of ratios, which our Tutor, who sometimes did the facetious, was in the habit of favouring us with. Talking of ratios, he was accustomed to say, "Gentlemen, in finding the ratio between any proposed quantities, it is absolutely necessary that these quantities should be in some measure rela

ted to, should have some affinity with, each other. For instance, Gentlemen, it would be ridiculous for any one to ask me how far it was from the foot of Westminster Bridge to the first of April."

Au revoir, gentle reader, I really must conclude for the present.

A SUMMER EVENING'S LOVE STORY.

COME, Harriet, sit a while; this July eve
Hath neither dew nor breeze to mitigate
Its fiery sunset: we must pause perforce,
And bide its change of mood. This rustic bench,
Back'd by the lime-tree's trunk, solicits us
To spend the hour in quietness. And where
Doth bower or arbour, pleach'd by art, afford
A cooler seat, or snugger privacy,

Than this green closet,-not by gardener's shears
Clipp'd into form; nor did man's fingers lace

Those dangling boughs, which, tent-like, close us round
With a transparent weft of sun-lit leaves?
Sit, maiden of my heart, and I will tell,
Accordant to the softness of the hour,

A tale of hapless love-the place, the month,
The very look this gorgeous eve is wearing,
Yea, the condition of this untrimmed lime,
With its o'er-luscious flowers just out of bloom,
And changed to pallid tassels-all conspire
To clear the tablets of my memory,
And chase forgetfulness. Then listen, love,—
Ah! trembler, you may well press nearer me,
For I shall rob you of some tears, the alms
Pity bestows, where other alms are vain ;
But I will kiss away the stealing drops
Shed without pain, and love you all the more

For that kind heart which throbs at others' woes.

Here in this grassy circle, underneath

This roof of living thatch, while spring was young,
Did Reginald D'Arcy passionately plight
His troth to Lydia Gandolyn. And here,
When spring had fled before the scorching sun,
When every branch and every spray was thick

With heart-shaped leaves, and the brown honey-bees
Played truant from this lime's exhausted flowers,
The pair met once again-a youth and maid,
To whom boon Nature liberally presented,

As if for once she had forgotten thrift,
Her choicest loans-complexion, features, shape,
Affections, temper, intellect, and hearts
E'en of magnetic sensibility.

Here, then, these innocent lovers met once more,
VOL. XVI.

4 E

When hope was lost, to snatch a last adieu,
As if their frenzy courted agony.

They had been early playmates; and when time
Open'd the forehead of the bright-eyed boy,
And gave the tresses of the girl to take
Their tendril windings, they together met
Self-chosen partners in the Christmas dance :
Holiday sojourn at a mutual friend's
Fostered the intimacy, till at length
The stripling and the virgin were in love,
Enamoured deeply and most tenderly.
The little plant of infant liking throve,

And spread its leaves to th' sun, till, all unthought of,
The bud of passion topt it, oped a flower
Beauteous as fragrant, rich in promise too,
But destined to be severed timelessly,

And know no fruitage. Reginald D'Arcy was
A younger scion of a family

Of ancient English blood, a house that kept
Its fealty to Rome's tiara, when

The living gospel was again declared

The only rule of life; when Pope and Monk
Once and for ever lost their tyrannous hold
Of merry England. Ne'ertheless, some few
Hugg'd their old spiritual slavery; them among
The D'Arcies held a foremost rank, and down
E'en to our times have all along remain'd
Rome's steadfast and submissive votaries.
Lydia meanwhile was sprung of ancestors
Respectable, but whose antiquity

Of name, and fair possessions, rivall'd not
The blazon'd record of her lover's stock.
Staunch Protestants the Gandolyns; they kept
Among the archives of their race (though then
It was not one of note) the memory

Of a fair scholar, who, abandoning
Hopes of advancement and emolument,
Made choice of following the gospel light
The priest of Lutterworth held aloft, that first
Most dauntless herald of the Reformation,
Right apostolic Wickliffe! And the breed
Degenerated not, nor swerved aside,
When, under Mary's bigot rule, the fires

Of Smithfield were enkindled by Rome's breath,

And slaked with English blood-their blood who fought

The fight of Faith, and died the martyr's death.

For the good name of Gandolyn appears

Shrined in the piteous annals which record
The shame of England-yea, her glory too!
Such, and so differing were the creeds maintained
By the respective families which owned
Lydia and Reginald. The youth, aware
That bigotry had long time ceased to shew
Her more repulsive form, (alliances

With those of varying worship having been

Connived at by his kindred,) thought to find
No insurmountable obstacle delay
His union with the maid.

He, therefore, wooed

The fair, not altogether openly,

Nor yet clandestinely it was a young

And timid love, that brook'd not others' eyes
To gaze upon it. Meanwhile the smitten ones fed
Upon each other's looks; and so they pass'd
A tremulous, rapturous time of consciousness,
Till all uncounsell'd in an hour of passion,
Meeting in unexpected secrecy,

They took and gave their trothplight, each to each,
Within this bower. O, could that fleeting period
Be but detained,-when palm is press'd by palm;
When virtuous attachment seals the bond
Upon the averted and yet willing lips ;-
When he who asks receives the whispered yes;
When heart to heart devotes futurity,

Casts all its hopes, designs, joys, griefs, and cares,
Yea, life itself, into a common stock,
The good not to be welcomed, nor the ill
To be endured, by either soul, alone ;-
Then (for this happens when the breast is warm,
And hope is yet undeadened) all is fair
On earth and in the sky; the land of promise
Opens; 'tis all one waking dream of bliss.
Not long did Reginald slumber; he was waked
By a rude shock; his father's stern command
Bade him prepare to take upon himself
The sacerdotal vows of that harsh church
Which of her priests exacts strict celibacy,
The barren apathy of single life.
Prudential calculations instigated

This sudden resolution-nought availed,

That the poor lovesick youth betrayed the ties

Which held his honour gaged, his heart enthralled,

The peace of all his future wrapt in them.
His father was a man austere and grave,
Inflexible when he had once resolved,
Not to be moved by prayer or opposition,
But one who pressed, in all he undertook,

Right to the mark. Remonstrance from his son
Was but as flame against the solid rock,
The fugitive substance on the durable
And incombustible. The form of faith
That Lydia held (a vincible objection
In other circumstances) now was made
A reason and pretext for this dire haste
In hurrying on poor Reginald's sacrifice,—
The ceremonial tonsure, that last act
Which was to bar out every ray of hope.
Her kin too disapproved the match; and he,
Fondly considerate of her alone,

Dared not exhibit her to poverty

And all the hardships which must fain ensue

On an illicit marriage. In despair
He gave the fatal promise to his sire
Of full compliance, only bargaining
For a last interview-and here they met.
Here did they pass the stipulated hour,

An hour of groans, and blood-shot vacant looks,
And strange unwonted shiverings, on his part,
But he was tearless. Woman's softer nature
Had still ascendency o'er her; she wept
And ratified her pledge of faithful love,
And fell upon his neck, and bade him look
To a blest union in the realms above.

It was an eve like this; the lime was hung
With wing-like seeds, just as it now appears;
He pluck'd them from the branches, scattering them
Wide o'er the turfen floor, as if his hand
Thought from this petty ravage to derive
Ease and control. And after he was gone,

For Lydia will'd that he should leave her there,
(I spare you the recital of the throes

Of two young hearts while breaking,) she remain'd
In desolation some short breathing space,
Then gather'd to her bosom hastily

A handful of those bunches-frail mementoes

Of this sad meeting-sickly in their hue

As her now bloodless cheek-and soon to be

As sere as her lone heart! She caught them up
And treasured them, for they were pull'd by him-
By him, whom she was never more to see!
You ask-Where are the separated ones,

And what their farther lot? Dispart those boughs,
And through the loophole an acclivity
Presents itself embowered in crowding trees:
Those trees conceal a church, an edifice
Of other years; there 'neath another lime
(She chose the spot herself) quietly sleeps
The gentle Lydia. Her too fragile form
Waned imperceptibly, and she was said

To die Consumption's victim. 'Twas not so-
A broken heart was her incurable

And deadly malady-she died in peace.

Would you know more of Reginald? Climb the Alps, As guest, accept the hospitality

Which the monastic brotherhood extend

To all who travel by St Bernard's walls,

And you will find him there. Not long did he
Remain a secular priest; his health betray'd
The stroke of grief; travel and change of air
Were recommended, and in part sufficed
To work the restoration of his strength.
But he deliberately refused to turn

His eyes tow'rds England's cliffs, and when he reach'd
The Monastery in the Greater Pass

Which bears St Bernard's name, he then made known That he would take the cowl, and cord, and gown,