hare, a dog, a lizard or a serpent, while all would go well if it were a wolf, a spider, or a toad.

Every one knows the old adage of "Happy is the bride the sun shines on, blessed is the corpse the rain falls on."

But Hazlitt mentions that Stephens, in his character of "a Plain Country Bride," says, " She takes it by tradition from her fellow-gossip, that she must weep showers upon her marriage-day : though by the virtue of mustard and onions, if she cannot naturally dissemble."

Aunt Therèse says, "Tears and rain portend wealth; but however that may be, I know I shan't cry, and I hope it won't rain." I think it is Emilia Galotti who refuses to wear pearls on her nuptial-day. "Pearls! Oh, mother; pearls betoken tears. Decidedly no pearls then for me, however handsome a parure may be among my wedding presents, lest my fate should resemble that of Lessing's unhappy heroine."

The Manual of Sarum enjoined that if the bride was a maid she should have her glove off, if a widow her glove on. The difference between maiden and widow now-a-days is, the former dons pure virgin white and the latter silver grey; though I do know of a very dark brunette maiden who insisted on being married in grey, because she declared that in a white dress she should look like a chocolate bonbon done up in sugar.

JAM SATIS.

His mother was a Prince's child,
His father was a King;
There wanted not to his young lot,
What Rank and Riches bring:
Proud nobles served him on the knee,
Strong captains did his will;
High fortune!-yet it wearied him!
His spirit was not still.

For him the glorious music rolled

Of singers silent long;

Great Scribes did write, on scrolls of might, The strife of Right with Wrong:

For him Philosophy unveiled

Athenian PLATO's lore,

Might that not serve to stead one life?

Not that!-he sighed for more!

He loved; the newest, truest lip
That ever lover pressed:

The queenliest mouth in all the South,

Long love for him confessed:

Round him his children's joyousness

Rang silverly and shrill

Soft life sweet sounds! but something lacked

His spirit thirsted still!

To battle all his spears he led

In streams of winding steel;

On breast and head of foemen dead,
His war-horse set its heel:
The jewelled chevron on its flank
Was red with blood of kings:
Yet Victory's laurel seemed but rank
For bitterness it brings!

The splendid passion seized him then
To break, with statutes sage,

The chains that bind our hapless kind,
And social griefs assuage:

And dear the people's blessing seemed
The praises of the Poor;
Yet Evil stronger is than kings

And Hate, no codes can cure.

He laid aside the sword, book, pen,

And lit his lamp to wrest

From Nature's range the wonders strange

The secrets of her breast:

And wisdom deep his guerdon was,

And mighty things he knew; Yet from each unlocked mystery Some harder marvel grew.

No pause-no standing-spot, no ground
To stay the spirit's quest,

In all around not one thing found
So good as to be-"best":

Not even Love proved quite divine,
Therefore his search did cease—

Lord of all gifts that life could bring,
Saved the one grand gift-Peace.

Then came it!-crown-lance-scroll-lamp-lay
Each a discarded thing:

The funeral-gold, did bravely hold

The body of the king.

And strange !-love, learning, statecraft, sway,

Looked always on before;

But those pale happy lips of clay

Asked nothing-nothing more!

EDWIN ARNOLD.