PANSIES. Pretty, lowly pansy, All my garden round; Just like humble merit, Well do I remember, Though long years have flown, Wand'ring in the garden, She and I alone. She and I together Walking hand in hand, Seemed the very ground. Shone its spangled flowers Stretching out to meet Full of lovers' bliss, From that hour to this! As we communed sweetly There, beneath the gloaming On a floral altar Of sweet pansies made. Just a little handful, Held by hers in mine, Was our pledge and token, Was our simple shrine; And while life continues, Here, or there above, Ever and for ever, I will think' and 'love.' Oft when I am musing Of the life to come, In the land of light. On that angel ground 'Mong its fadeless flowers Pansies will be found. J. B. LOVE. "In the spring, a young man's fancy If there is any truth in this song of the poet's, love is of all subjects the one that I should be right in choosing for a contribution to this quarter's issue of our Magazine. And, considering that it was while taking a Sunday evening's walk that this subject came upon me by a kind of inspiration, I ought to be able to say a little about it. Not that I think it very necessary to describe its symptoms, for, if there are any of our readers who have not felt the passion, they have missed one of the many glories of life, that, despite Mr. Mallock's questioning, make it worth living. We are told— "'Tis better to have loved and lost How much better then to have loved and won. I must, however, be careful how far I allow myself to soar on love's pinions, lest, being a married man, I seem to have ventured beyond the bounds of matrimonial license. I said the subject came to me as an inspiration. How! I will tell you. When you are walking in the cool of a summer evening, smoking a cigar, lazily sauntering and listening to the song of birds, the chime of distant bells, and admiring the beauties of nature, if you suddenly find yourself a disturbing element to two beings sitting very close together in a nook of supposed retirement and obscurity, what will be the first subject you will think of? The first thought that came into my head was expressed by my half-audible exclamation, "Lovers by jove;" the second was, "Two are company, etc.," so I walked on, trying to look innocent as they tried, and, failing as they also failed. Lanes were evidently made for lovers, for, only a few yards further, I meet a loving couple arm-in-arm, walking quite respectably (for a wonder!)-except it be for a slight tendency on the part of both to lean towards one direction. Judging from the next couple I meet, the first were evidently only fresh to the task of love-making, for these are much closer, and consequently "wabbling" slightly in their walk. He has his arm round her waist, and she-well she seems to like it. the third pair, oh! the third the others were mild in com But, parison, for these have each an arm round the other, and the otherwise disengaged hands fast locked together. Really, my dear young people, it is very good of you to come out and amuse me so much. You can't help it, can you? It's all Cupid; and strange that poets never seem to have thought of it Cupid rhymes well with stupid. Of course, we, who laugh at you, have never done such things. What, never? Well, hardly ever. Besides, you are evidently so lost to all sense of the third party, that it matters not to you if I do laugh, doubtless. After all, it's one of those natural weaknesses, of which most of us are, or have been guilty, and which only goes to prove the truth of the proverb: "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." We, all of us, have a most convenient way of forgetting the many absurdities we perpetrated, the gushing letters we wrote, and how we made foolish comparisons, à la Romeo, between the stars and the eyes of our love, or vowed eternal constancy beneath the light of the moon. And, although we may, none of us, remember to have been as far gone as Bottom made Pyramus appear to be, when he said, "Sweet moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams"-yet, we must admit that much that we did say would not look well in print; and, when now and then a breach of promise case reveals the true art of writing love letters, we laugh quite as much as we do at poor old Bottom the weaver. I have noticed that love does not improve the conversational power of men and women. They walk for miles, and seldom seem to say much. The eyes do all that, I fancy, during courtship; the tongue takes a rest until after matrimony, when, unfortunately, in many instances it then makes up for lost time. In such cases the romance has died out, and the little love that remains is not strong constable enough to keep the peace against the trials which all of us have to go through to test its quality. Happy are the possessors of that pure love, which, in passing through this furnace, comes out only more refined. This lack of conversational power in courtship is very amusingly pourtrayed in Artemus Ward's account of his experience, which it may not be out of place to quote here : "My left arm was ockepied in ballunsin myself on the fense, while my rite was woundid luvinly round her waste. I cleared my throat, and tremblinly said, 'Betsy, you're a Gazelle.' I thought that air was putty fine. I waited to see what effeck it would hav upon her. It evidently didn't fetch her, for she up and sed 'you're a sheep.' 'I wish there was winders to my sole,' sed I, so that you could see some of my feelins.' 'There's fire enough here,' sed I, strikin my buzzum with my fist, 'to bile all the corn-beef and turnips in the naberhood.'" Betsy, not being romantic, takes a practical view of the matter, and clinches it by saying, "I won't listen to your noncents no longer. Jest say rite out what you're drivin at. If you mean gettin hitched, I'm in." And, really there is a flavour of truth (nonsensical as it may appear) about this description of the effect of love upon the senses, that cannot be denied. We have, most of us, I dare say, laughed over Sam Weller's love letter; and have agreed with old Weller when he said, "Wot's the good o' calling a young 'ooman a Wenus, or a angel, Sammy." "You might just as well call her a griffin, or a unicorn, or a King's Arms, at once, which is very well known to be a collection of fabulous animals." But, neither Artemus Ward's "Gazelle," or Mr. Weller's "Wenus" are such very extravagant examples of lovers' comparisons. I am not aware if any book has been written on the manners and customs of the various nations of the earth with regard to courtship. It certainly should prove an interesting volume. If we walk into a friend's drawing room and find two people of opposite sexes sitting close together, we at once recognise this as one of the phases of English courtship. The unhappy pair are consigned by custom to a room to get through time as best they may, and invent conversation or sighs; the gentleman in question having already gone through the trying ordeal of "papa's study," and successfully passed an examination as to the state of his balance at the bankers, life insurance, and general previous good conduct, or an assurance of having quite done sowing wild oats. Among the lower classes it is considered a sine qua non to have a lover; and, I have known a domestic servant have half-a-dozen "followers" in as may weeks, any one of whom, had he been ready, she would doubtless have taken "for better or worse." In Wales, among the lower classes, courtship takes a form which verges upon the immoral. In France, marriages of convenience are the order of the day; though, in common with most of the continental nations, a similar courtship to our own prevails. Among the North American Indians love making is rarely pursued. An Indian sees a maiden he wishes to marry, and at once goes and barters skins, beads, etc., with the father of the girl, which bargain being concluded, he leads her home. Amongst the Esquimaux a man simply seizes his bride and carries her home by main force; though, if I remember rightly, he has generally made some arrangement with the parents as to this abduction. In China, although, according to the willow pattern plate and its story, love is not a stranger in the land, he rarely enters into matrimonial projects. An intended wife has often never seen her future husband, the match being usually arranged by the husband's mother; and the bride's happiness depends much more upon the temperament of the mother-in-law, with whom she will have to live, than upon that of her husband, whom she will see but a few hours a day. With our aversion to mothers'-in-law in England this kind of arrangement would soon place matrimony at a discount. After all, a moderate course of courtship seems to be the right method, as it gives an opportunity to both parties to get some insight, however slight, into each others' character. The course of love, which, if true, the proverb tells us never runs smoothly, is so much in harmony with our daily lives, that, the man or woman who has attained a mature age and known nothing of it will fail to commend themselves to our good opinion. Like "the man that hath not music in his soul," we should, with Shakespeare, consign him to Erebus. Its symptoms are |