When they first made their appearance, the Gentleman was deposing upon oath to the truth of something of which his companion seemed to entertain doubts. He had run through some of the usual forms of adjuration, such as Sun, Moon, Stars, Venus, and Blue Eyes, when he was stopped by "Lovers' vows! Comyn! lovers' vows! where do they come from?"-" Where?” repeated the Gentleman, in a theatrical attitude, "they come from a sincere affection, from a passionate heart, from a devoted adoration, from "From Paris, I assure you, Madam," said the Milliner, who was turning over some silks. But I wonder, Comyn!" resumed her Ladyship, "I wonder you can continue to bore me with this nonsense! Lovers' Vows have given me the vapours these last five years, and after all, what are they worth?" "Worth!" reiterated the Fop, "they are worth the mines of Peru, the diamonds of Golconda, the sands of Pactolus!""They are worth five shillings a pair, Madam," said the Milliner, "and it's really throwing them away."- -She was talking of some kid gloves.

"You Gentlemen," said her Ladyship, "must think us very weak creatures, if you fancy that we are to be imposed upon by any folly you choose to utter; Lovers' Vows have been proverbial since the days of Queen Bess, and it would be strange if, in 1890, we should not have found out what they are made of." "In my case," said the Exquisite, "your Ladyship is cruel in supposing them to be made of any thing but the purest sincerity.""They are made of the finest materials," said the Milliner," "and your Ladyship can see through them like glass."-She was holding up to the window some stuff with a hard name, which we know nothing about." Say what you will, Comyn," said her Ladyship,

"Men were deceivers ever; One foot on land, and one on sea, To one thing constant never."

"Lovers' Vows are never intended to last beyond a day!" "Your Ladyship is unjust!" replied the Dandy," they will last when all other ties shall be broken; they will last when the bond of relationship shall be cancelled, and the link of friendship riven! they will last"-" They will last for ever, Madam, and wash afterwards!" said the Milliner. She was speaking of some scarfs.

66

Really, George," observed her Ladyship, " you would think me an egregious fool, if I were to believe one quarter of what you say to me. Speak the truth, George, for once, if it is in your nature-should I not be folle-folle beyond measure?""You love to trifle with my passion," sighed the Honourable; "but this is what we must all expect! Fascinating as you are,

you feel not for the woes of your victims:-you are more insensible than flints-nothing is dear to you."-" Flint's will make nothing dear to your Ladyship," said the Milliner, wrapping up the parcel.

"In this age of invention," said Lady Honoria," it is surprising to me that no one has invented a thermometer to try the temperature of Lovers' Vows. What a price would a boarding-school Miss give for such an invention! I certainly will make the suggestion to young Montgomery, that writes the sonnets! "_" Good God! cried the worshipper, "where shall I send for such a test of sincerity?" I would send to the suns of India, to the snows of Tobolsk; I would send to the little-toed ladies of China, and the great-hatted chieftains of Loo-Choo; I would send"" Shall I send it to your Ladyship's house?" said the Milliner, holding up the parcel.

"Well," said her Ladyship, rising to leave the shop," I shall contend no more with so subtle a disputant; my opinion of Lovers' Vows remains unchanged, and I desire you wont pester me with them at the Opera this evening, or I shall positively die of ennui." We saw that this was meant as an assignation, and the Honourable George Comyn saw things in the same light. "How," he cried, "how shall I thank your Ladyship for this condescension? How shall I express the feelings of the heart you have rescued from despair? Language is too poor, utterance is too weak, for the emotion which I feel; what can I say?"— "Much obliged to your Ladyship," said the Milliner.

P. C.

GODIVA, A TALE.

I.

WHOE'ER has been at Coventry must know
(Unless he's quite devoid of curiosity,)
That once a year it has a sort of show,

Conducted with much splendor and pomposity.

I'll just describe it, if I can—but no,

It would exhaust the humour of a Fawcett, I
Am a vile jester-though I once was vain
Of acting Fawcett's parts at Datchet-lane.

II.

Ah! those were pleasant days, when you and I,
Dear Fred. Golightly, trod those boards of yore;
I often grieve to think that they're past by,

As you must-on a rainy after-four:

Though, now it's fairly quashed, you won't deny

That that same stage was frequently a bore;
It spoilt our cricket, which we're all so proud on,
Nor let us beat the Kingsmen-as we've now done.

III.

Oh! sweet is praise to youthful poet's ear,
When gently warbled by the lips he loves:
'Tis sweet one's exercise read o'er to hear,
(Especially the week before Removes);
But sweeter far, when actors first appear,

The loud collision of applauding gloves,
The gleam of happy faces o'er them cast-
Moments of triumph not to be surpast!.

IV.

Oh! stolen joys, far sweeter for the stealing,
Oh! doubts, and fears, and hopes of Eton all,
Ye are departed; but a lingering feeling.

Of your enchantments holds my heart in thrall.
My eyes just now are fixed upon the ceiling-

I feel my cheek flush-hear my inkstand fall; My soul is wandering through the distant groves Of that dear schoolboy-dwelling which it loves.

.V.

But to my tale-I'm somewhat given to prating,
I can't but own it, but my theme was fine,
And all the feelings which I've been narrating
Are worth enjoying-and they've all been mine!
But I'll no longer keep the reader waiting,
So, without wasting now another line,

My Poem I'll begin, as Poets use,
With a short invocation to my Muse.

VI.

Spirit which art within me, if in truth
Thou dost exist in my soul's depths, and I
Have not mistaken the hot pulse of youth,

And wandering thoughts, for dreams of poesy, Rise from thy lone recesses, rise and soothe

Each meaner thought to aspirations high, Whelm me in musings of deep joy, and roll Thy radiant visions on my kindling soul.

VII.

If, when at morn I view the bright blue Heaven, Thoughts are around me which not all have felt; If, in the dim and fading light of Even,

A Poet's rapture on my soul hath dwelt;

If to my wayward nature have been given
Dreams that absorb, and phantasies that melt,
Sweet tears, and wild attachments-lend thy wings,
Spirit, to bear me in my wanderings.

VIII.

But these are boyish dreams.-Away, away,
Ye fond enchantments of my foolish brain ;-
And yet, methinks, I would a while delay,

Ere my frail vessel tempt Life's dangerous main. Still, dear delusions of my boyhood, stay,

Still let me pour my weak, but harmless strain! In fancied draughts my thirst poetic slake, And never, never from that dream awake!

IX.

This is a very pretty invocation,

Though scarce adapted to my present style; I wrote it in a fit of inspiration,

The finest I've enjoy'd a monstrous while; For most uncertain's my imagination,

And 'tis but seldom that my Muse will smile. Come reader, we'll her present humour try; Draw up the curtain-the scene's Coventry.

X.

It is an ancient and a gallant town,

Nor all unknown to loftier lays than mine; It has of old seen deeds of high renown—

Its situation's not extremely fine.

Its name it wishes to be handed down,

And still in England's annals longs to shine; And Mr. Cobbett wants to represent

This self-same Coventry in Parliament.

XI.

But at the period when my

tale commences

There were no Cobbetts-'twas a barb'rous age; The "Sovereign People" scarce were in their senses, For Radical Reform was not the rage:

Though then Sir Francis* might have found pretences
Just war against the Government to wage;

For King and Nobles thought it no great crime
To be confounded tyrants at that time.

XII.

There was of yore an Earl of Coventry,
Famous for wine and war-one Leofric;
A genuine Saxon-he'd a light blue eye,

His stature tall-his frame well-built and thick:
His flaxen locks fell down luxuriantly

On his fine shoulders-and his glance was quick. But though he really was a handsome Earl, He was at times a most uncommon churl.

XIII.

He had fought well and often-miles around
Chieftain and vassal trembled at his name;
He held some thousand acres of good ground,
To which his weapon form'd his strongest claim :
His legal title was sometimes unsound-

And he was wedded to a matchless dame,
The fair and chaste Godiva-whom alone
He seem'd to love, of all that was his own.
*Wentworth-not Burdett.