Are nine, though properly only two, in the order of Signs. Castor and Pollux are the twins alluded to. Their berth in the constellations they received from Jupiter, and very naturally too, as he was their father. Their mother was Leda, a regular Spartan, but no relation to the present member for Westminster. The saying of "What a shocking bad hat!" was first applied to Castor. Beggarwomen, who exhibit two children on a door step, very unlike one another, are relieved under the lucky star of the Twins. Castor and Pollux go on very well till the 21st of June, when, as it is longest day in the year, they generally get tired of one another's company, and do not come together again for a twelvemonth. CANCER Is a very bad Sign, indeed. It first attacked Hercules when he was attempting to come Van Amburgh over the Hydra. Hercules did not take the Cancer very much to heart, however; but, with one blow, packed him off to Heaven, where, there being a place vacant at the time in the Zodiac, the Cancer was sworn into it, and has filled it very creditably ever since. Cancer sometimes puts the seasons out of order, by thinking he is a crab, and walking accordingly, which is always the case when the summer is a little _backward_. LEO Is the next that comes upon the _tapis_ of the Zodiac. It is the same Leo whom Hercules got over in the forest of Ardennes, by means of animal magnetism, having thrown him into a state of _coma_, with a few passes of his club. This made the second candidate Hercules returned to the Zodiac Parliament. England (not the Young—but the Old) was born under the protection of the Lion, who, for this reason, is always called by orators the "British Lion," and painted on signboards, giving his paw to the British arms, in friendly confab with the British Unicorn. Mr. Carter, the greatest Lion tamer since Hercules, was born during this month; and young dandies and authors, who patronize tea-parties, are called "Lions." VIRGO Comes last. She rises every year on the 22nd of August, and goes to bed, in her golden palace of the East, on the 21st of September. ODE TO LOVE. WRITTEN ON ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. Oh, Love! how potent is thy sway; Thou'rt terrible indeed to most men! But once a year there comes a day, When thou tormentest chiefly postmen. Oh, hard indeed the lot must be, Of him who wears thy galling fetters! But e'en more miserable he Who must go round with all thy letters! When at the door our vision greets The postman, as he knocking stands; The hearts of half-a-dozen streets, Perchance he carries in his hands.