P.S.--I am sure my long line of ancestors would agree with me. When that long line is discovered you shall hear the result. * * * * * BYGONES. [Illustration] The midsummer twilight is dying, The golden is turning to gray, And my troublesome thoughts are a-flying To the days that have vanished away, When life had no crosses for me, love, But Proctors and bulldogs and dons, And I used to write sonnets to thee, love, In the dreamy old garden of John's. By Jove! What a time we just had, love, That week you were up for Commem.! The dances and picnics--egad, love, How strange to be thinking of them! How we laughed at the dusty old doctors, And the Vice with his gorgeous gold gown, And you thought it a shame that the Proctors Were constantly sending me down. We danced and we dined and we boated, Did the lions all quite _comme il faut_, And I felt a strange thrill when you voted Old JOHNNIE'S the best of the show. I remember your eager delight, love, With our garden and chapel and hall-- And oh, for that glorious night, love, When we went to the Balliol ball! There is very poor pleasure in dancing In a stuffy hot ball-room in June-- And the Balliol lawn looked entrancing In the silvery light of the moon. I fancy the thought had occurred, love, To somebody else besides me, For I managed, with scarcely a word, love, To get you to smile and agree. We sat on the Balliol lawn, love, And the hours flew as fast as you please, Till the rosy-tipped fingers of dawn, love, Crept over the Trinity trees. A stranger might say he had never Heard trash in a vapider key; But no conversation has ever Been half so delicious to me. I seemed to be walking on air, love; And oh, how I quivered when you Snipped off a wee lock of your hair, love, And said you were fond of me too. I clasped it again and again, love, To my breast with a passionate vow. There ever since it has lain, love, And there it is lying just now. --But my heart gives a horrible thump, love, I find myself gasping for air, For my throat is choked up with a lump, love, Which surely should never be there. And I sadly bethink me that life, love, Won't always run just as we will-- For you are another man's wife, love, And I am a bachelor still. * * * * * Common (Gas) Metre. "Light metres" there are many, The lightest of the lot Is what is called "the Penny-in-the-Slot!" * * * * * EMBARRAS DE RICHESSES. ["The Bank Return shows considerable additions to the reserve and the stock of bullion."--_"Times," on "Money Market."_]