never was he so contented as when rambling through the streets and walks, without his gown, in a new and well cut suit; whilst in order eternally to display his figure to the best advantage, he was content to endure as heavy an infliction of fines and impositions, as the heads of his college could lay upon his shoulders.  He was ruined for a reading-man.  About this period he also had a perfect mania for flowers; observing which, and fancying I might gratify my friend by such a mark of attention, I one day went to his rooms with a large bouquet in either hand.  He was not at home; but having carelessly enough forgotten to lock his door, I commenced, con amore, (anticipating the agreeable surprise which I should afford him) to fill his vases with fresh, bright, and delicious summer flowers, in lieu of the very mummies of their race by which they were occupied.  My work was in progress when Millington returned, but, oh! good heavens! the rage, the profane, diabolical, incomprehensible rage into which he burst!  I shall never forget.  Away went my beautiful, my fragrant flowers, into the court, and seizing upon the remnant of the mummies, as yet untouched by my sacrilegious fingers, he tossed them into a drawer, double locked it, and ordered me out of the room.  Dreading a kick, I was off at his word; but had not proceeded half way down stairs, when a hand from the rear, roughly grasped mine, and a voice, in a wild and hurried manner, asked pardon for “intemperance.”  I should have called it madness.  We were again firm allies; but I resolved to fathom, if possible, the mystery of the flowers.  I now observed, with surprise, that Millington never quitted his rooms without a flower in his hand, or boutonniere; which flower, upon his return, appeared to have been either lost, or metamorphosed into, sometimes, one of another description; sometimes into a nosegay.  Very strange indeed, thought I; and began to have my suspicions that in all this might be traced “fair woman’s visitings.”  Yes, Millington must decidedly have fallen in love.  He was never in chapel, never in hall, never in college, never at lectures, and never at parties; he was in love, that was certain; but with whom?  He knew none of the resident gentry of ——­, and he was far too proud to involve himself in “an affair” with a girl of inferior rank.  Many men did so; but Millington despised them for it.  Accidentally I discovered that he adored Julia, the young, sweet daughter of an undoubted gentleman, who was not yet “come out.”  She was a lively, pretty brunette, with brownest curling hair, only fifteen; and to this day, I believe, knows not the name of her lover.  From an attic window of a five storied house, this fond and beautiful girl contrived, sometimes, to shower upon the head of her devoted admirer sweet flowers, and sometimes this paragon of pairs meeting each other in the walks, silently effected an interchange of the buds and blossoms, with which they always took