And still perchance thy faithful heart May pine, and break, when I am gone! While bitter tears, unbidden, start, As oft thou musest--sad and lone! I've read such things in many a tale-- But yet it's "very like a whale!" * * * * * PEN AND PALETTE PORTRAITS. (TAKEN FROM THE FRENCH.) BY ALPHONSE LECOURT. _Paris, Passage de l'Opera, Escalier B. au 3eme._ MY DEAR PUNCH, I salute you with reverence--I embrace you with affection--I thank you with devout gratitude, for the many delightful moments I have enjoyed in your society. I regularly read your "London Charivari:" it is magnificent--superb! What wit--what _agacerie_--what exquisite badinage is contained in every line of it! You are the veritable monarch of English humour. Hail, then, great _fun-ambule_, PUNCH THE FIRST! Long may you live, to flourish your invincible baton, and to increase the number of your laughing subjects. Your "Physiology of the Medical Student" has been translated, and the avidity with which it is read here has suggested to me the idea that sketches of French character might be equally popular amongst English readers. With this hope I send yon the commencement of a Physiological and Pictorial Portrait of "THE LOVER." I have chosen him for my leading character, because his madness will be understood by the whole world. Love, _mon cher ami_, is not a local passion, it grows everywhere like--but I am anticipating my subject, which I now commit to your hands. With sentiments of the profoundest respect and esteem, ALPHONSE LECOURT. * * * * * [Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE LOVER.] CHAPTER I. THE AUTHOR DEDICATES HIS WORK TO THE FAIRER HALF OF THE CREATION. [Illustration: G]Gentle woman!--Beautiful enigma!--whose magnetic glances and countless charms subdue man's sterner nature--to you I dedicate the following pages. The subject on which I am about to treat is the gravest, the lightest, the most decided, the most undefined, the most earthly, the most spiritual, the saddest, and the gayest, the most individual, and at the same time the most universal you can imagine. To you, ladies, I address myself. You who form the keys on which the eternal and infinite gamut of love has been run from creation's first hour till the present moment--tell me how I may best touch the chords of your hearts? Come around me, ye earthly divinities of every age, rank, and imaginable variety! Buds of blushing sixteen, full-blown roses of thirty, haughty court dames, and smiling city beauties, come like delicious phantoms, and fill my mind with images graceful as your own forms, and melting as your own hearts! Thanks, gentle spirits! ye have heard my call, and now, inspired by you, I seize my pen, and give to my paper the thoughts which crowd upon my mind. WHAT IS LOVE?