O, thou white-browed peerless maiden, Holiest star that beams for me! Thou didst little dream how laden Was this heart with love for thee! Once fair garlands thou didst weave me, But to gem EMANUEL’S throne Thou didst soar away and leave me In this weary world alone! But in dreams thou comest often, Hovering saint-like round my bed, Telling me in gentle whispers Of the loved and early dead! Once, methought, thou didst a letter Bring from one remembered well, Who has left this world of sorrow, In the Spirit-Land to dwell! Strange the seal, and when ’twas broken, Strange the characters within, For ’twas penned in language spoken In a world devoid of SIN; Told, no doubt, of joys that wait them Who shall enter spotless there, But before I could translate them I awoke, and found them air! Deem not that the soul reposes In its radiant home for aye, On the fragrant summer roses Sunset beams may sadly play; But they whisper “banish sorrow, And from bitter thoughts refrain, On the bright and glorious morrow We will gild your leaves again!” * * * * * HISTORY OF THE COSTUME OF MEN, DURING THE EIGHTEENTH AND THE BEGINNING OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. BY FAYETTE ROBINSON.