But lo! with the light he repented his scorning,

For an earthquake had shattered the whole ere the

morning;

Of the pearl-coloured dome there was left but a ruin,— But an arch as a home for the ring-dove to coo in.

Shaft, turret and spire—all were tumbled and crumbled; And the soul of the Caliph within him was humbled; And he bowed in the dust :-"There is none great but Allah!

I will build Him a Mosque"-said the Caliph

Abdallah.

And the Caliph has gone to his fathers for ever,

But the Mosque that he builded shines still by the

river;

And the pilgrims up-stream to this day slacken sail if

They catch the far gleam of the "Mosque of the

Caliph."

WHEN I called at the "Hollies" to-day,
In the room with the cedar-wood presses,

Aunt Deb. was just folding away

What she calls her "memorial dresses."

She'd the frock that she wore at fifteen,Short-waisted, of course-my abhorrence; She'd "the loveliest "-something in "e'en"

That she wears in her portrait by Lawrence;

She'd the "jelick" she used-" as a Greek,” (!)

She'd the habit she got her bad fall in ;

She had e'en the blue moiré antique

That she opened Squire Lavender's ball in :

New and old they were all of them there :

:

Sleek velvet and bombazine stately,

She had hung them each over a chair
To the "paniers" she's taken to lately

(Which she showed me, I think, by mistake).

And I conned o'er the forms and the fashions,

Till the faded old shapes seemed to wake

All the ghosts of my passed away "passions ;"

From the days of love's youthfullest dream,
When the height of my shooting idea
Was to burn, like a young Polypheme,

For a somewhat mature Galatea.

There was Lucy, who "tiffed" with her first,
And who threw me as soon as her third came;
There was Norah, whose cut was the worst,

For she told me to wait till my "berd" came;

Pale Blanche, who subsisted on salts;

Blonde Bertha, who doted on Schiller;

Poor Amy, who taught me to waltz;

Plain Ann, that I wooed for the "siller ;"

All danced round my head in a ring,

Like "The Zephyrs" that somebody painted,

All shapes of the sweet "she-thing"

Shy, scornful, seductive, and sainted,—

To my Wife, in the days she was young.

"How, Sir,” says that lady, disgusted,

66

Do

you

dare to include ME among

Your loves that have faded and rusted?"

"Not at all!"—I benignly retort.

(I was just the least bit in a temper !) "Those, alas! were the fugitive sort,

But you are my-eadem semper!"

Full stop, and a Sermon. Yet think,

There was surely good ground for a quarrel,She had checked me when just on the brink

Of-I feel-a remarkable MORAL.