Are these the altars of their rest, the pure and sacred shrines;
  Where Memory, rapt o’er visions fled, her holy spell combines? 
  The sire, the child, oh, waft them back to their delightful dell,
  When, like a voice from heavenly lands, awakes the curfew bell.

  And have they no remembrance here, the cheeks that softly glow’d,
  The amber hair, that, on the breeze, in gleaming tresses flow’d,
  The hymn which hail’d the Sabbath morn,—­the fix’d and fervid eye;
  Must these sweet treasures of the heart in shade and silence lie?

  Oh, no! thou place of sanctities! a ray has from thee gone,
  Dearer than noontide’s gorgeous light, or Sabbath’s music tone;
  A spirit! whose bright ark is far beyond the clouds and waves,
  Albeit there is a sunless gloom on these, their lonely graves!

  Reginald Augustine.

* * * * *

BAGLEY WOOD.

(For the Mirror.)

Bagley is situated about two miles and a half from Oxford, on the Abingdon-road, and affords an agreeable excursion to the Oxonians, who, leaving the city of learning, pass over the old bridge, where the observatory of the celebrated Friar Bacon was formerly standing.  The wood is large, extending itself to the summit of a hill, which commands a charming panoramic view of Oxford, and of the adjacent country.  The scene is richly diversified with hill and dale, while the spires, turrets, and towers of the university, rise high above the clustering trees, filling the beholder with the utmost awe and veneration.  During the summer, this rustic spot presents many cool retreats, and love-embowering shades; and here many an amour is carried on, free from suspicion’s eye, beneath the wide umbrageous canopy of nature.

Gipsies, or fortune-tellers, are constantly to be found in Bagley Wood; and many a gay Oxonian may be seen in the company of some wandering Egyptian beauty.  So partial, indeed, are several of the young men of the university to the tawny tribe, that they are frequently observed in their academicals, lounging round the picturesque tents, having their fortunes told; though, it must be remarked, their countenances usually evince a waggish incredulity on those occasions, and they appear much more amused with the novel scene around them than gratified with the favourable predictions of the wily Egyptians.

The merry gipsies of Bagley Wood might well sing with Herrick

  “Here we securely live, and eat
  The cream of meat;
  And keep eternal fires
  By which we sit, and do divine.”

G.W.N.

* * * * *

EATING “MUTTON COLD.”

(For the Mirror.)

A correspondent in a late number asks for a solution of the expression, “eating mutton cold.”  If the following one is worth printing, it is much at your service and that of the readers of the mirror.