sure in ministering
to the social wants of the curate and others of his cloth.

But, it was not to be. Lady Dasher was, for a wonder, wise in her
generation; and, the twain--not my lady and Mawley, but her daughter and
ditto--were married within a month after the public announcement of
their attachment, much to the surprise of Saint Canon's, the
mortification of sundry single ladies thereof, and the well-disguised
delight of Lady Dasher, who, even on such a festive occasion, looked
more melancholic than ever.

It was this, that nerved me up to desperation. Why, thought I, the day
after the wedding, as I paced along the Prebend's Walk--over which the
long-branched elms and waving oaks and thickly-growing lime-trees formed
a perfect arch, in all the panoply of their new summer leaves,
sheltering one from rain and sun alike--why, thought I, should that
fellow, Mawley, be made happy, and I not?

Really, I could not answer the question at all satisfactorily.

You see, I was not able to come to a decision with myself as to whether
I should repeat the darling request which I had made to Min very nearly
twelve months before, or wait on still in suspense. The risk of the
former course was great, for, Mrs Clyde might, and most likely would,
put an end immediately to all communication whatever between us, should
she continue hostile to my suit--an eventuality horrible to contemplate;
and yet, would it not be better for me to be relieved from the existing
state of uncertainty in which my mind was plunged?

What must I do?

I had to determine that point, at all events.

I could not settle it in a moment: it was far too weighty a
consideration--it required serious deliberation. So, I paced on, still
moodily to the end of the Prebend's Walk; and, although it was raining
heavily, sat down on the stone balustrade of the little rustic bridge
over the fosse, facing the river.--"Ah me!" I reflected, calling to my
memory Thackeray's sad lament, in that seemingly-comic "Ballad of the
Bouillabaisse," which is all the more pathetic from its affected humour.

"Ah me! how quick the days are flitting!
I mind me of a time that's gone
When I'd sit, as now I'm sitting,
In this same place--but not alone.

"A fair young form was nestled near me,
A dear, dear face looked fondly up,
And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me--
There's no one now to share my cup."

As I was musing thus sadly, I was unexpectedly tapped on