"As to their being Marvell's, it is just as probable that they are Chaucer's. They present neither his language, his versification, nor his cast of thought." While on the subject of Marvell, let me express a hope that we may soon have a new and better edition of his works than the cumbrous but incorrect and incomplete edition published by Thompson. His admirable prose works deserve editing with care, and amongst them should be included the tract omitted in his works, but worthy of him in every respect, _Remarks upon a late Disingenuous Discourse writ by one T. D. under the Pretence De Causa Dei_, 1678, 8vo.; and which has now become exceedingly rare. JAS. CROSSLEY. {549} _Line on Franklin_ (Vol. iv., 443.; Vol. v., p. 17.).--I have read, but do not remember where, that this line was _immediately_ taken from one in the _Anti-Lucretius_ of Cardinal Polignac: "Eripuitque Jovi fulmen, Phoeboque sagittas." But it is obvious that the Cardinal must have, in turn, borrowed from Manilius. J. S. WARDEN. _St. Christopher_ (Vol. v., p. 295.).--E. A. H. L., who asks "if there are any representations of St. Christopher in painted glass; and if so, where?" is informed that there is a picture of the Saint in a green vestment, painted on glass, in the window of the side chapel of King's Chapel, which is used as a vestry by the Conduct. The picture is on the internal, not the external window of the side chapel, in the western corner, upper compartment, about a foot in height. F. H. L. _Lines on Woman_ (Vol. v., p. 490.).--The uxorious lines your correspondent J. T. is in search of, were written by _Bird_. They are copied from his "Poetical Memoirs" in Carey's _Beauties of the Modern Poets_, p. 284., London, 1826. From thence I extract them, and, by so doing, entitle myself to the good graces of the lady readers of "N. & Q." "Oh, woman, woman! thou art formed to bless The heart of restless man; to chase his care, And charm existence by thy loveliness; Bright as the sunbeam, as the morning fair, If but thy foot fall on a wilderness, Flowers spring, and shed their roseate blossoms there, Shrouding the thorns that in thy pathway rise, And scattering o'er it hues of paradise. "Thy voice of love is music to the ear, Soothing, and soft, and gentle as the stream That strays 'mid summer flowers; thy glittering tear Is mutely eloquent; thy smile a beam Of life ineffable, so sweet, so dear, It wakes the heart from sorrow's darkest dream, Shedding a hallowed lustre o'er our fate, And when it beams, we are not desolate. "No, no! when woman smiles, we feel a charm Thrown bright around us, binding us to earth; Her tender accents, breathing forth the balm; Of pure affection, give to transport birth; There life's wide sea is billowless and calm. Oh! lovely woman! thy consummate worth Is far above thy frailty--far above All earthly praise--thou art the light of love!" RT. Warmington.