having deserved what they got; while a man of that age, with a meal tub (his sole claim to immortality) as his crest, is lionized greatly as one who fearlessly faced the anger of those in power to avenge his murdered countrymen. Even an old crab-eyed Greek who used to be considered one of our brightest stars, is regarded now as a man who, though he had the misfortune to be put to death unjustlyhas none but himself to thank for it, as he might have avoided that fate by a little well-timed cringing and judicious flattery. The author of this revolution is on the whole extremely popular amongst us, though his adherents are a little apprehensive on his behalf, as the old Greek above referred to has more than once expressed his intention of asking him a question or two if he ever comes here-a threat which makes the boldest spirit tremble."

"Have you many historians?"

"Not very many. Recently we have had a few additions to their number, but they are not on the best of terms with their predecessors, as they lose no opportunity of deriding their credulity. But their special foes are some of our oldest inhabitants to whom they have the most open hostility. One of these modern historians, soon after his arrival, asked his neighbour at the public table, who that gentleman was with the ugly scar on his face? Being told that it was Remus, whose personal appearance was in nowise improved by the blow from a spade that dispatched him-he sprang up in a great rage, and swore that he would not demean himself by sitting down with a man who had never existed. There would probably have been an immediate quarrel, had not N spoken in the ordinary Latin of German critics, which was utterly unintelligible to the Roman, who thus remained in blissful ignorance of the cause of the tumult. Not content with thus expressing his opinion he swore that he would bring an action against Remus, for being here on the false pretence of having had an existence, but it was represented to him that if it were so he could not of course be sued, and that if he were cited to appear before a court, his existence was thereby allowed, and he had a perfect right to be here. No one seemed able to see a way out of this difficulty, and it was therefore agreed that it should be referred to a committee of Stoic Philosophers, who are supposed to be authorities on such points. Socrates contrived to get slipped in, as a condition, that they should not report progress till they had finally come to a decision, and they have therefore

been standing in a corner of one of the gardens ever since, arguing the point with the utmost earnestness. Few are found to regret their absence, but no one seems more highly delighted at it than poor Epimenides, who used to be perpetually teazed by them about his unfortunate description of the Cretan character. He once attempted to justify it, but he had scarcely uttered it in order to do so, when he was interrupted by all the Stoics present, who each proved alternately that the old Cretan was a liar and a person of the utmost veracity, and this with such volubility that their frightened victim has never since ventured to utter a word on the subject."

"Have you any other cases of doubtful existence?"

"At present we have no lack of them, for the industry which has marked recent investigations into the sculptured records of the dynasties of the ancient world &c. has supplied us with many most curious anomalies. In some cases a mighty king after succeeding his grandson is succeeded by himself under three different titles, to be followed in turn by his great grandfather's maternal uncle, as the first of a new dynasty. The confusion which this leads to is not small, but these cases are not the worst

Just then a bell sounded, and on consulting my watch I found I had barely time to dress for morning chapel.

T.

UNEQUAL FRIENDSHIP.

GIVE me the equal friendship. It is vain
The best affections of the heart to chain
To thy caprice, O man, and thy disdain:
I will rebel.

My warmest life's-blood I would pour for thee:
Thou wouldst scarce raise thy hand to succour me:
To others let that life devoted be:

But thou, farewell.

My friendship is the sun above the lake:
Thine is the feeble reflex that doth shake

O'er the cold waters and doth trembling break
And perish there.

True, that thou lov'st me not is not thy blame:
Thy friend? I am not worthy of the name:
In my affection is my only claim,

If claim I bear.

True, 'tis my error.

When with thirst or fire,

Shall the low earth to the high cloud aspire?
Yet may the cloud stoop to the earth's desire
And blessing gain.

But I-my soul is weary of its strife,
Not Damocles beneath the imminent knife
Loathed more than I the burden of his life,
His lifelong pain.

Give me the equal friendship, on whose bier
Freely shall fall the tribute of my tear,
Yet may the scalding stream not deeply sear
My heart alway.

The thoughtless word not scrupulously said,
Nor yet by me too scrupulously weighed,
The light remark by lighter smile repaid,-
For these I pray.

So shall Neglect futile her arrows fling,
Robbed of their poison and their suffering:
So shall Indifference lose full half her sting,
And to the sky,

A lowly blossom, shall Content arise,

Than thy cold friendship a more worthy prize: In vain that gaudier flower shall court my eyes, I will go by.

MURDER!

I DON'T know how it was that Monsieur Le Maitre, our French Master, always reminded me so much of that metaphysical, but unprincipled hero of Lord Lytton's romance, Eugene Aram. There was a look of almost despairing melancholy in his dark intellectual eyes that seemed to speak of a deep and unavailing regret, a torturing remorse for something lost, or something done, hidden now in the depths of the irrevocable past, but unforgotten still.

In the summer evenings he would often accompany us in our rambles through the beauteous woodlands that surrounded our school house; for Dr. Boddles, our worthy Master, had imbibed during his residence at Cambridge, a strong admiration for the principles of muscular Christianity, and it was an article of his faith that the evening meal could by no means be properly digested, or that refreshing dreamless sleep, which recruits the brain for fresh exertions on the morrow, obtained unless a postconacular perambulation of, at least, to use the Doctor's words, "mille passuum," were duly and religiously performed.

In these country walks we would often sit upon some pleasant hillock, listening to the tinkling of the sheep bells, as the flocks were driven to their nightly folds, and watching the rooks that swept across the dusky sky in an interminable train towards the neighbouring forest. At such times, our feelings softened and awed by the romantic calmness of the scene, we would listen with melancholy interest to Monsieur's pathetic laments at his separation from La Belle France, or shudder with horror whilst that worthy patriot made each individual hair to stand on end, with some appalling story of the French Revolution.

It was on such an evening as I have described, that we sat down to rest upon a rising mound in the vicinity of the