Rachel we met at the well; we came, we saw, we kissed her; Rachel we serve-for, long years,—that seem as a few days only, E’en for the love we have to her,—and win her at last of Laban. Is it not Rachel we take in our joy from the hand of her father? Is it not Rachel we lead in the mystical veil from the altar? Rachel we dream-of at night: in the morning, behold, it is Leah. ‘Nay, it is custom,’ saith Laban, the Leah indeed is the elder. Happy and wise who consents to redouble his service to Laban, So, fulfilling her week, he may add to the elder the younger, Not repudiates Leah, but wins the Rachel unto her! Neither hate thou thy Leah, my Jacob, she also is worthy; So, many days shall thy Rachel have joy, and survive her sister; Yea, and her children—_Which things are an allegory_, Philip, Aye, and by Origen’s head with a vengeance truly, a long one! This was a note from the Tutor, the grave man, nick-named Adam. I shall see you of course, my Philip, before your departure Joy be with you, my boy, with you and your beautiful Elspie. Happy is he that found, and finding was not heedless; Happy is he that found, and happy the friend that was with him. So won Philip his bride:— They are married and gone to New Zealand. Five hundred pounds in pocket, with books, and two or three pictures, Tool-box, plough, and the rest, they rounded the sphere to New Zealand. There he hewed, and dug; subdued the earth and his spirit; There he built him a home; there Elspie bare him his children, David and Bella; perhaps ere this too an Elspie or Adam; There hath he farmstead and land, and fields of corn and flax fields; And the Antipodes too have a Bothie of Tober-na-vuolich. IDYLLIC SKETCHES. _ITE DOMUM SATURÆ, VENIT HESPERUS._ The skies have sunk, and hid the upper snow (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie), The rainy clouds are filing fast below, And wet will be the path, and wet shall we. Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. Ah dear, and where is he, a year agone, Who stepped beside and cheered us on and on? My sweetheart wanders far away from me, In foreign land or on a foreign sea. Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. The lightning zigzags shoot across the sky (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie), And through the vale the rains go sweeping by; Ah me, and when in shelter shall we be? Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie. Cold, dreary cold, the stormy winds feel they O’er foreign lands and foreign seas that stray (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie). And doth he e’er, I wonder, bring to mind The pleasant huts and herds he left behind? And doth he sometimes in his slumbering see The feeding kine, and doth he think of me, My sweetheart wandering wheresoe’er it be? Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie.