And much of various life; his comment was, ’twas well There was no further incident to tell. He’d been afraid that ere the tale was o’er, ’Twould prove the captain had a wife before. The poor French girl was luckier than she knew; Soldiers and sailors had so often two. And it was something, too, for men who went From port to port to be with two content. In every place the marriage rite supplied A decent spouse to whom you were not tied. Of course the women would at times suspect, But felt their reputations were not wrecked. One after night we took ourselves to task For our neglect who had forborne to ask The clergyman, who told his tale so well, Another tale for our behalf to tell. He to a second had himself confessed. Now, when to hear it eagerly we pressed. He put us off; but, ere the night was done, Told us his second, and his sadder one. _THE CLERGYMAN’S SECOND TALE._ Edward and Jane a married couple were, And fonder she of him or he of her Was hard to say; their wedlock had begun When in one year they both were twenty-one; And friends, who would not sanction, left them free He gentle-born, nor his inferior she, And neither rich; to the newly-wedded boy, A great Insurance Office found employ. Strong in their loves and hopes, with joy they took This narrow lot and the world’s altered look; Beyond their home they nothing sought nor craved, And even from the narrow income saved; Their busy days for no ennui had place, Neither grew weary of the other’s face. Nine happy years had crowned their married state With children, one a little girl of eight; With nine industrious years his income grew, With his employers rose his favour too; Nine years complete had passed when something ailed. Friends and the doctors said his health had failed, He must recruit, or worse would come to pass; And though to rest was hard for him, alas! Three months of leave he found he could obtain, And go, they said, get well and work again. Just at this juncture of their married life, Her mother, sickening, begged to have his wife. Her house among the hills in Surrey stood, And to be there, said Jane, would do the children good They let their house, and with the children she Went to her mother, he beyond the sea; Far to the south his orders were to go. A watering-place, whose name we need not know, For climate and for change of scene was best: There he was bid, laborious task, to rest. A dismal thing in foreign lands to roam To one accustomed to an English home, Dismal yet more, in health if feeble grown, To live a boarder, helpless and alone In foreign town, and worse yet worse is made, If ’tis a town of pleasure and parade. Dispiriting the public walks and seats, The alien faces that an alien meets; Drearily every day this old routine repeats. Yet here this alien prospered, change of air