In the early history of our race, when we ourselves were savages, we wore iron and brass collars in token of serfdom. Then, surely, it seems a relic of barbarism to allow a stiff collar and ugly clothes to induce a man to a state of misery for the sake of a custom which would appear to be inexorable as the laws of the Medes and Persians. A bishop does not mind being seen in his distinctive dress and gaiters. Why then should the average man be less brave in the matter of a rational suite? It only needs one or two persons of influence to start the mode and other classes would soon follow suit, to the comfort and pleasure of all concerned. At least visitors to our shores would not then have to discuss the martyrdom of man in the antipodes. SO LONG AGO. [TO C----. THOMSON.] It cometh in my dreams that long ago, When all the world seemed bathed in golden light, And when you told me that you loved me so The hours were burnished suns; there was no night, So long ago. Thy voice alone could calm my latent fears, And thou alone my every thought expressed. Thy presence stayed my unrestrained tears, Thy soft arms held me close against thy breast, So long ago. Thy dear lips spoke the tender words so sweet, It was thy hand which sought to guide the way Along life’s road, and set my faltering feet Upon the narrow path which leads to day, So long ago. So long ago; I see thee, heart of gold. Just as of yore, thou pure, fair spirit--yet, Though o’er thy grave the flowers their buds unfold I mourn thee still with passionate regret, For long ago. It cometh in my dreams, that olden grace, And grave, sweet look, but lo; upon thy brow A soft light shines. And, Oh! thy gentle face Presses my tearful one as closely now As long ago. Dear eyes which shimmered in a silver mist, I see them now as in the dim, sweet past Smiling on me, ere death had softly kissed And sealed them, but to ope in Heaven at last As long ago. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of "Stella Australis", by E. Coungeau