The Old Gentleman is very particular in having his slippers ready for him at the fire, when he comes home. He is also extremely choice in his snuff, and delights to get a fresh box-full at Gliddon’s, in King-street, in his way to the theatre. His box is a curiosity from India. He calls favourite young ladies by their Christian names, however slightly acquainted with them; and has a privilege also of saluting all brides, mothers, and indeed every species of lady on the least holiday occasion. If the husband for instance has met with a piece of luck, he instantly moves forward, and gravely kisses the wife on the cheek. The wife then says, “My niece, sir, from the country;” and he kisses the niece. The niece, seeing her cousin biting her lips at the joke, says, “My cousin Harriet, sir;” and he kisses the cousin. He never recollects such weather, except during the great frost, or when he rode down with Jack Skrimshire to Newmarket. He grows young again in his little grand-children, especially the one which he thinks most like himself; which is the handsomest. Yet he likes best perhaps the one most resembling his wife; and will sit with him on his lap, holding his hand in silence, for a quarter of an hour together. He plays most tricks with the former, and makes him sneeze. He asks little boys in general who was the father of Zebedee’s children. If his grandsons are at school, he often goes to see them; and makes them blush by telling the master or the upper-scholars, that they are fine boys, and of a precocious genius. He is much struck when an old acquaintance dies, but adds that he lived too fast; and that poor Bob was a sad dog in his youth; “a very sad dog, sir, mightily set upon a short life and a merry one.” When he gets very old indeed, he will sit for whole evenings, and say little or nothing; but informs you, that there is Mrs. Jones (the housekeeper),--“_She’ll_ talk.”--_Indicator._ * * * * * A HAPPY MEETING. And doth not a meeting like this make amends For all the long years I’ve been wand’ring away? To see thus around me my youth’s early friends, As smiling and kind as in that happy day! Though haply o’er some of your brows, as o’er mine, The snow-fall of time may be stealing--what then Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighted by wine, We’ll wear the gay tinge of youth’s roses again. What soften’d remembrances come o’er the heart, In gazing on those we’ve been lost to so long! The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part Still round them, like visions of yesterday, throng, As letters some hand hath invisibly traced, When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, So many a feeling, that long seem’d effaced, The warmth of a meeting like this brings to light.