HYLAS.

THEOCR. Id. XIII.

I TROW that not for mortal hearts alone
Love had his being, whence soe'er he be,
Nor to us first, the creatures of a day,
That may not see the morrow, is it given
To feel the beauty of the beautiful.
Even he, Amphitryo's iron-hearted son,
Who faced the raging lion, loved a boy,
Beautiful Hylas of the curly locks,

And taught him, as a father would his child,
All good, and brave, and noble-hearted things
By which himself grew noble, brave, and good.
All times they were together; at high noon,
When morning's snowy steeds went up the sky,
And when the little chirping brood look up
While on her dusky perch the mother-bird
Flutters her beckoning wings; that so the boy,
Fashion'd in all things to the master's mind,
True to the yoke, might make a perfect man.

But when from rich Iolcos, son's son,
Jason, was sailing for the golden fleece,
And the young nobles, strong in heart and hand,
The flower of many cities, flock'd to him;
Among them came the great Alcmena's son
Of Midea, much-enduring Hercules:

He with young Hylas sought the well-bench'd ship
Argo. that touch'd not the gray jostling rocks,
But, like an eagle clave the mighty surge
Between them, and in Phasis rode secure.

And when the Pleiads rose, and growing lambs Browsed in far fields, the spring being past its prime, The godlike heroes set about their voyage. They took their places in the hollow ship,

And came with three days' breathing of the South
To Hellespont, and found safe anchorage
Within Propontis, where the labouring ox
Brightens the plowshare in Cianian soil.

And landing there at evening, two and two
The heroes hasten'd, some to serve the feast,
And some to strew the couches on the shore;
For near them lay a meadow broad, and rich
In herbage soft to lie on, whence they cut
The slender rush and lowly galingale.
But Hylas went for water for the feast
Wherewith to serve Alcides and his mate
Stout Telamon, his comrade at the board.
And quickly in a hollow-lying spot

He spied a fountain: round the margin grew
Thick rushes, and the pale-green celandine,
Green maiden-hair, and parsley clustering fresh,
And couch-grass densely spreading o'er the marsh.
And down beneath the nymphs prepared a dance;
The sleepless nymphs, dread rustic deities,
Eunica, and Nychea fair as spring,
And Malis: and when Hylas, all intent
To fill the brazen pitcher that he held,

Plunged it in deep, they clung about his hand,
For love of the fair Argive boy had drawn
Its circle round the tender hearts of all.

And sheer into the waters dim he fell

As from the sky falls sheer into the sea

A ruddy meteor, and the sailor cries

To his mates 'Let go, my lads, there comes a breeze!"

And on their knees the nymphs in gentle ruth
Took the fair boy, and sought to stay his tears;
The while Alcides, troubled for his sake,
Went with his well-bent bow and Scythian shafts
And the great club his right hand ever grasp'd.
Thrice from the full depth of his mighty throat
He shouted Hylas!' thrice fair Hylas heard,
And from the water came a slender voice
That seem'd, albeit so near, a great way off,
And like as when a bearded lion, fierce,
That hears the faint cry of a fawn from far,
Hastes from his lair to seize the ready meal;
So in the hungry craving of his heart
The hero crash'd thro' many a tangled wood
Pathless and dense, and traversed many a league.
O hapless lot of lovers! How he toil'd,

Roaming the trackless hill; and what to him
Was now the heroic quest whereon he came!

But Argo floated with her sails aloft,
And at mid-night the heroes cleansed the decks,
Waiting for Hercules; while he, afar

Went madly, as adventure led his feet
Wild with the pang of loss that rent his heart,
Thus was fair Hylas number'd with the blest.
But harshly spake the youths of Hercules
And called him base deserter, who had left
The thirty-benched ship for coward fear.
And so they left him; but he came on foot
To Phasis and the inhospitable shore.

J. H. C.

THE CONFESSIONS OF AN OLD DON.

Do you think I am quite blind to all the opinions that are uttered so freely about the older Members of the College fraternity? Do you imagine that such words as Monachism, Malthusianism, Sciolism, and a hundred other invidious-isms, never reach my ears? were never used by myself in my younger days, when the great Quadratic of life had not been worked out into the solution (and that the better one)? If you do, (and I am sure you seem to do it) you are much mistaken. Speak evil of the king, and a bird of the air shall carry it speak evil of the college dignities, and the birds of the college (the vultures) shall whisper it to them.

The general opinion among the undergraduate world about an Old Don, is, that his main delight, nay, the chief end of his existence consists in getting up a good cellar of old wine for the next generation, (port in particular): a feast day in hall; a turn in the grounds on Sunday afternoon after the weekly grave and solemn attendance at St. Mary's: but most exquisite and supreme of all, to order young mad-caps* to put their gowns on. It is to correct such an impression erroneous as well as infamous and thoughtless, that I sit down to pen this my confession. I said erroneous, for let me ask this one question. If youngsters have grand dreams and hopes and aspirations, in their after-hall smoke, or lazy moods; if they forsooth think that a life of passion and activity, of earnestness and labour, of thoughts, book writing, and all the other phantasmagoria of a young brain that rails against Logic, and neglects Mathematics, and reads Homer and Sophocles for their beauties and not for the grammar, particles and allusions; if they do all this and at last turn out Senior Ops., or

Not those caps, the board of which has been long shattered and gone to wreck.

Talk

Third Class Classics; what must have been the hopes, the aspirations, the mental struggles, the lofty passions of those who were high Classics and Wranglers, prize-poem writers, and prize-essayists? I trow something far higher. Talk not then of what your earthly and blind eyes cannot see. not of an Old Don as an old dry stick who delights in Greek particles and mazy problems and long series. Dream not that you are the only ones who see beauties in the antique literature, or think the end of all science is to produce stiff problems. You comprehend us not, our mission, our high and holy purposes, or the meaning and end of our pursuits. We read you all through and through. We pity but do not despise you, for in time you will look on things with other eyes. But, as Terentius says, Verbum sap., sat-To my tale.

I was a Scholar of the College, and had worked steadily and not unsuccessfully for two years and a half. I will candidly admit that in those days I was not so particular in the matter of dress, bearing, or accent, as I now am, and I dare say (though NOT from Cumberland) was slightly Septentrionian. But what of that? I stuck to Mathesis, and the ardour of my devotion was only exceeded by the closeness of my application. I also read up the authorities for matters of faith a subject on which all undergraduates are strikingly ignorant. This was the round of my life from term to term, till, in the May of my third year, occurred an event on which even now I look back with wonder and sadness. One of the few chums I had for Sunday afternoon walks and ditto evening teas, had a visit from an aunt and sister for a week during that term, and I was called into requisition as cicerone and cavalier. One afternoon of the aunt, with her sharp nose and questions, her piercing spectacles, and dry discourses, sufficed for me, and afterwards as much as possible I attended on the niece Miss Eloisa J-, and she was worthy of all the attentions I could lavish on her. All attempts at description would be useless and might lead to identification. She was not one of those every day pretty girls who wear pink in Summer and blue in Winter. There was nothing positively striking about her, except her hand which was beautifully small and neat. Her hair was dark, smooth, and well done up. Her brow was not lofty, but, if anything, broad. Her cast of face was thoroughly English, none of the Roman hauteur or the Grecian contour about it. Her complexion, features, expression were all her own. Not like those of the vain young Cantabrigian belles, of a sallow wax