bundle in my father's house, which is filled with veils and slippers, nightcaps and aprons, and several other things that my poor departed mother had bequeathed to me as my marriage portion. All these things are there ready for my immediate use.”’ “After a few minutes' silence, my friend Heber concluded his story as follows: ‘On hearing the shrill voice of my wife, and the description she gave me of her wedding outfit, I got mad with rage. Like a flash I rushed out of the house, and ran all night on the road until I came to a thick forest, which afforded me shelter till the following morning, when I continued my flight from the unlovely society of my spouse. Since that fearful night I am wandering from place to place, and all that I ask of you, my friend, is, to let me go away in peace.’” Light humour is also frequently met with in certain little Hebrew poems extant, which end in a “point,” especially of the satirical kind. They are somewhat similar in form and construction to the epigrams found in ancient and modern literatures, and are termed in modern Hebrew _Michtamim_. They form, according to Steinschneider^[67-1], an important branch of Neo-Hebrew literature, and rival in excellence and copiousness any other class of epigrams in existence. Hebrew epigrams have both mediaeval and modern Jewish writers for their authors, and the following rendering into English of some of them will give the reader an approximate idea of their contents. I The Grey Hair. By Jehudah Halevi^[67-2]. One day I observed a grey hair in my head; I plucked it right out, when it thus to me said: “Thou mayest smile, if thou wilt, at thy treatment of me, But a score of my friends soon will make mock of thee.” II The Song of the Pen. By Alcharizi^[67-3]. My Muse, though airy, glides softly along, Singing full oft a voiceless song; My pen, though frail and slim of figure, Has a serpent's tooth and a lion's vigour. III The Unhappy Lover. By the same author^[67-4]. O lovely maiden, thou hast drawn my heart To thee, as though by some magician's art, Yet though my love is like a glowing flame, Thy coldness brings me but to scorn and shame. Mind, if I perish through thy chill disdain, The folks will say, “Here's one by woman slain^[67-5].” IV The Gift of the Benevolent. By the same author^[68-1]. The gift a noble soul may bring, Is like the dew that heaven sows; It gently falls on hill and dale, But how it cometh, no man knows. The promise of a wicked heart Is like unto the thunder peal, Lit by the lightning's lurid flash With ne'er a drop of rain to heal. V Happiness amidst Troubles. By Immanuel di Roma^[68-2].