Time, it is said, has wings; but Charles never observed that it even moved, till he found himself in his twentieth year. That love which at first sought only to relieve itself in the society of its object, now began to assume a determined character. But to any but lovers, the description of love scenes would be irksome. It will be quite sufficient if we hint at the affair, and leave our readers to fill up the outline. We will only therefore assure them on the best authority, that Charles set out no less than three several times with a resolute determination to declare the full extent of his passion, and solicit the fair hand of Maria; and that as soon as he saw the maid, his purpose "dissolved like the baseless fabric of a vision;" that Charles at length conquered this timidity, and urged his suit with such ardour, that he was heard afterwards to say he believed love was like steam, the more it was compressed, the greater was its elasticity; that Maria received the declaration with all due bashfulness, and promised to be his bride as soon as she had completed her twenty-first year; that Charles, as is usual on such occasions, flew home on the wings of ecstasy, &c. It seems to have been about this time that the following birthday ode was written--perhaps while he was suffering under the effects of his own bashfulness:-- "Maria, this is just the day, Some twenty years ago, they say, You fill'd your mother's arms; A little puling sprig of love, So kindly dropp'd from heaven above, To bless me with your charms. Obeying custom, I intend Some little birthday gift to send-- But stay, what must it be? Of beauty you have quite a share, Accomplish'd too, as well as fair, And richer far than me. I would not ever have it said, I offer'd trinkets to the maid, Which you might scorn to take; I'll offer then no works of art; I'll give you, love, an honest heart-- Pray, keep it for my sake."