me with wonder at its cost:

Thy moustache'

"You need not recite any more," said he, "you are envious. You can neither write poetry, nor appreciate it."

"Let that be so," replied I. "Seriously, N., I am afraid you have really fallen in love, which is a very bad idea."

"Fallen in love! Not a bit of it, my dear fellow," answered he. "I am only making love to Kate for the fun of it. For my part”—

What his part was I never knew, for at that moment, two young ladies met us at the corner of Church and Chapel-Sts., and N. saying hastily, "Excuse me; that's Kate," joined them, and left me to return alone to the college.

For a while, I never saw him, but Kate was his only subject of conversation. She was the paragon of womankind, an epitiome of all female graces and accomplishments, a miracle of beauty, and, as he confidently said, "dead in love" with him.

"What proof have you of her love," I asked.

"Actions, my dear fellow," he replied, "I know girl-nature like a book. And, this evening, I am going to make her confess it in words." "How?" I asked.

"By declaring my passion for her, as if I was in earnest," he replied. "Are you quite sure," said I, "that you are not in earnest ?"

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Certainly," said he, "I make love only to pass away the time. Come to my room to-morrow morning, and I will tell you all about it."

After breakfast the next morning, I went to N's room. I knocked at the door. A smothered voice replied "Come in." I entered and found him abed, his head buried beneath the bed-clothes.

"Come," said I, "get up. Don't lie here all day. You'll be sent off if you sleep over many times more.”

"I am sick," he feebly replied. "I don't care if I am turned out of college. I don't want to live."

"What!" I exclaimed in astonishment.

gay

"Are you that extremely individual who was going to make Kate R- confess she loved

you?"

"That's it," said he, "that is the cause of my being here." "Did it overpower you so much?" I asked.

"I'll tell you all,” answered he, "and you will know that I have reason enough to feel badly. I went down to see Kate last evening, fully determined, as I told you, to draw from her an avowal of love. She received me, as she always has, most graciously. She looked more lovely than ever, and I half-fancied I was really in love with her; and what made me more inclined to think so, was the difficulty I had in approaching the subject on which I wished to speak. Finally, she, herself, gave me the opportunity to free my mind.

"Mr. N.,' said she, 'were you ever in love?

"I have pretended to be a great many times,' said I, 'but I never was but once.'

"Was that long ago?' she asked, looking as unconsciously as if she was the person farthest from my thoughts.'

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"No,' I answered, 'it was this winter, and you are the one whom I love.' And I went on with a multitude of protestations of which I have no recollection. I believe I quoted Byron, and ended by making as big a fool of myself as possible.'

"She heard me all through, and then she said sadly,

"Mr. N., I did not think it would come to this. I thought you only came to see me as a friend, not as a lover.'

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"How can any one see you without loving you?' said I; ‘I love you madly, devotedly.'

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'Well, then,' replied she, I must be frank with you. If I had met you earlier, I might have returned your love. Now, I cannot. Once I loved earnestly and truly. But the one I loved is gone to the grave, and he has taken my heart with him.' She put her handkerchief to her eyes and wept silently. I dared not interrupt her grief. I felt that it was time for me to go.

"Excuse me,' said she, 'for not urging you to remain longer. But you have awakened memories of days long vanished, and of hopes long fled. I could not entertain you, if you remained.'

"I left her sitting on the sofa, her face buried in her handkerchief. She did not even look up as I bade her 'good evening.'

"As for me, I know now, that I really loved her. I could not sleep last night, and this morning I feel perfectly miserable." So saying, he took the corner of the sheet and wiped his eyes. I really pitied him.

'I have some hopes," he continued, "that by the sincerity of my love I may induce her to return my affection."

At this moment, some one came to N's door and threw him a letter, which they had taken that morning from his box. He opened it and read. I never saw a person affected so strangely.

He threw the note on the floor, and sprang out of bed. All his sickness appeared to vanish. He appeared to be completely enraged. He hopped about the room like one in the last stages of St. Vitus' dance. He upset the table and threw down the chairs.

"Read that," said he, as soon as he could speak, picking up the letter, and handing it to me," read that, and tell me I'm the biggest fool ever created. Made so by a woman, too.”

I read the note as well as I could amid N's ejaculations of "fool," "blockhead," "sold," and such like expressions which he applied to himself.

"DEAR MR. N.:

Avenue, 11 o'clock, P. M.

"I feel so guilty at the thought of the deception I have used towards you, that I cannot rest until I have undeceived you. The story I told you of a dead love, was all pure fiction invented for the occasion. I have never been in love, nor do I intend to be, until I find a man too sensible to pay me unmeaning compliments, and quote love-sick poetry. My excuse for my conduct toward you, is a remark I overheard you

make in the street soon after the commencement of our acquaintance. I treated you as I have, and told you that story last night, with the same end that you made love to me- for the fun of it.'

"P. S.-Can't I affect grief very naturally."

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KATE R.

L.," said N., "for the love you bear me, never tell how badly I was

sold."

And I never have.

The Character of the Individual, Conditioned on the Character of the State.

HUMAN character is a slow and noiseless structure. Unseen hands lay the foundation, and pile up the walls. Steadily it rises in graceful proportions, to a stately height. Then men gaze at it; they call it a miracle. The influences within and without, that have made it what it is, are unappreciated. Thus the part the State has acted in individual character, is almost an unwritten history.

The individual is the architect of his own character. The powers are within him; the models are around him; the work is his own. Yet these powers and appliances, and above all his own work, are possible only under certain conditions; among which, supreme and comprehensive is the state. The lowest grades of character exist in some form, however imperfect, of the state. The individual is developed, as the state rises. The perfection of the individual, is conditioned on the perfection of the state. We have, then, three conditions to analyze; the conditions of

I. The elements.

II. The development.

III. The perfection of Individual character; which will be found to exist in three corresponding grades of the state.

I. The elements of character are those faculties and impulses which give rise to the traits by which each individual is distinguished. They are, intelligence, moral principle, emotion, and individuality. The great character is wrought out by labor; the soul must possess strong intelli