was firing itself off again in her memory—
she was shaking all over with suppressed
laughter. He tried a third time; the same
result followed: and then he gave it up.
They have not met since; they never will
meet. They were made for each other by
nature; they were sweetly and suitably
matched in age, fortune, social position, and
mutual tastes. And what has rudely torn
them asunder for ever?—a Sneeze! I write
this with the tears in my eyes, and do not
envy the feelings of any man or woman
who can laugh at it.

To return to my own case. It is very hard, I
think, that no provision is made for bashful
men like me, who want to declare the state
of their affections, who are not accustomed to
female society, and who are habitually
startled and confused, even on ordinary occasions,
whenever they hear the sound of their
own voices. There are people ready to assist
us in every other emergency of our lives; but
in the greatest difficulty of all, we are
inhumanly left to help ourselves. There have
been one or two rare occasions, on which one
or two unparalleled women have nobly
stepped forward and relieved us of our
humiliating position as speechless suitors, by
taking all the embarrassment of making the
offer on their own shoulders. I know an
instance of this, and I feel bound to relate it, as
a soothing and cheerful contrast to the
harrowing anecdote which I have just told. Our
curate where I live, has been all his life a
martyr to shyness; and, but for the admirably
decided conduct of his wife under trying
circumstances, I happen to know that he
would never have been the father of the ten
sweet children who now enliven and adorn
his existence. He was just in my miserable
position, when he was kindly invited to tea
(and muffins) one evening, by his charmer's
agreeable mother. At the head of the table
sat this estimable woman, in a new cap. At
the foot of the table, sat her accomplished
daughter, in a new gown. Between them sat
my friend the curate, looking in speechless
confusion at a plate of muffins placed exactly
opposite to him. No other visitor marred the
harmony of the domestic scene. They had a
cup of tea all round, and a plate of muffins—
and my friend never spoke. They had a
second cup of tea, stronger than the first, and
a second plate of muffins more richly
buttered. Even this encouragement failed to
loosen the curate's tongue. At the third cup,
and pending the arrival of the third plate of
muffins, the expressive eyes of the daughter
rested significantly on the countenance of her
maternal parent. "Mamma," she said, with
a kind of silvery calmness. "Mamma, shall
I have him?" "My dear," replied the indulgent
lady, "Have I ever thwarted you in any
of your little caprices ? Please yourself, love;
please yourself." The third plate of muffins
came in. It was set down in solemn silence.
The mother took a bit encouragingly; the
curate took a bit confusedly; the daughter
took a bit meditatively. "I think," she said
after a moment of charming reverie, "I think,
Mamma, I will have him." She turned and
looked critically at the curate; waited till he
had, with great difficulty, disposed of a
mouthful of muffin; and then held out her
hand, with fascinating frankness. "There !"
she said, "don't let us make a fuss about it.
There is my hand ! "Six weeks afterwards
he was married, and has been the happiest
man in existence ever since.

Such a case as this is, unfortunately, an
exceptional one. It has been most hastily
and most unwarrantably established as a
social principle, that all men are audacious
and enterprising in their love affairs, because
they are men; and on these manifestly
false grounds, the conclusion has been adopted
that it is invariably the business of the man
to make the offer. Dear, dear me! are we
all Don Juans? Is there no such being in
existence as a bashful man? On the other
hand, are all young women naturally struck
speechless with confusion at the mention of
marriage? Do they all fall into such
convulsions of modesty at the first prospect of
assuming bridal responsibilities, as really to
lose the admirable self-possession which is
one of the most charming attributes of the
sex in every other circumstance of life? My
own observation of the appearance and
behaviour of brides and bridegrooms, under the
trying ordeal of the wedding-day, inclines me
to believe that the loss of self-possession is
almost invariably on the man's side. It is
my firm opinion (supposing my mind to be
robust enough to support a firm opinion
about anything) that, in ninety-nine cases
out of a hundred, the offer of marriage
would be much more quickly, sensibly, and
irresistibly made if it came from the lady
instead of the gentleman; and I would
respectfully invite any man who disagrees
with me to compare the behaviour of the
bride with the behaviour of the bridegroom
the next time he goes to a wedding. The
wisdom of the ancients seems to have
sanctioned some such salutary change of
custom as that which I propose, at the period
of Leap-year. But the practice has fallen
into disuse; and the modest men of the
community have suffered unspeakably in
consequence.

If I only had the courage, I would suggest
to some of those public-spirited ladies who
are so nobly trying to take away from the
men everything they have got, and to give it
all to the women, that they might make out
a very strong case against the male
population, if they accused my grasping sex of
monopolising the right of making offers. The
first offer in the world was made, in that
matter of the apple, by Eve, who was not
bashful, to Adam, who was. Why have
Eve's daughters (I would ask, if I were one
of the public-spirited ladies) allowed the