difficult to describe. Galatea's declaration to Pygmalion, perhaps comes nearest of anything to doing this:

"A sense

That I've no will that is not wholly thine,
That I've no thought, no hope, no enterprise,
That does not own thee as its sovereign;
That I have life, that I may live for thee,

That I am thine, that thou and I are one."

I

And, therefore, those young men and women, who, by the accident of my meeting them, have caused me to write thus much of love, while I could not refrain from smiling at the freaks the little god made them play, have made me admit that there is a sublime side of love too. remember in a play in which I once took a part, a young lady says to her lover, who has just made a frank and full declaration, "Ah, you are bold," and he answers, "I am bold, because I have an upright love in my heart, and that is nothing to make a man ashamed of." If those whom I met can answer like that, they need not be ashamed; rather, it is a thing to be proud of.

And so we see that there is nothing can make life more ridiculous, and nothing make it more beautiful, than this love. Its power is universal-it rules the court as well as the cottage; it began with the Creation, which was the work of Divine love; it will never end, even when the earth shall have passed away, for it is by love (a love, of course, beyond our present conception) that the kingdom of heaven shall preserve its unity. It is a passion that the wisest and most learned have yielded to, as well as the most ignorant and simpleminded, and poets, without end have sung of.

Tennyson says of it

"In sooth, I know

Of no more subtle master under heaven,
Than is a maiden passion for a maid.
Not only to keep down the base in man,

But, teach high thought, and amiable words,
And courtliness, and the desire of fame,

And love of truth, and all that makes a man."

It is the foundation of the sacred narrative, the oldest of all the mythological divinities; the Eros of the Greeks, fabled to have been born at the moment of the world's beginning, and worshipped by them at altars raised to its honour, not only in Athens, but through all Greece. Rome, too, knelt before its shrine; and, though we erect no altars, and appoint no priesthood to wave incense before it, its worship has not ceased, and for its sake, sacrifices (in another sense of the word) are daily made. And the more the reign of love is extended, the better for the world at large. Who has not longed for

"The parliament of man, the federation of the world."

We are said to have passed the age of chivalry; and, so far as riding forth in coat of mail, and lance in rest to strive for a prize of tourney,

or fight for our ladye-love, goes, it is true; but that age is not passed which makes it possible for a man to ride forth in a crusade against the evils which destroy the union love would have us live in. He, too, revives the age of chivalry whose love for one makes him the champion of all. But, of course, that must be noble for which he strives; the object must be worthy of his devotion; and she upon whom he has set his heart, and whose colours he wears as he rides into the arena must have faith in his prowess; and she will best attain to this who follows the advice of Charles Kingsley who must have had some such thought in his mind when he wrote

66

Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever;
Do lovely things, not dream them all day long-
And so make life, death, and that vast for ever,
One grand sweet song."

SEEPE-N.

AN INTRODUCTION TO A POEM.

BEING A LETTER TO A FRIEND.

Dear

; when I look upon the past,

I see strange lovely visions 'mid the vast

Mist-hidden regions of forgetfulness,

And hear sweet songs of hope and happiness,

That roll from far off heights, and through past years

Fade into echoes down the Vale of Tears.

"Twixt Spring and Autumn; betwixt youth and age,

There is no resting point, no middle stage;

Either our joy hath been, or is to be;
To-morrow, yesterday-e'en so are we.
All things are ours when our desire is dead;
But, when 'twas eager in pursuit, they fled
Us ever.

A moment let me halt and glance behind

I see an open volume, and the wind

Flutters the leaves, for those who hold the book

Are seated on a bank, beside a brook,

O'ercanopied with many a waving branch,

Whose quivering leaves, all bending backward, blanch
As the wind sways them; while upon the grass,
Like living things, the lights and shadows pass.

The page is Virgil's-as the verses flow,
The soul is ardent, and the faces glow,
Touched by the mystic power of that old strain,
Sung once for all-nor to be sung again.

But lo! e'en there, athwart those blissful bowers,
The clock slow tolling tells the passing hours-
Unheeded; for the night is full of joy,
As is the day, and there is no annoy,
No deep regret for happy moments flown:
Delight is in the present; joy is sown
Amid the flowers that laugh upon the earth;
It is the key note of the many-voiced mirth
Of the quick winds; and, it, yes joy, and love,
These are the heaven, that is so far above.

So is it as we look upon the past;

But now no bliss a moment's space will last;
And so in memory of that banished day
My hand unpractis'd tries one other lay.

Alas, it is but as a thing that's marred,
An oak upon the hill side lightning scarred;
A fair, but frail, and sickness-wasted form ;
A fading rainbow in the deepening storm;
A golden dream quenched in the leaden dawn;
A fountain spent, and showerless on the lawn ;
A picture, but commenced, and left undone;
A hearthside with its light and warmth all gone;
A shiver'd sabre with a jewell'd hilt ;

A goblet broken, and the sweet wine spilt.

Such as it is, perchance it may beguile

A weary hour, or raise a frown or smile-
For well I know, though falt'ring be my rhymes,
They're welcome if they breathe of bygone times.

COTTESWOLDE.

OUR CHURCHWARDENS IN THE OLDEN TIME.

As affording a glimpse of the manners and customs of Birmingham men some sixty or seventy years ago, we re-produce, for the amusement of our readers, copies of two "little bills' for churchwardens' dinners which we found recently among some old papers.

The important event which these dinners were intended to celebrate was, we presume, the Swearing-in of the Wardens of the Parish Church of St. Martin, but, whether they are now continued in any modified form we are not in a position to say.

It is interesting to notice that both these bills include "chaises to Coleshill," owing, doubtless, to the attractions of the well-known hostelry the Swan, which is still in existence, and is a favourite summer resort of our townsmen, including the Committee of the C.L.A. :

When we glance at the various items of which these bills are composed, we cannot but be astonished at the quantity of alcoholic fluid disposed of per man. Take, for instance, the dinner of June, 1816, for fifteen persons. The actual cost of the eatables stands at the very reasonable sum of 3s. 6d. per head, whilst the cost of the port, sherry, punch, negus and beer, exceeds 135. per man. The port and sherry alone showing the respectable portion of two bottles a-piece! And it must be borne in mind that this is in addition to the liquids consumed at Coleshill, and on the journey. No wonder we find the two significant items, "broken glasses, 2s. 6d. ;" "broken chaise glass, 2s. 6d." Surely, the most despondent of temperance advocates may find encouragement when contrasting this bill with that of an ordinary semi-official dinner of the present time. Not, perhaps, that the total expenditure per man would be less-for the eatables are now of a more recherché and expensive character; the surroundings more elegant and costly, and the wines extravagantly high in price-but simply as regards the actual quantity of alcoholic beverages consumed.

Another peculiarity in this bill as compared with the customs of today, is the absence of any charge for cigars, whilst there is a sum of 3s. 6d. for pipes and tobacco. The "churchwarden pipe" was then, as is well known, an "institution" in itself-and was for many years a staple article of manufacture at Broseley in Shropshire. Only a very slight effort of the imagination is required to realise the picture of our wardens and their friends sitting around the convivial board—

"Each puffing away at a yard of clay,

And a mug of beer beside him."