do not manifest themselves in the first scenes, but in the suc cession of a long society; and it is not chance or weakness when it appears at first, but it is a want of love or prudence, or it will be so expounded; and that which appears ill at first, usually affrights the inexperienced man or woman, who makes unequal conjectures, and fancies mighty sorrows by the proportions of the new and early unkindness. .

Let man and wife be careful to stifle little things, — as fast as they spring, they be cut down and trod upon; for if they be suffered to grow by numbers, they make the spirit peevish, and the society troublesome, and the affections loose and easy by an habitual aversion. Some men are more vexed with a fly than with a wound; and when the gnats disturb our sleep, and the reason is disquieted but not perfectly awakened, it is often seen that he is fuller of trouble than if, in the daylight of his reason, he were to contest with a potent enemy. In the frequent little accidents of a family, a man's reason cannot always be awake; and when his discourses are imperfect, and a trifling trouble makes him yet more restless, he is soon betrayed to the violence of passion. It is certain that the man or woman are in a state of weakness and folly then, when they can be troubled with a trifling accident; and therefore it is not good to tempt their affections, when they are in that state of danger. In this case the caution is to subtract fuel from the sudden flame; for stubble, though it be quickly kindled, yet it is as soon extinguished, if it be not blown by a pertinacious breath or fed with new materials. Add no new provocations to the accident, and do not inflame this, and peace will soon return; and the discontent will pass away soon, as the sparks from the collision of a flint: ever remembering that discontent proceeding from little daily things do breed a secret undiscernible disease, which is more dangerous than a fever proceeding from a discerned notorious surfeit.

Let them be sure to abstain from all those things which by experience and observation they find to be contrary to each other. They that govern elephants never appear before them in white; and the masters of bulls keep from them all garments of blood and scarlet, as knowing that they will be impatient of civil usages and discipline, when their natures are provoked by their proper antipathies. The ancients in their marital hieroglyphics used to depict Mercury standing by Venus, to signify that by fair language and sweet entreaties the minds of each other should be united; and hard by them. . . they would have all deliciousness of manners, compliance, and mutual observance to abide.

TOM TAYLOR.

TAYLOR, TOM, an English dramatist, critic, and editor; born at Bishop-Wearmouth, Sunderland, Durham, October 19, 1817; died at Wandsworth, July 12, 1880. He was educated at Glasgow University and Trinity College, Cambridge, winning honors and a fellowship. For two years he was Professor of English Language and Literature in University College, London. He also held civil offices, such as the secretaryship of the Board of Health. He is chiefly known by his very successful plays, such as "Still Waters Run Deep" (1855); "The Fool's Revenge" (1869); "The Overland Route" (1860); "The Ticket-of-Leave Man" (1863); “”Twixt Axe and Crown (1870); "Anne Boleyn" (1875); and numerous others. A few of these are collected in a volume, "Historical Dramas" (1877). Other volumes are: "Birket Foster's Pictures of English Landscape" (1862); "Ballads and Songs of Brittany " (1865); "Life and Times of Sir Joshua Reynolds," begun by Leslie (1865); "Autobiographical Recollections" (1860); "Leicester Square: Its Associations" (1874). He edited autobiographies of the painters Haydon and Leslie. He contributed much to periodicals, and became editor of "Punch" in 1874.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN,1

You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier,
You, who with mocking pencil wont to trace,
Broad for the self-complacent British sneer,
His length of shambling limb, his furrowed face,

His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, bristling hair,
His garb uncouth, his bearing ill at ease,

His lack of all we prize as debonair,

Of power or will to shine, of art to please;

You, whose smart pen backed up the pencil's laugh,
Judging each step as though the way were plain,

1 Published in London "Punch," which up to the assassination of Lincoln had viciously maligned and ridiculed him.

Reckless, so it could point its paragraph
Of chief's perplexity, or people's pain:

Beside this corpse, that bears for winding-sheet
The Stars and Stripes he lived to rear anew,
Between the mourners at his head and feet,

Say, scurrile jester, is there room for you?

Yes: he had lived to shame me from my sneer,
To lame my pencil, and confute my pen;
To make me own this hind of princes peer,
This rail-splitter a true-born king of men.

My shallow judgment I had learned to rue,
Noting how to occasion's height he rose ;
How his quaint wit made home-truth seem more true;
How, iron-like, his temper grew by blows.

How humble, yet how hopeful, he could be;
How, in good fortune and in ill, the same;
Nor bitter in success, nor boastful he,

Thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame.

He went about his work such work as few
Ever had laid on head and heart and hand-
As one who knows, where there's a task to do,
Man's honest will must Heaven's good grace command,

Who trusts the strength will with the burden grow,

That God makes instruments to work His will,

If but that will we can arrive to know,

Nor tamper with the weights of good and ill.

So he went forth to battle, on the side

That he felt clear was Liberty's and Right's,

As in his peasant boyhood he had plied

His warfare with rude Nature's thwarting mights;

The uncleared forest, the unbroken soil,

The iron-bark, that turns the lumberer's axe, The rapid, that o'erbears the boatman's toil,

The prairie, hiding the 'mazed wanderer's tracks,

The ambushed Indian, and the prowling bear

Such were the deeds which helped his youth to train; Rough culture, but such trees large fruit may bear, If but their stocks be of right girth and grain.

So he grew up, a destined work to do,

And lived to do it: four long-suffering years! Ill-fate, ill-feeling, ill-report, lived through,

And then he heard the hisses change to cheers,

The taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise,

And took both with the same unwavering mood; Till, as he came on light, from darkling days,

And seemed to touch the goal from where he stood,

A felon hand, between the goal and him,

Reached from behind his back, a trigger prest, And those perplexed and patient eyes were dim, Those gaunt, long-laboring limbs were laid to rest.

The words of mercy were upon his lips,

Forgiveness in his heart and on his pen,
When this vile murderer brought swift eclipse
To thoughts of peace on earth, good-will to men.

The Old World and the New, from sea to sea,
Utter one voice of sympathy and shame :
Sore heart, so stopped when it at last beat high;
Sad life, cut short just as its triumph came.

A deed accurst. Strokes have been struck before
By the assassin's hand, whereof men doubt
If more of horror or disgrace they bore;

But thy foul crime, like Cain's stands darkly out.

Vile hand, that brandest murder on a strife,
Whate'er its grounds, stoutly and nobly striven;
And with the martyr's crown, crownest a life
With much to praise, little to be forgiven.

ESAIAS TEGNÉR.

TEGNÉR, ESAIAS, a Swedish poet; born at Kyrkerud, Wermland, Sweden, November 13, 1782; died at Wexiö, November 2, 1846. His most celebrated work is the epic "Frithiof's Saga," (1825), a collection of ballads which has been translated into every European language. He also wrote a poem, "Svea," (1811), which was crowned by the Swedish Academy; "Nattvärdsbarned" (translated by Longfellow, under the title "The Children of the Lord's Supper"); "Axel," a poem of the time of Charles XII. (1821). ("Collected Works," Stockholm, 7 vols., 1847-51; additional 3 vols., 1873-74.)

FRITHIOF AND INGEBORG.

(From "Frithiof's Saga.")

[Ingeborg, daughter of Bele, King of Sygua-fylke in Norway, having lost her mother, is brought up by her foster-father Hilding, who also rears Frithiof. Frithiof and Ingeborg become lovers; but her brothers refuse her to Frithiof, because they are jealous of his superior valor and fame.]

Two plants, in Hilding's garden fair,
Grew up beneath his fostering care;
Their match the North had never seen,
So nobly towered they in the green!

The one shot forth like some broad oak,
Its trunk a battle lance unbroke;

But helmet-like the top ascends,

As heaven's soft breeze its arched round bends.

Like some sweet rose, bleak winter flown,

That other fresh young plant y-shone;

From out this rose spring yet scarce gleameth,

Within the bud it lies and dreameth.

But cloud-sprung storm round th' earth shall go,-
That oak then wrestles with his foe;

Her heavenly path spring's sun shall tread,