"But if I _have a penchant_, Monsieur Bon-Bon,--if I _have a

penchant_, it is for a philosopher. Yet let me tell you, sir, it is

not every dev-- I mean it is not every gentleman who knows how to

_choose_ a philosopher. Long ones are _not_ good, and the best, if not

carefully shelled, are apt to be a little rancid on account of the

gall."

"Shelled!!"

"I mean taken out of the carcass."

"What do you think of a--hiccup!--physician?"

"_Don't_ mention them!--ugh! ugh!" (Here his majesty retched

violently.) "I never tasted but one--that rascal Hippocrates!--smelt

of asafoetida--ugh! ugh! ugh!--caught a wretched cold washing him in

the Styx--and after all he gave me the cholera morbus."

"The--hiccup!--wretch!"--ejaculated Bon-Bon--"the--hic-cup!--abortion

of a pill-box!"--and the philosopher dropped a tear.

"After all"--continued the visiter--"after all, if a dev-- if a

gentleman wishes to _live_ he must have more talents than one or two,

and with us a fat face is an evidence of diplomacy."

"How so?"

"Why we are sometimes exceedingly pushed for provisions. You must know

that in a climate so sultry as mine, it is frequently impossible to

keep a spirit alive for more than two or three hours; and after death,

unless pickled immediately, (and a pickled spirit is _not_ good,) they

will--smell--you understand, eh? Putrefaction is always to be

apprehended when the spirits are consigned to us in the usual way."

"Hiccup!--hiccup!--good God! how _do_ you manage?"

Here the iron lamp commenced swinging with redoubled violence, and the

devil half started from his seat--however with a slight sigh he

recovered his composure, merely saying to our hero in a low tone, "I

tell you what, Pierre Bon-Bon, we _must_ have no more swearing."

Bon-Bon swallowed another bumper, and his visiter continued.

"Why there are _several_ ways of managing. The most of us starve: some

put up with the pickle. For my part I purchase my spirits _vivente

corpore_, in which case I find they keep very well."

"But the body!--hiccup!--the body!!!"--vociferated the philosopher, as

he finished a bottle of Sauterne.

"The body, the body--well what of the body?--oh! ah! I perceive. Why,

sir, the body is not _at all_ affected by the transaction. I have made

innumerable purchases of the kind in my day, and the parties never

experienced any inconvenience. There were Cain, and Nimrod, and Nero,

and Caligula, and Dionysius, and Pisistratus, and--and a thousand

others, who never knew what it was to have a soul during the latter

part of their lives; yet, sir, these men adorned society. Why is'nt

there A----, now, whom you know as well as I? Is _he_ not in

possession of all his faculties, mental and corporeal? Who writes a

keener epigram? Who reasons more wittily? Who----but, stay! I have his

agreement in my pocket-book."

Thus saying he produced a red leather wallet, and took from it a

number of papers. Upon some of these Bon-Bon caught a glimpse of the

letters MACHI----, MAZA----, RICH----, and the words CALIGULA and

ELIZABETH. His majesty selected a narrow slip of parchment, and from

it read aloud the following words:

"In consideration of certain mental endowments which it is unnecessary

to specify; and in farther {698} consideration of one thousand _louis

d'or_, I, being aged one year and one month, do hereby make over to

the bearer of this agreement all my right, title, and appurtenance in

the shadow called my soul." (Signed) A----[2] (Here his majesty

repeated a name which I do not feel myself justifiable in indicating

more unequivocally.)

[Footnote 2: Quære--Arouet?--_Editor_.]

"A clever fellow that A----"--resumed he; "but like you, Monsieur

Bon-Bon, he was mistaken about the soul. The soul a shadow truly!--no

such nonsense, Monsieur Bon-Bon. The soul a shadow!! ha! ha! ha!--he!

he! he!--hu! hu! hu! Only think of a fricasséed shadow!"

"_Only_ think--hiccup!--of a f-r-i-c-a-s-s-e-e-d s-h-a-d-ow!!" echoed

our hero, whose faculties were becoming gloriously illuminated by the

profundity of his majesty's discourse.

"Only think of a--hiccup!--fricasseed shadow!!! Now

damme!--hiccup!--humph!--if _I_ would have been such

a--hiccup!--nincompoop! _My_ soul, Mr.--humph!"

"_Your_ soul, Monsieur Bon-Bon?"

"Yes, sir--hiccup!--_my_ soul is"--

"What, sir!"

"_No_ shadow, damme!"

"Did not mean to say"--

"Yes, sir, _my_ soul is--hiccup!--humph!--yes, sir."

"Did not intend to assert"--

"_My_ soul is--hiccup!--peculiarly qualified for--hiccup!--a"--

"What, sir?"

"Stew."

"Ha!"

"Souflée."

"Eh?"

"Fricassée."

"Indeed!"

"Ragout or Fricandeau--and I'll let you have it--hiccup!--a bargain."

"Could'nt think of such a thing," said his majesty calmly, at the same

time arising from his seat. The metaphysician stared.

"Am supplied at present," said his majesty.

"Hiccup!--e-h?"--said the philosopher.

"Have no funds on hand."

"What!"

"Besides, very ungentlemanly in me"--

"Sir!"

"To take advantage of"--

"Hiccup!"

"Your present situation."

Here his majesty bowed and withdrew--in what manner the philosopher

could not precisely ascertain--but in a well-concerted effort to

discharge a bottle at "the villain," the slender chain was severed

that depended from the ceiling, and the metaphysician prostrated by

the downfall of the lamp.

THE UNITIES.

Aristotle's name is supposed to be authority for the three unities.

The only one of which he speaks decisively is the unity of action.

With regard to the unity of time he merely throws out an indefinite

hint. Of the unity of place not one word does he say.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES IN REMEMBRANCE OF THOS. H. WHITE,

Who died in Richmond, Va. October 7, 1832, aged 19 years.

When nations prosper, they grow proud and vain,

And give the reins to luxury and pleasure,

Spurn their Creator and defy his power:

To check their pride, Jehovah from his throne,

Scatters his judgments o'er a guilty world.

Forth from that idol land, where on the Ganges,

The Mother to false Gods devotes her offspring,

Or mounts the funeral pile--o'er half the earth

Speedeth the Pestilence. Nor cold, nor heat,

Mountains nor seasons can its course arrest.

Realm after realm hath bowed beneath its power,

Till o'er the vast Atlantic to our shores

It brings the work of death. In early life

I fell a victim to this deadly foe.

Thanks to that blessed volume, which hath brought

Light, Life and Immortality to Man,

Death has no terror to the heir of heaven--

It is the portal to his Father's throne.

This world is full of care, and toil, and suff'ring;

Its joys are transient, vain and fleeting all,

Illusive as a shadow. Happy he

At peace with God, who quits it earliest

For purer bliss. Rather rejoice than mourn

That I so soon have earth exchanged for heaven.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

A MANIAC'S ADDRESS TO THE MOON.

Thou pale!--thou beautiful!--to thee I kneel,

Watching thy wandering thro' yon dark blue sky

In silent gaze--as if my heart could feel

Deep adoration for thee, and was nigh

To a bright being that had look'd on me

Ev'n from the first days of my infancy.

Is it not so? Near to those yellow shores

Where roll my native streams, oh! hast thou not

Seen my young pleasures, when our busy oars

O'er the cool wave at dusky night would sport

On that bright pathway where thy silvery beam

Fell beautiful upon the glossy stream.

When thou didst rise at evening's twilight hour,

A mighty crescent o'er the broken tower,

Then would I wander 'neath the crumbling wall,

Or chase my playmates thro' the ruined hall,

Nor fearing any Spectre-Knight would play

His frightful gambols in thy harmless ray.

Away--away!--and when we there did sweep

The deep black billows of the roaring ocean,

Still high amid the heavens thou didst keep

Steady and bright; and with a wild emotion

Guiarra trembling did look up to thee

To guide him safely o'er that dismal sea,

And kindly light his weary hands to spread

The rattling canvass o'er his giddy head.

These skies are foreign, and I tread the ground

My fathers saw not: yet while thou art flinging

Upon the hills, the woods, the vales around

Thy gentle beam, ev'n though my heart be clinging {699}

To other lands, still it can hold most dear

This stranger home since it can meet thee here.

We'll climb yon hill--we'll wander o'er yon plain--

We'll skim yon lake: Moon! we will roam together

Till mother earth call home her child again:

Then part we!--part we! fair Moon!--aye, for ever!

'Tis not for a bright thing like thee to glow

In the deep shades where the departed go.

Yet thou canst look upon the road that leads

To my far dwelling place: there will be flowers

And fresh green blades, and moss, and harmless weeds

To point the passage. Oh! at midnight hours

Wilt thou not smile upon those things that bloom

All wild, all heedlessly above my tomb?

I sit, and weave beneath thy gentle light

A wreath of cypress and of roses bright,

And ere it wither, or its glow be fled,

I'll gaily bind it round my dying head.

'Twill still the throbbing of my fever'd brow

To wear those flowers pluck'd from the tender stem

Where they were springing beautiful--and thou

As beautiful wast shining above _them_.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO AN INFANT NEPHEW IN ENGLAND.

By the late Mrs. ANN ROY, of Mathews county, Virginia.

Tho' Ocean's _pride_ be thy home, my boy,

I have heard thy laugh of infant joy;

Tho' Albion's breezes fan thy rest,

I have seen thee smile on thy mother's breast.

Like the forms that float in the summer heaven,

Fair Fancy's dreams have often given

Thy cherub beauty to my sight

Than those fairy tints more soft, more bright.

Yes, I have watched in sleep thine eye,

More darkly blue than the starlit sky,

By thy fringed lids now hid--now beaming

Like harebells mid a snow-wreath gleaming.

And I've longed thy ruby lip to press,

And I've sighed thy sunny brow to bless,

And to teach thee thy father's land to love,

So come o'er the wave, my island dove!

For here the sun doth brightly beam

Mid the feathery foam of the mountain stream,

And o'er the lake's clear beautiful face,

The dark trees bend with a shadowy grace.

And in rosy bowers the Eglantine

With the golden blossoms of Jasmine twine,

And the fruits and flowers wear a brighter hue,

And the heavens look on us more cloudlessly blue;

And from each hearth at the quiet even,

The voice of prayer ascends to heaven;

And the wild birds carol with joyous glee,

In our own fair land of the happy and free.

Come list to the music of every rill,

Which sends through our bosoms a magical thrill;

Dream not of the depths of the dark blue sea,

For the heavens will surely smile on thee.

Sweet scion of Columbia's race,

Come to thy kindred's fond embrace!

Come to the land once thy parents home,

Never again from her shores to roam!

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES.

BY ALEX. LACEY BEARD.

O! there are many brilliant things

To light this darksome life,

And many bright imaginings

With wild enjoyment rife.

The flashing of the sparkling stream--

The billows bounding free--

The glittering of the sunny beam

Upon the dark green sea.

The lightning flash that rends the air--

The meteor's dazzling light

That fiercely gleams with fitful glare

Amid the starless night.

And there are many lovely things

That grace the smiling earth--

The gushing of a thousand springs--

The laughing streamlet's mirth--

The swift deer bounding through the wood--

The merry singing bird;--

Its sweet tones in the solitude

Of lonely forests heard.

The greenwood and the grassy plain--

The silent mountain glen

Where nature sways her wild domain,

Far from the haunts of men.

The mountain where the cedars high

Bend to the passing breeze--

The murm'ring pines that softly sigh--

The music of the trees--

The sparkling dew-drop on the grass--

The river's golden sand--

The flitting of the shades which pass

In grandeur o'er the land.

The whippoorwill's sad cry at night,

Heard from some lonely dell--

The streaming of the pale moonlight,

Old nature's magic spell.

The rainbow's arch that spans the sky--

The shining stars above--

The glancing of a kindling eye--

The tones of one we love.

The glowing kiss all fondly pressed

On lips both warm and true--

The beating of a tender breast,

Which only throbs for you.

These gild with sunshine and delight

The paths of life, and throw

Upon its darkling streams a bright,

And never fading glow.

By what _bizzarrerie_ does it happen that Sardanapalus is discovered

in Greek literature under the name of Tenos Concoleros?

{700}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

EXTRACTS FROM MY MEXICAN JOURNAL.

Visit to Tescuco--Bath of Tescusingo--Otumba--Aqueduct of

Zempoala--Agave Americana--Pyramids of Teotihuacán.

DECEMBER 25, 1825. Mr. P. and myself left Mexico at half past nine

this morning for _Tescuco_. We travelled in a Mexican coach, equipped

in the usual style, and loaded with the usual encumbrances of beds,

&c. Following the road which leads towards _Vera Cruz_ as far as the

little Indian town of _Los Reyes_, we there left it to cross the dry

bed of the lake of _Tescuco_, upon the border of which we had been

riding, to the small village of _La Magdalena_; and soon reached a

pretty and well cultivated country, strewed thickly with villages and

farmhouses (_haciendas_). After passing Chiquluapa and Quautlalpa, we

again were in view of the lake, which an intervening ridge had

intercepted. On the left, less than a league from Tescuco, is the fine

_hacienda_ of Chapingo, owned by the Marquis of Vivanco. Between this

and the town, we passed what is called "El puente de los

Bergantines"--a pile of strongly cemented stone, through which the

road is cut, presenting not the slightest resemblance to a bridge. But

this is classic ground, for here Cortes is said to have launched his

vessels into the lake upon that memorable occasion which preceded the

destruction and capture of the seat of the Mexican Empire. On entering

a place so celebrated in the histories of the Conquest, the wretched

adobe-built houses near the gate of the town, might well diminish the

enthusiasm of the traveller and the antiquarian, were not his

attention caught by a large artificial pile, now in ruins, without the

gate to the right. Every thing connected with this remarkable people

is interesting, even although the remaining vestiges are too slight to

enable one to trace them distinctly and satisfactorily. Such is the

nature of this ruin; but the presumption may not be altogether

unfounded, that this was the site of an ancient temple, and perhaps

the centre of this once great city.

We arrived at two o'clock, the distance from Mexico being seven

leagues by the route we were obliged to travel, but only five across

the lake. After an introduction to the ladies of the house, to which

we had been kindly invited, we were conducted to the cock-pit, where

we were presented to our host. We found it filled with men, women, and

children, all taking a lively interest in the scene; but as we were

less ardent sportsmen, we soon left the place, eager to commence our

rambles in search of antiquities.

We were directed first to the Aduana--custom house--in the _patio_ or

court of which lay a coiled rattlesnake, tolerably well sculptured out

of a block of gray porphyry--its head, however, appeared

disproportionally large. It still wears the mark of paint, although it

has been exposed many years to the weather. Several other figures were

shown to us--one a female with a finely turned shoulder--another was

the arms of Spain, made probably shortly after the conquest--the rest

were imperfect. Thence we were conducted to a house, outside the door

of which was planted for a seat, a part of a human figure, of large

size. In the degraded position it occupied, we could form no opinion

of its excellence.

Thence we strolled to what is called the palace of the Tescucan kings.

Its site fills the western side of the _Plaza_. Traces of its great

extent are every where visible, but not clearly defined, for the

ground it covered has been long cultivated, and a part of it is

planted in _magueyes_. Several large stones still retain the position

they must have occupied in the edifice--those which no doubt formed a

corner, being squared and cut nicely, in a manner which would not be

discreditable to the workmen of the present day in Mexico. At regular

distances of about fifteen feet were placed others, the upper surfaces

of which are rounded irregularly. In an excavation distant a few paces

is a portion of a column, so covered that we could not discover its

dimensions. If a conjecture can be hazarded, these stones were parts

of corridors, supported by stone columns--possibly an excavation may

disclose apartments below. It is, however, futile to form plans upon

such insufficient data. The cutting of a ditch through the western

section of the ruins, has exposed to view stones curiously scooped

out, as if for the use of the founder; and near the centre of the

square is another of a different figure, cut apparently for the same

purpose--perhaps to mould a kettle which should rest on three corners

or feet--the bottom hollowed. We continued our investigations until

nearly dark, when we walked to the church of _San Francisco_, near by,

in the pavement before the door of which, are several of these

anciently wrought stones--some of very large dimensions--one is

circular with a carved surface, but so much worn that we could not

trace its figures.

The walls of the fortress which Cortes is represented to have

constructed for his quarters, were next shown to us. Their height is

about twenty feet--their width at the base about six or seven,

decreasing towards the top. Some pronounce this the work of a more

remote age, but the manner of its construction is sufficient evidence

to the contrary. That it is a work of the Conqueror is a more

reasonable conjecture, though even this is beset with difficulties.

The time Cortes is said to have occupied the city of _Tescuco_,

appears too short to have completed so huge a building: to this,

however, it may be said, that he possessed ample means, with so many

thousand Indians under his orders. But where was the necessity of

raising such strong walls against adversaries so feeble, when, without

so much severe labor, he {701} might have defended himself equally

well, and in the event of his being compelled to abandon it, he would

have encountered less difficulty in recovering possession of it?

Thence we proceeded some distance--the moon shone brightly--to see

other remains of an ancient structure, but being unsuccessful in our

search, we returned to the house of our kind friends, the Camperos.

The town of _Tescuco_ now contains about 5,000 inhabitants--the houses

are of one story only--with regular but unpaved streets, not very

neat. Its modern mediocrity must contrast strongly with its ancient

magnificence, if the early historians of Mexico are to be credited.

During the revolution a ditch was dug around it, in order to repel the

attacks of cavalry. It was assailed several times, and suffered some

injury. It is by no means a pretty town, but is situated amid a pretty

country, and supplied with good water.

DEC. 26. We appointed to-day to visit the mountain of _Tescusingo_.

Before setting out, we made another circuit about the town, and found

on a wall in front of one of the churches, a circular stone, the

circumference of which was curiously carved. Near the northwestern

corner of the _Plaza_ is a well constructed arch of _tetzontli_,

cemented with lime, which had been discovered in opening a ditch--the

extent and purpose of it are alike unknown. We next visited the house

of the Most Holy Trinity, La Casa de la Santissima Trinidad, to

examine an arch of stone, said to have been taken from the ruins of

the palace. Its figure is beautiful--the whole is well wrought--and

would do credit to any edifice. If an antique, of which there seems

very little doubt, it proves beyond any thing I have yet seen, the

civilized state which the Indians of Mexico had attained prior to the

conquest. The arch of three pieces, and four stones which support it,

believed to have once formed a portal in the palace, are perfect. The

latter now are the sides of an entrance to a stable, the arch lies

neglected in the yard--two stones are wanting to complete the supports

to the arch.

We continued our walk to the ruins of an extensive building, upon

which are growing numerous plants of the _maguey_. The layers of

cement are seen distinctly--very smooth and hard. An old woman who

lives near, has collected large pieces of this cement with which she

has paved the _patio_ of her house; so solid is it, that one of our

companions believed it to be stone, until he had tested it with the

hammer.

At eleven o'clock we set out in our coach for the mountain distant

near two leagues to the eastward of _Tescuco_. About a quarter of a

mile from the town, we observed two circular carved stones which we

had not time to examine. After riding a league over the plain, we

stopped at the Molino de las Flores--mill of flowers--a most romantic

spot. Great labor has been expended upon the race for conducting the

water to the mill from the natural dam of rocks, over which the stream

during the rainy season, dashes in torrents into a rugged bed. The

plain from thence to the foot of the mountain being broken by deep

_barrancas_--gullies--our carriage was unable to proceed farther. We

were, therefore, compelled to walk, against our inclinations, for the

sun was scorching, and we were aware of the labor we must encounter in

the ascent of the mountain.

A walk of two miles brought us to the foot of the mountain of

Tescusingo, the steep sides of which covered with _nopal_,[1] we began

to climb slowly. After winding about midway up on the western side,

our guide conducted us to the mouth of an apparently artificial

cavern, with an entrance about six feet high--descending a dozen steps

it takes a new direction. Having no lights we were obliged to leave it

unexplored. Continuing to ascend, we passed towards the southern

declivity, and soon met with cement, which in various parts of the

mountain denotes extensive remains of ancient edifices--with walls

constructed of _tetzontli_--and particularly with a large square stone

hollowed neatly like a drain; and a reservoir for water appeared to

have existed below it. We were now about three-fourths of the distance

up the mountain, and had attained a terrace, along which we walked to

the _Bath of Tescusingo_--the chief object of our visit. This

remarkable work is cut out of a solid rock--hard feldspar

porphyry--which hangs like a bird's nest upon the steep side, which

faces to the south. An irregular platform of seven feet and a half

diameter appears to have been first cut into the rock--the sides of

the rock forming a wall smooth on the inside, nearly two feet and a

half high, the outside left as nature made it--in the centre of this

platform a circular bath is cut out, with a diameter of four feet

seven inches, two feet deep, with two steps to descend into it. A

perforation in one part of the platform shows where the water was

admitted, and it escaped from the bath by a cleft which extends from

top to bottom. The bath was probably covered with a roof--cavities in

the rock seeming to indicate where posts once stood.

[Footnote 1: _Nopal_, a species of cactus.]

The view from this spot is the most beautiful that could have been

selected on the mountain; and warmed by the sun, and sheltered from

the winds of the north, it was, also, the most delightful. The city of

Mexico is seen distinctly, the lake of _Tescuco_ and populous plains

intervening, in the southwest; and to the south rise the snowy

mountains of _Puebla_.

From the bath, we continued our walk along the terrace, upon which

still exist traces of an aqueduct, which, at the eastern extremity of

{702} _Tescusingo_, crossed from the contiguous mountain upon an

artificial pile of stone, conveying water, we were informed, a

distance of seven or eight leagues. We were yet several hundred feet

from the top. Ascending farther, we encountered other remains of

structures, and came to a levelled surface about fifty feet square.

All these are convincing proofs of the numerous edifices which once

existed upon this mountain, but we must ever remain ignorant of their

nature and purpose. Upon the summit, which commands a fine view of the

surrounding country, is a rock of huge size, in which seats have been

cut.

In our descent on the northern side, which is very rough and steep, we

discovered accidentally a flight of seven steps cut out of a single

rock--of these, our guide, an Indian antiquarian of _Tescuco_, had

heretofore been ignorant. Many objects worthy of investigation will no

doubt reward those who should diligently extend their researches upon

the mountain of _Tescusingo_. We reached the foot without further

incident, and rejoined our carriage at the mill, much fatigued with

our ramble under a burning sun. Soon after four we were again under

the roof of our kind host.

After dinner, our friend, Don Nicolas Campero, conducted us to the

ruins which I have already mentioned to be just without the gate of

the town. Their structure and extent are marked by the revolutionary

trenches which surround them. The occasional layers of cement are

perpendicular as well as horizontal, and between them are laid

_adobes_--unburnt bricks--which compose the work. Judging from

appearances, it would not be rash, perhaps, to conjecture that this

was the site of the Great Temple, which, we are assured, was always

constructed upon eminences like this. Its distance from the palace

amply proves the extent of the ancient city of _Tescuco_ to have been

very great.

DEC. 27. After breakfast, we rode a league to see the

_ahuahuetes_[2]--cypress trees--of large dimensions, some of them are

not less than fifty feet in circumference. A large edifice, it is

believed, stood once in the midst of them. There are traces of

buildings. The regularity with which these trees are disposed, proves,

beyond a doubt, that they were planted. They are so regular, that in

order to enclose three sides of a square it was necessary to lay a few

_adobes_ only between them. Two rows of these trees form a long

street. This grove of _ahuahuetes_ is seen distinctly from the city of

Mexico, their deep green contrasting strongly with the dry and open

plain which surrounds them.

[Footnote 2: _Cupressus disticha_. The largest tree known of this

description is at the village of Atlixco, in the state of Puebla. It

is in circumference 23.3 metres, or 76½ English feet.--_Humb. New

Spain_, _l. 3. c. 8, p. 154. Ed. of 1827_.]

We employed the afternoon in revisiting the antiquities of _Tescuco_.

We were also conducted to the garden belonging to the convent of San

Francisco, where a remarkable carved stone lies neglected under a

tree. It is round and represents a man, whose nose is prodigious, in a

kneeling attitude, holding something--what it is we could not

discover--in his hands; behind him is another figure, which defied all

our efforts to decipher it.

At night, we accompanied the young ladies of the house to a ball given

by the principal merchant of the town. The room was filled with men,

women, and cigar smoke. This compelled us to make an early retreat,

for our eyes were not yet insensible to its effect.

DEC. 28. After an early breakfast, and the completion of some repairs

to our coach, we took leave of the excellent family who had

entertained us most hospitably. We now directed our steps towards

_Otumba_. Passing several small villages--some of them are very

picturesque, with their enclosures of the _cactus cylindricus_, which

grows to the height of fifteen or eighteen feet--the country became

barren and uninteresting, until we reached the fine hacienda of _San

Antonio_. Here we deviated from the direct route, but were compensated

for the loss of time by the sight of an extensive stone wall, built to

contain water for the purpose of irrigating the estate, and for the

use of the cattle. This large _presa_--or pond--was the work of the

Jesuits, who formerly owned the finest property in New Spain, and who

were sagacious and industrious in improving their possessions.

Retracing our steps, we passed the extensive buildings of _San

Antonio_, leaving immediately upon our left its beautiful wheat

fields, which the laborers were then engaged in watering. This is the

dry season, and wheat will grow only where it can be irrigated

frequently.

Beyond the village of _San Pedro_, we ascended the _tepetate_[3]

lomes--_lomas_--of the eastern side of the plain of Mexico, upon which

soil the roads are always worn deep and rough. On arriving at the

summit of a low ridge which we were crossing, the Pyramids of

Teotihuacán unexpectedly presented themselves to our view. Though

ignorant that we were so near to them, yet we could not mistake them,

their figure is still so well preserved, whilst centuries have rolled

away since their construction.

[Footnote 3: A hard white clay peculiar to the plains of Mexico,

devoid of vegetation, and very painful to the eyes under a burning

sun. The _lomas_ are the rising ground between the plains and the

mountains.]

Leaving the pyramids and village of San Juan de Teotihuacán to our

left, we travelled on two leagues farther to _Otumba_, where we

arrived at three o'clock, having been six hours on the road from

_Tescuco_. We were told the distance was only seven leagues. It is

true we once lost our way, and our kicking mules occasioned some {703}

detention, but I think another league may be safely added.

A gentleman of _Otumba_, to whom we had brought a letter of

introduction, being unfortunately absent, we were directed to the only

_meson_--public house--in the place, where we took a hasty meal in the

kitchen, having, in the mean time, sent our letter to the gentleman's

brother, who might, we thought, aid us in our research for

antiquities. But this man sent us an uncourteous answer, and we

sallied out in quest of the curate, who was absent also; but we found

what perhaps was better--a remnant of an ancient column in the

churchyard. We met a well dressed man, from whom we expected to glean

some information. He proved to be a stupid lay-priest, who knew

nothing of the existence of any antique in _Otumba_, but he undertook

to inquire at a store near the _plaza_. Those he asked were as

ignorant as himself; but our foreign appearance having by this time

excited some curiosity, several of the inhabitants collected around

us, and learning our wish to find an ancient column which we

understood to exist there, conducted us to the centre of the _plaza_,

where the object of our search was lying prostrate. It is a column of

reddish sand stone, the base, and a portion of the shaft only

remaining, the entire length of which is eight feet two inches. The

shaft is an octagon of unequal sides, and carved with diamond figures

interchained with each other. The lower part of the shaft, one foot

and a half next the base, is of a bulbous figure, also carved. The

diameter of the column is one foot and three quarters. In another

spot, a cleft fragment was shown, seven feet two inches long, said to

have formed a part of the column above described--if so, augmenting

its entire length to fifteen and a half feet, without the capital, of

which we could discover no traces. We were told that this column,

previously to the revolution, was standing in the _plaza_, supporting

the arms of Spain. During the war it was thrown down--has been broken

for various purposes, and its remains now lie neglected, an object of

interest to the curious traveller only.

All our new friends now volunteered to show us something, and we had

nearly seen nothing in the contest of each to carry us to different

places. At length, we effected a compromise, and were carried to

search a _corral_ or cattle yard for the capital of the column. We

looked in vain in yard and stable, notwithstanding one present assured

us he had seen it. We abandoned the pursuit of the evanescent block,

and were conducted by an old man (who was called Cortés, and who

affected to be of pure Indian blood, and to despise all others who

were not,) to his house, in a corner of which was worked a carved

stone--evidently an antique, but it was a work posterior to the

conquest, for it represented an armed man on horseback. Cortés then

carried us to the rear of the church, to see another carved stone, but

it was placed so high in the wall that we could scarcely distinguish

it, but enough appeared to convince us that it bore the arms of Spain.

These instances prove how cautious we must be in adopting the opinions

of the natives on antiquarian matters.

It was now dark, and we returned to our _meson_, as miserable and

cheerless a house of entertainment as traveller ever entered. We made,

nevertheless, a good supper of eggs, _frijoles_ (beans), and wine, of

which we partook in the kitchen.

On making inquiries respecting a celebrated aqueduct which we

understood to exist in the vicinity of _Otumba_, we learned that it

was distant nearly five leagues. We had intended to return to Mexico

on the morrow, but we now determined to visit this work. During the

evening, one of our lately formed acquaintances called to introduce

one of his friends, who politely offered us horses, a favor which we

gladly accepted.

DEC. 29. We rose early, and joined by three of our new acquaintances,

were soon on horseback. One of those who attended us, was manager of

two fine _haciendas_, which we visited on our way to the arches of

Zempoala. The first, Soapayuca, owned by the _Conde de Tepa_, a

Spanish nobleman, is about a league from _Otumba_. Having been burnt

during the revolution it has been rebuilt on an extensive scale. Our

road ran along the _lomes_ of the mountains, through fields of the

_maguey_. About two leagues and a half from _Otumba_, we were shown,

on our left, the plain of _San Miguel_, where Cortes is represented to

have gained his celebrated victory, in the retreat from Mexico to

_Tlascala_. A ride of three leagues brought us to the _hacienda_ of

_Ometusco_--an estate from which _pulque_ only is made, which gives to

its owner, Don Ignacio Adalid, of Mexico, a nett profit, as we were

informed, of $15,000 a year. Here we took breakfast, and after viewing

the buildings, pursued a narrow path through the _magueyes_ to the

_Arcos de Zempoala_.

These arches are sixty-eight in number, crossing a deep valley from

north to south, and are eleven hundred paces in length. The greatest

height is one hundred twenty-two and a half feet, where two arches,

one supported above the other, are thrown across the deep _barranca_.

The width above is four feet and a half, with a narrow, and shallow

channel in the centre for the conveyance of the water. This is a work

of great antiquity, constructed about the year 1540, under the

direction of a Franciscan Monk, to supply Otumba with good water, of

which it is sadly in want. Though made at an immense expense, the

aqueduct is now wholly useless, but the arches are in an excellent

state of preservation.[4]

[Footnote 4: Torquemada relates--Monarquia Indiana, l. 20, c. 63--that

a Franciscan Friar, Francisco de Tembleque, undertook and accomplished

this work, achieving an exploit "which great and powerful kings would

scarcely have undertaken to accomplish, nor would he have engaged in

such a work (although the poet says, fortune favors the bold) if he

had not been inspired by heaven, and aided especially by divine grace,

which overcomes all obstacles and provides the means of easily

surmounting the greatest difficulties." The time taken to execute this

work was 16 or 17 years, five of which were consumed on the principal

arches; "which," our author says, "may be regarded as one of the

wonders of the world." According to his statement, there are

sixty-seven arches (we counted sixty-eight) extending 1059½

_varas_--about 975 yards. The middle arch is 42½ _varas_, about 118

feet high--and 23½ _varas_, about 21½ yards wide, "which fills with

astonishment and wonder those who see so marvellous a work." There are

two other ravines, one crossed by thirteen the other by forty-six

arches. The entire length of the aqueduct was 160,496 Spanish

feet--more than fifteen leagues. Torquemada gives no dates, but this

work appears to have been constructed soon after Tembleque arrived

from Spain, which was in 1538; and our author mentions, that though

built seventy years (he wrote about 1610 or 12) it had not sustained

the smallest injury.

As a specimen of Torquemada's credulity, I extract the following "most

pure truth"--_purisma verdad_. He says that "the good Father Francisco

de Tembleque, had no other companion during this long and painful work

than a large yellow cat, which hunted in the fields by night, and at

daybreak brought to his master the fruits of his hunt, hares or

partridges, for the day's subsistence, which may seem incredible, but

it is a most pure truth: many clergy witnessed this wonderful thing,

who, passing by, stopped at the hermitage at night for the sole

purpose of seeing the fact, and of convincing themselves of the care

of the cat, for it was commonly reported through the land, how he

sustained himself and his master."]

{704} After taking a rough measurement of this magnificent work, we

retraced our steps to the _hacienda_ of Ometusco, where our kind host

showed us the entire process of making _pulque_. A good plant of the

_Agave_,[5] under the most favorable circumstances, reaches maturity

in eight years. This state is indicated by a disposition in the

central leaves to throw up a stalk, which, when permitted to grow,

rises to the height of twelve or fourteen feet, branching at the top

not unlike a chandelier. In this critical state a large incision is

made with a sharp iron bar in the heart; a large basin, as it were, is

scooped out with much care, and being then filled with dry leaves or

rubbish, is permitted to rest unmolested for about six months, when it

begins to yield juice in abundance and of good quality. On being taken

from the plant, which operation an Indian performs morning and evening

with a long gourd acting as a syphon, the _agua miel_, or honey water,

as it is then called, is of a sickening sweetness; but after being

poured into large vats--made of untanned hides, with the hair

inside--in one week it effervesces; but when poured, as in common,

upon the lees of old _pulque_, it is prepared in one or two days, and

is carried to market in hogs' skins. After yielding during six months,

from 200 to 250 gallons, and sometimes more, the plant dies, and a

young sucker is planted to succeed it. A plant ready to yield, is

worth from eight to twelve dollars, and produces three or four

_cargas_, or mule loads: a _carga_ is sold in market at four dollars.

[Footnote 5: The American aloe.]

_Pulque_ is intoxicating to those who use it too freely. The taste is

far from pleasant to me, and the odor of it is sickening; but it

improves with use, and when taken moderately is thought to be

wholesome.

The _Agave Americana_ is a most valuable plant. Independently of its

agricultural profits upon barren soils where little else would grow,

it serves a great variety of uses. From _pulque_, a strong brandy is

distilled. This and _pulque_ are the common drink of the people. The

fibres of the leaf of the _maguey_ are manufactured into coarse

cloths, which are used for bagging, as saddlecloths, and for the

_aparejos_, packsaddles; they form thread of every texture, twine, and

rope of the largest size; and the juice of the leaf is efficacious in

the cure of ulcers, especially of the galls and sores of brute

animals: the leaf itself acts in place of gutters and spouts for the

cabins of the Indians, and makes a roof to their rude dwellings: its

prickle or thorn, is a needle in case of necessity; and at certain

stages of its growth the _maguey_ may be taken as food, and was so

used during the revolution by many hungry wanderers.

Thus this plant may be the food, drink, and clothing of the Mexicans;

and from the variety of purposes to which it may be applied, the

_Agave Americana_ may safely be said to be the most valuable of the

vegetable creation.

It was dark when we returned to our lodgings in _Otumba_, having

consumed the whole day in seeing what we might have accomplished in a

few hours; but our friends were so polite, that we were obliged to

submit to their dilatory movements.

DEC. 30. Provided again with horses, we set out at an early hour for

the Pyramids, leaving our carriage to join us at _San Juan de

Teotihuacan_. After a ride of nearly two leagues, we alighted at the

foot of the smaller pyramid, which, although the ascent was steep,

rough, and overgrown with weeds, we soon surmounted. This, more

dilapidated than the larger one, still preserves its pyramidal shape,

so as easily to be distinguished. The construction seems to be of

stones thrown indiscriminately together, and, at occasional intervals,

a layer of lime crosses it horizontally. Upon its summit are the

remains of a small stone building, which bears abundant evidence of

being the work of the {705} Conquerors. It was probably a chapel,

built to fill the place of the temple which it usurped. At the

southern foot of this pyramid is a circle surrounded either by

diminutive pyramids, or by the ruins of small edifices, or perhaps

both intermingled. Near the centre of this circle is a similar ruin,

from which proceeds a regular street forty or fifty feet wide, running

north and south, and bounded on both sides by ruins of apparently

small pyramids, on which are distinct traces of the walls of houses

divided into small apartments. At the head of the street is a large

rough stone, with a circle sculptured on one side of it; beyond the

wall of this circle, on the west, we were shown a singularly cut stone

of large size. It is ten feet three inches long, five feet one inch

wide, and four feet five inches high above the ground, in which it

seems partly buried. We collected every where various wrought pieces

of obsidian.

The larger pyramid is a little distant from the street to the east of

it. As our time was limited I ascended it hastily, and found that,

except in size it differs only in one respect from the other: about

midway a terrace extends around it. The faces of both pyramids

correspond with the four points of the compass. The view from them

extends over the lake of _Tescuco_ to the city of Mexico, and beyond

the western barrier of the plain to the snow-capped mountain of

_Toluca_.

The large pyramid of _Teotihuacan_ is called _Tonatiuh Ytzaqual_, or

House of the Sun. According to _Oteyza's_ measurements[6] its base is

208 metres--682½ English feet--its perpendicular height is 55

metres--180.4 feet. The base of the other pyramid is much less than

that of the former. This is called _Mextli Ytzaqual_, or House of the

Moon: its height is 144.4 feet.

[Footnote 6: Humb. T. 2. l. 3. c. 8. p. 66.]

The construction of these pyramids is ascribed to the _Tolteck_

nation, in which event they were built in the eighth or ninth

century.[7] It has been asserted that these and the other Mexican

Pyramids are hollow; but as far as investigations have been carried,

their solidity seems established. Constructed as they are, if they

were hollow the destructive influence of so many centuries which have

elapsed since their erection, would have discovered it. The

supposition is equally ill-founded that they are mere casings or

crusts to natural eminences. So far as rains have laid them open, or

the hand of man exposed to view their interior, all is artificial. It

is idle to argue that if they were completely artificial, the

materials which form them must have been dug from some contiguous

spot, and that this has no where been discovered. Places are seen from

which the materials have been collected; and the circumjacent plain is

strewed thickly with _tetzontli_, quite abundant enough to build other

pyramids, without being reduced to the necessity of digging into the

earth.

[Footnote 7: Humb. T. 2. l. 3. c. 8. p. 67.]

At _San Juan_, about half a league from the pyramids, we rejoined our

carriage, and at 11 A. M. set out for Mexico, distant ten leagues. We

travelled rapidly over a dreary but not a bad road, and passing

_Tololcingo_, crossed the dry bed of the lake of _Tescuco_, shortening

our ride a league or so. At a _venta_, or small inn, near _Santa

Clara_, we had the good fortune to meet with an idol, dug up in the

vicinity, which we bought; it represents a naked female, her hands

crossing her breast, her nose of prodigious size, and hair plaited

down the back. The figure is about two feet high.[8]

[Footnote 8: This idol was sent to the museum of the college at

Charleston, S. C.]

We arrived at _Guadalupe_ at 3 P. M. and an hour's ride over a good

_calzada_, bordered with pretty aspins, brought us to the capital. Our

jaunt has been very delightful, and we have met with great kindness.

From what we have seen of the antiquities of Mexico, we are impressed

with a far more favorable opinion than we had entertained of the

civilized state of the Indians before the Conquest.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MR. WHITE:

The subjoined copy of an old Scotch ballad, contains so much of the

beauty and genuine spirit of by-gone poetry, that I have determined to

risk a frown from the fair lady by whom the copy was furnished, in

submitting it for publication. The ladies sometimes violate their

promises--may I not for once assume their privilege, in presenting to

the readers of the Messenger this "legend of the olden time," although

_I promised not_? Relying on the kind heart of the lady for

forgiveness for _this breach of promise_, I have anticipated the

pardon in sending you the lines, which I have never as yet seen in

print.

SIDNEY.

BALLAD.

They have giv'n her to another--

They have sever'd ev'ry vow;

They have giv'n her to another,

And my heart is lonely now;

They remember'd not our parting--

They remember'd not our tears,

They have sever'd in one fatal hour

The tenderness of years.

Oh! was it weal to leave me?

Thou couldst not so deceive me;

Lang and sairly shall I grieve thee,

Lost, lost Rosabel!

They have giv'n thee to another--

Thou art now his gentle bride;

Had I lov'd thee as a brother,

I might see thee by his side;

But _I know with gold they won thee_,

And thy trusting heart beguil'd;

Thy _mother_ too, did shun me,

For she knew I lov'd her child. {706}

Oh! was it weal to leave me?

Thou couldst not so deceive me;

Lang and sairly shall I grieve thee,

Lost, lost Rosabel!

They have giv'n her to another--

She will love him, so they say;

If her mem'ry do not chide her,

Oh! perhaps, perhaps she may;

But I know that she hath spoken

What she never can forget;

And tho' my poor heart be broken,

It will love her, love her yet.

Oh! was it weal to leave me?

Thou couldst not so deceive me;

Lang and sairly shall I grieve thee,

Lost, lost Rosabel!

From the Baltimore Visiter.

THE COLISEUM. A PRIZE POEM.

BY EDGAR A. POE.

Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary

Of lofty contemplation left to Time

By buried centuries of pomp and power!

At length, at length--after so many days

Of weary pilgrimage, and burning thirst,

(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)

I kneel, an altered, and an humble man,

Amid thy shadows, and so drink within

My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory.

Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!

Silence and Desolation! and dim Night!

Gaunt vestibules! and phantom-peopled aisles!

I feel ye now: I feel ye in your strength!

O spells more sure than e'er Judæan king

Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane!

O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee

Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls;

Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,

A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat:

Here, where the dames of Rome their yellow hair

Wav'd to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle:

Here, where on ivory couch the Cæsar sate,

On bed of moss lies gloating the foul adder:

Here, where on golden throne the monarch loll'd,

Glides spectre-like unto his marble home,

Lit by the wan light of the horned moon,

The swift and silent lizard of the stones.

These crumbling walls; these tottering arcades;

These mouldering plinths; these sad, and blacken'd shafts;

These vague entablatures; this broken frieze;

These shattered cornices; this wreck; this ruin;

These stones, alas!--these gray stones--are they all--

All of the great and the colossal left

By the corrosive hours to Fate and me?

"Not all,"--the echoes answer me; "not all:

Prophetic sounds, and loud, arise for ever

From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,

As in old days from Memnon to the sun.

We rule the hearts of mightiest men. We rule

With a despotic sway all giant minds.

We are not desolate--we pallid stones;

Not all our power is gone; not all our fame;

Not all the magic of our high renown;

Not all the wonder that encircles us;

Not all the mysteries that in us lie;

Not all the memories that hang upon,

And cling around about us as a garment,

Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

LINES

Written in the Village of A----, Virginia.

Sweet village of the mountain glen!

Thy verdant shades are dear to me;

I shun the busy haunts of men,

And to thy peaceful bosom flee;

For smiling nature's summer home

Is found beside thy flashing rills,

And when the winter-tempests come,

She reigns upon thy rugged hills.

Upon thy rocks the tow'ring pine,

The hemlock and the cedar grow;

And high the wild and flow'ring vine,

Its tendrils round their branches throw.

'Tis sweet to stray thy paths along,

Beside some bright and rippling stream

Whose waters with a murm'ring song,

Glance gaily in the sunny beam.

Through distant lands my feet may roam,

In foreign climes my dwelling be,

Unchang'd where'er I make my home,

My heart will still abide with thee.

Yes! still with thee, in joy or woe,

On desert land, or stormy sea,

In pain or bliss, where'er I go,

My love will ever dwell with thee.

A. L. B.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

_Extracts from the Auto-biography of Pertinax Placid_.

MY FIRST NIGHT IN A WATCHHOUSE.

CHAP. II.

This was our hero's earliest scrape; but whether

I shall proceed with his adventures is

Dependent on the public altogether:

We'll see, however, what they say to this.

[_Don Juan_.

We found Fenella in much trouble. That buoyant mind which the

vicissitudes of a changing and precarious profession could not sadden

or subdue, proved itself vulnerable to the weapons of ridicule.

"And so, my young deserter, you have come at last. Here have I been

grieving myself to death at the malice of Mc----, and you have felt no

sympathy in my trouble, or have been too indolent or indifferent to

give me one word of comfort. Shame on you! Is this your friendship?"

I made my excuses with the best grace I could assume, and assured her

I had just learned the cause of her uneasiness. She readily believed

me, for she was too sincere herself to doubt the sincerity of others.

"I do not know," said she, "but my annoyance at this affair may seem

overstrained. To those who call {707} themselves philosophers, it may

appear childish in me to grieve at such an attempt to render me

ridiculous. But I am a mere woman, and no philosopher; besides, my

case is a peculiar one. On the stage we have so often, I might say so

habitually, to overstep what by other women are considered the bounds

of modesty, that she who preserves the essential principle of that

great charm of the sex, is most jealous in keeping her claim to it

inviolate. The world gives us credit for but little feminine

delicacy--and the world reasons correctly in doing so. But correct

reasoning does not always reach the facts of peculiar cases. It may be

thought strange, but I know it to be true, that a woman who in the

presence of hundreds suffers herself to be embraced, kissed, and

fondled by men of gross character and disgusting manners, and who

embraces and caresses them in turn, should revolt at the idea of

permitting such liberties in private. I know this to be so in my own

case. And even were all those women whose lot is unfortunately cast

upon the stage, as licentious as both the virtuous and the vicious are

pleased to suppose them, they must indeed be debased and degraded, to

yield themselves to that indiscriminate licentiousness which the

world's censure would imply. Few know how far the enthusiasm of an

artist, his aspirations after excellence, his love of abstract beauty,

may check and overcome every prurient thought, every low born

imagination. The sculptor, when he moulds the beings of his fancy into

forms of loveliness, is alive only to the spirit of his art; his mind

is filled with the beauty of his conceptions, and is purified by the

intenseness of his desire to attain the summit of excellence, from

every grovelling idea. He is not, surely, to be classed with those

who, looking upon his works with vulgar eyes, find in them food for

lascivious thoughts, and stimulants to unhallowed passions. So it is

with acting. The actress has placed before her a mark of excellence

which she is ambitious to attain, and in striving for its attainment,

all minor considerations are thrown aside. The exhibition of a passion

must not be shorn of its accessories; and whatever is necessary to its

full development she yields to, with as little thought of grossness or

indelicacy in caressing an individual who represents her husband or

her lover, as the artist indulges when painting Eve in the undress of

nature. It would be well for such as suppose that these exhibitions

indicate a want of modesty, to know how totally the mind is absorbed

in the desire to embody the conceptions of the poet, when an actress

in Belvidera or Monimia gives a loose rein to the passions, and

regardless of the being with whom she is associated, contributes, by

the very freedom which the over-virtuous delight to censure, in

producing the delusion of the scene. In playing her part, not one

thought is given to the man whom she embraces. No--she is for the time

a fictitious character--the character of the scene, insensible to any

other feeling but that which the poet has delineated. But how

differently do the work-a-day world argue this matter. They seldom, if

ever, separate the _actress_ from the _woman_--and every action is

judged of according to the gross ideas of the vulgar minded, or the

fastidious scruples of those who measure a dramatic representation by

the rules which prevail in private society. I know full well the

invidious position which, as an actress, I occupy in the opinion of

the public; and a consciousness that in my unfortunate profession,

every step towards the achievement of excellence must be gained by a

sacrifice of personal respect, often gives me melancholy sensations.

Do you then wonder at the pain I have suffered from this malignant

endeavor of Mc----'s to render me ridiculous?"

"But still," said Nichols, "the attack in itself is unworthy of

notice. The same talent might render the proudest woman in the city an

object of equal ridicule."

"Very true, but it would not find the public disposed to laugh with

the caricaturist. The general sentiment would be against him, for he

would have outraged what every man would be ready to defend--the

sanctity of female privacy, and the decencies of social life. But such

a case is strongly contrasted with mine, and it is that which renders

it to me so peculiarly painful. The actress lives in the full glare of

public observation, and the libeller who holds her up to contempt,

invades no sanctuary which all hold sacred; he only makes her

subservient to public amusement in a new character. If her pride be

wounded, if her delicacy be shocked--she has few to sympathise with

her, for few believe she possesses either pride or delicacy, and none

deem it their duty to defend her from the attacks of her enemy."

Fenella paused, and I saw the tears glisten upon her cheek; but she

turned away her face, and hastily brushed them off, as if ashamed that

her weakness should be observed.

"You do your friends injustice," said I. "You do indeed. There are a

few who do not think thus lightly of your feelings, and who are ready

to defend you from assaults of whatever kind."

"Doubtless there are a few," said she, "who feel for me. It would be

unjust in me to doubt it. But it is the want of that _general_ feeling

of sympathy which would be excited in favor of any other woman, that I

feel most keenly. To know that in proportion as my professional

exertions are admired, my private feelings are disregarded, gives

point to the malice of Mc----, and renders that a cause of pain and

mortification which ought to be the object of contempt. But we will

say no more upon the subject. Perhaps I have said too much, for I see

that you and Nichols are distressed by my complaints. I will not

repeat them; but endeavor to display more of what Nichols calls

philosophy."

The train of our conversation was broken off by the entrance of Selden

and Cleaveland. Fenella's spirits were soon restored, and she became

as gay and fascinating as usual. Various topics were discussed, and

much pleasant _badinage_ filled up the time until tea--which Fenella

particularly patronized, in spite of the fashion--made its appearance.

"Pray, Master Pertinax," said Fenella, "how have you employed your

time since I last saw you? You have lost a deal of green room scandal,

and missed seeing some of the finest of green room absurdities, by

your long estrangement from the Theatre."

"Well, saving your presence, I have been occupied with better

things--a hard student have I been--and although the merry bells of

the Driving Club sounded their peals under my windows twice during my

{708} seclusion; although I saw their gorgeous train of _carioles_

piled with buffalo robes, and flaunting in blue and crimson trimmings,

glide merrily by; and though among the furred and feathered

_demoiselles_ who sat within them, I knew there was one whom it would

have been delightful to be near; nay more, although under a

silver-grey Chinchilla bonnet, there shone forth two lustrous black

eyes--yet did I resist the lure, and turn again to my studies. I have

declined three balls where I knew I should meet that 'Cynthia of the

minute,' with whom, at this particular time, I cannot but believe I am

most foolishly in love. I have resisted the temptation of skating, and

a special invitation from the Curling Club to witness an important

match. All these and many more allurements have failed to withdraw me

from my books."

"Bless me, what a Solomon you will become, if you persevere in your

labors! But your stoicism surprises me. Can it be possible that Marian

Lindsay's _load-stars_ failed in attraction?"

"Nonsense! I have said nothing of Marian Lindsay or her load-stars, as

you are pleased to call them. Her eyes are not _black_, nor are they

those I spoke of."

"What, a new attraction! Well, I see that I must relinquish the task

of keeping you steady. I had hopes, when I prudently endeavored to

prevent your falling in love with me, (which you cannot deny you had

more than half a mind to do,) by directing your amorous disposition

towards a proper object, that your fancy would endure at least a month

or two. Do you not now perceive what a folly I should have been guilty

of, had I suffered you to dangle, as you wished, at my apron string?"

"I do indeed. Still, I may say with honest Jack Falstaff, 'ere I knew

_thee_, I knew nothing.'"

"Yes," said she, "and I can finish the sentence with equal truth--'and

now art thou little better than one of the wicked.' But I deny your

declaration, for you have confessed to the truth of your intrigues

with the little Canadian milliner, and the blue eyed _Irlandaise_."

"I admit it; but those were unsophisticated flirtations."

"Unsophisticated! Mercy on us!"

"Oh yes," said Selden, "and he stoutly denies having ever sighed to

you, Fenella; and talks a deal of nonsense about friendship, as though

such a feeling ever existed between a lad of nineteen and a lady under

twenty-five."

"Upon that subject," replied Fenella, "we can at least keep our own

counsel."

"Come, Cleaveland," said I, "we are bound in the same direction. I

have a few words to say to you, and if you are at leisure we will

walk."

"I hope I have not driven you away," said Selden.

"Pshaw! I am not so easily driven."

Tea was over, and Cleaveland and I rose to depart. Fenella accompanied

us to the door, and said to me in a monitory tone: "Now, Pertinax, be

careful what you do in relation to the caricature. Keep out of

difficulty with Mc----. You cannot be of any service to me in that

affair, and may injure yourself by your interference. I know your

disposition to serve me; but I also know that your impetuosity is more

likely to involve you in difficulty than to bring me out of it. Be

cautious, I beseech you."

"Do not be alarmed," said I, somewhat piqued, "my _indifference_ will

be my protection."

"I do not believe that, nor do I believe that you are indifferent to

my feelings; and the caution I now give you is a proof that I do not

think so."

A pressure of the hand was my only reply to this conciliatory speech;

and we left the house.

It was early in the evening, and quite dark, as we mounted the ice in

the middle of the street, preferring the risk of being run down by

_traineaus_ or _carioles_, on that narrow pass, to stumbling against

steps, cellar doors, and other obstructions on the _trottoir_ of an

avenue, feebly lighted by here and there a dim and solitary lamp. We

pursued our way down St. Paul's street, and in passing the shop where

"Timothy Crop, Fashionable Hair Dresser and Perruquier," shone in gilt

letters, illuminated by a lamp, a glance shewed us two copies of

Fenella's effigy, displayed with most provoking prominence in a

bow-window, which was brilliantly lighted.

"Curses on that fellow," said I. "Is there no way in which this

nuisance can be prevented? You are fertile in schemes, Cleaveland;

cannot you contrive some plan, if not to stop the issue of these

libels, to revenge the insult offered to our friend?"

"Not I indeed, unless we hire _Felix Sans Pitié_[1] to thump the

artist, or get _Piquet_,[2] the retired bully, to break his right

arm."

[Footnote 1: There was a family of _Sans Pitiés_, belong to a

neighboring seignory, celebrated for their muscular frames and

pugilistic powers. They were _Voyageurs_ in the service of the North

West, or Hudson's Bay Companies, at the time when those associations

were at deadly feud, out of which grew the massacre at Red River. In

the spring, previous to the setting out of the North West expeditions,

the _voyageurs_ of these companies had their rendezvous in Montreal

for a day or two, during which they were generally intoxicated, and

scarcely an hour passed that was not distinguished by a pugilistic

combat in the old market place, which was their peculiar haunt. The

_Sans Pitiés_ when present were the champions, and challenged all

comers with nearly uniform success. I have never seen more magnificent

forms than these brothers displayed, when stripped for a fight. Their

chests and shoulders would have been fine models for a Hercules, so

muscular were they, and devoid of superfluous flesh. Their style of

hitting was peculiar, and differed entirely from the English system,

being far more rapid and eccentric. In general an English pugilist was

more than a match for the best Canadian bully; but in one instance the

youthful gladiator referred to in the text, was triumphant over a

skilful pupil of Crib. It is worthy of remark, that the English bully,

when completely _sewed up_, (to use a phrase of the prize ring)

declared in a faint voice, that he had been beaten contrary to all

rule, and that _Sans Pitié_ knew no more about boxing than a horse.

But the Canadian champion was once well beaten by an antagonist as

little skilled as himself in the arts and mysteries of the Five's

Court. I was witness to this conflict between him and an English

sailor, not half his weight. The Jack-tar completely overcame his

Herculean opponent, when it seemed to me that had his frame been made

of any material softer than iron, he must have been demolished by

_Sans Pitié's_ blows.]

[Footnote 2: Monsieur _Piquet_ was about this time a member of the

Provincial Parliament. How he got there I do not exactly know: the

station seemed rather inconsistent with the situation occupied by him

in early life. He was a man of uncommon muscular vigor; and had in his

youth been employed by the North West Company, as the _bully_ of their

expeditions. His duty was to punish any refractory subordinate by the

application of the fist. The _voyageurs_ were an ignorant and lawless

set of men, engaged by the company to navigate their _batteaux_, and

to carry the merchandize which constituted their freight, across the

portages. The goods were arranged in sacks containing about ninety

pounds each and were transported (or perhaps _toted_ would be a more

proper word in our latitude) by the _voyageurs_ where the navigation

failed. Their labors were consequently very severe; and it may readily

be believed that few but the most reckless and unworthy characters

enlisted in these expeditions. They were generally accompanied and

conducted by one or two clerks or partners, who required some strong

executive power to keep their followers in due submission. Some trusty

individual of uncommon strength and hardihood was selected to perform

this duty--and such was the situation held by _Piquet_. He was

successful in his enterprizes, and as I was told amassed considerable

wealth. At any rate, I knew him as a legislator. I was once in company

with this man, when he related some of his early adventures;

particularly one, in which, being necessitated to quell the turbulent

spirit of a refractory _voyageur_, he broke the arm of the brawler

with one blow of his fist--an achievement of which Monsieur _Piquet_

seemed not a little proud.]

{709} "Not bad ideas, but impracticable. Felix is at Red River, or

thereabouts--and Piquet is in Parliament, which should argue that his

powers of maiming are fully employed upon the laws of the province."

We had paused involuntarily before the window. The shop was thronged

with customers, and we saw the barber take down one of the caricatures

and exhibit it to an individual, who laughed immoderately as he

examined it. My blood boiled as I witnessed this scene. I had been

deeply impressed by Fenella's description of her defenceless

condition, and the absence of that general feeling of resentment in

her case, which would have existed had any other woman been the object

of such ridicule. The hearty laugh of the examiner of the picture--the

gusto with which he enjoyed the ludicrous figure before him, inspired

me with most unchristian feelings, and I could, with the greatest good

will, have tweaked his nose with the hot curling irons which the man

of hair was applying to his head.

As we moved away, I vowed that I would be revenged on the malicious

barber--that he at least should not escape. A few moments brought us

to my lodgings in the _Vieux Marché_. We sat down by a hot stove, and

after having listened to Cleaveland's description of the last party at

Madame Feronnier's, without hearing one word, I broke silence.

"Cleaveland," said I, "will you join me in a scheme which I have been

revolving since we left that infernal barber's?"

"I shall be better prepared to give you an answer, when you tell me

what you propose."

"Then you will not enlist until you know my plan."

"Not I. It is my luck to engage in so many hairbrained scrapes of my

own, that I will be led blindfold into none of your planning."

"But you must not fail me. I have set my heart on your assistance. If

I had asked it of Selden, he would have stifled me with prudent

advice. Nichols has not hardihood enough for any wicked act; and

Marryatt is so completely bewitched with his brunette beauty in the

Recolet Suburbs, that he cannot find time for any other roguery. Now

for a stirring adventure you are just the lad--first, because you like

it, and secondly, because you have the spirit to go through with it."

"Really you speak of your enterprize in the Hotspur vein, for like him

it seems you are about to

----'read me matter deep and dangerous,

As full of peril and adventurous spirit,

As to o'erwalk a current roaring loud,

On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.'

But be it what it may, propose to me any reasonable mischief, and _je

suis à vous_."

"It is nothing very dangerous in the performance, and the consequences

must take care of themselves. I only intend to smash, and that

shortly, the bow-window of our friend the barber--to scatter his

perfumes about his own head, and give his next door neighbor, the

glazier, a job?"

"Is that all? Bless me, how reasonable! Selden himself could not have

advised a more rational and moral mode of punishing this impudent

barber.--Why, Pertinax, I did not think you capable of a conception so

brilliant. As to breaking the window and scattering the perfumery, 'we

may do it as secure as sleep'--and for the consequences, I have

nothing to say on that subject, because they come _afterwards_; and as

Father De Rocher used to tell us, questions must be considered in

their proper order: besides, all the wise ones say that _fore_-thought

is better than _after_-thought. But independent of these

considerations, it would be inconsistent in me, who never yet gave a

thought to consequences, to do so now; and some political proser in

the _Spectateur_, said the other day that consistency was a jewel."

"Then you enlist in the service."

"Yes, my Hotspur; 'it is a good plot as ever was laid--an excellent

plot. My Lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the

action.' So here is my hand. We will take some pains to do that which

will cost Timothy Crop many panes to remedy; and if we escape the

pains and penalties therefor, all will be well."

"We must rely upon our heels for that. Give me six yards the start,

and I defy any barber in the Canadas to overtake me. We must show

Master Timothy that we have not played at cricket, or run foot races

on the wind-mill common for nothing."

"But what missiles shall we use?--have you thought of that, _Mon

Général_?"

"What can be better than these?" said I, taking up a couple of billets

of oak from the stove-pan.

"Admirable! And when shall we proceed to business?"

"Now--this very hour--we cannot wish a darker night; and the sooner we

carry our design into effect the better."

"Very true, for Shakspeare says, that

'Between the acting of a dreadful thing

And the first motion, all the interim is

Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream.'

We will dream as little upon it as possible."

"_Allons donc!_ Take your billets, and let us march."

We sallied forth into the street. It was about nine o'clock, and all

was quiet. The light from Crop's window shone brightly in the

distance, and invited us to our revenge.

{710} The heavy falls of snow are a serious inconvenience in the

narrow streets of Montreal, and the manner in which it is disposed of,

gives to them a peculiar appearance. When a storm subsides, the whole

town is alive with the business of shovelling the snow from the

side-walks into the middle of the street, which in the course of a few

weeks after the winter sets in, is elevated several feet above its

natural level. On the top of this ridge vehicles of all descriptions

are forced to pass, and while guiding a _cariole_ along the height,

you nod to your pedestrian friends on the side-walks, many feet below

you, and peep, if you have any curiosity, into the windows of your

neighbor's second story. By gradual packing and freezing, this

_high_-road becomes a complete rampart of ice, along which _carioles_

and _traineaus_ are driven with alarming velocity--to a strange eye

presenting the constant prospect of their being hurled down to the

side-walk. But such accidents seldom happen. In their own awkward

fashion, the Canadian drivers are uncommonly expert, and their hardy

little horses are equally so.

We kept the side-walk until we reached the corner of St. Nicholas and

St. Paul streets, and here we stopped to confer.

"By the way," said I, "we had better decide upon the manner of running

away. Crop is a tall fellow and long in the legs. It will not do for

us to keep together. My plan is this--I will dive into the alley,

leading up to the city hotel, cross St. Peter's street and get into

the Jesuits's grounds.[3] You had better take to the opposite

side-walk, for you will be perfectly safe there, as you may turn the

left corner of St. Peter, and skim away towards the _Soeurs Gris_,

before Tim can climb to that side of the street. When we have

confounded the chase, we will rendezvous in front of the _Petit

Seminaire_, in College street. We shall be near the Mansion House,

where we may refresh ourselves with a bottle of Martinant's London

particular, and call at Fenella's on our way home."

[Footnote 3: These grounds have since been devoted to public use, and

are now intersected by Lemoine, St. Helen, and Recolet streets. They

were formerly attached to the religious establishment of the

brotherhood, the building of which faced upon Notre Dame street, and

were filled with noble elms, all of which have I believe fallen

beneath the axe. The accommodations were spacious; but the buildings,

with the exception of the Recolet church, which occupies nearly a

centre position, had been appropriated to other than monastic uses

long before my recollection. During and just after the last war they

were used as the barracks of a regiment of British infantry, and at

the grated windows which once let in the light upon the ascetic

pursuits and rigid ceremonials of these bigoted religionists--soldiers

were seen scouring their muskets or whitening their belts. More

recently, the southern portion has been occupied as a Young Ladies

Seminary, and the northern as the City Watch-house. The buildings had

become public property by the operation of some condition relative to

the decrease of the numbers of the order. One only was alive in my

time; and he was often seen in the streets, wearing a small black

skull cap, and a long black robe fastened around his body by a white

woollen girdle. The Recolet church is to this day a place of Catholic

worship, opened on stated days and uncommon occasions. Whether it has

been embellished or altered since I saw it, I know not--but at that

time it presented a melancholy appearance of decay and dilapidation.

It was remarkable for a rude carving over the entrance representing

two hands and arms issuing out of the sea, and crossing each other.

The carving was colored most unnaturally, and the waves of the sea

resembled a congregation of pewter platters.]

"I see no objection to your plan, Pertinax, only that your part of it

is the most hazardous. If Crop pursues, he will naturally stick to his

own side-walk, and you must leap in front of him from the street into

the alley."

"Oh, never fear for me--I shall be scudding through the old Jesuits's

elms, long before he will find the hole by which I make my escape.

Recollect the rendezvous at the College."

Our plan of retreat having been settled, we mounted into the middle of

the street, and were in two minutes opposite the devoted shop-window.

The lights burned brightly, and at a glance we saw that there was no

one within but Crop and a little boy. The window was filled with

bottles of _Eau de Cologne_, _Eau de jasmin_, _extrait de bergamotte_,

with pots of _pommade extraordinaire_, and the like; and there still

hung the offending caricatures. We were elevated some feet above the

window, and it presented the finest imaginable mark.

"Now," said Cleaveland, "let us separate a few paces, that we may give

our object a raking fire, and do the more execution."

We were just about to proceed to business, when the sharp sound of a

horse's hoofs rang upon the ice near the corner of St. Peter's street.

We drew back from the glare of the window to allow the horse and his

rider to pass--when, as they approached us, we perceived Marryatt,

mounted on his shaggy Shetland pony.

"Hey dey," said he, as we made our appearance--"what mischief is in

the wind now?"

"Stay a moment," said I, "and see us demolish Crop's bow window."

"Oh ho, is that the project? Well I will witness the crash, as I have

especial means of escape. I cannot say as much for you or Cleaveland.

Crop will catch one or both of you to a certainty."

"That is our own concern--but he shall have a race for it. Stay where

you are Marryatt, and witness the performance."

Cleaveland and I then approached the window, and levelling our billets

simultaneously, they fell with unerring aim in the centre of the

window, scattering pictures, pomatum and perfumery in every direction.

A second billet from each of us completed the work of destruction, and

we took to our heels. Cleaveland slipped down to the pavement on the

opposite side, and vanished in an instant. I was about ten paces from

the alley, (which entered St. Paul street on the same side with the

barber's shop,) but before I had cleared that short distance, I was

sensible that Crop was in pursuit. From the high ridge of ice on which

I stood, to the pavement was at least five feet, and on coming

opposite the alley I made a flying leap across the side-walk into its

entrance. But alas for human hopes!--I had neglected to substitute a

pair of shoes for my boots on coming out, and my boot heels were

covered with plates of brass, in conformity to a very ridiculous

fashion. I cleared the side-walk in gallant style; but I alighted on

my heels in a spot covered with the smoothest ice. The consequence

was, that my feet flew from under me, and I fell prostrate. But this

was not the worst--I struck my knee upon the ice with a force which

might have broken a joint of iron. I made an effort to rise, {711}

which was at first ineffectual. The sound of Timothy's feet struck on

my ear as he turned the corner. He was within two paces of me, and in

a second more would have stumbled over me in the dark. But the idea of

being captured gave me sudden vigor, and overcame the pain of my

bruised knee. I sprang upon my feet, and bounded away towards the

entrance of the City Hotel, turned short to the left, and crossing St.

Peter's street by another alley, kept on under the wall of Thatcher's

livery stables.

Rapidly as I had taken leave of Timothy, he had not lost sight of me

for a second, until I turned the farther corner of the stables. At

this point there had been, a few weeks previous, a gap in the

enclosure of the Jesuits's grounds, through which I had often passed;

and by means of this opening I had intended to lead the chase into

those grounds, with all the turnings of which I was well acquainted,

and where a number of old elms would serve to cover my retreat.

What was my consternation on reaching the spot, to find that the

opening had been closed! I was completely cornered, without means of

escape, except by the steep path up which I had come. Along that path

I heard the footsteps of my pursuer, as he picked his way in the dark.

Not a moment was to be lost, and my determination was instantly taken.

I again turned the corner of the stables, and ran down the path with

my utmost speed, intending to overthrow Timothy by running against

him. As I approached him, he stopped, and seeming to comprehend my

object, veered a little from the path, so as to break the force of the

shock, and grasped at me with both his hands.

And here but for my boot heels I might have escaped; but again they

failed me, I slipped, and Timothy and I were rolling on the ground

together--he clutching to hold me fast, and I struggling to get away.

By mutual consent we soon rose upon our feet--he still holding on with

the tenacity of a bull-dog, upon the collar and breast of my clothing.

I had not lived five years in Montreal without becoming sensible of

the value of _science_ in the use of the fist, and I had taken a

series of rude lessons from an Irish sergeant--Fuller not having then

appeared in Canada to teach the 'manly art of self-defence.' The

moment that we were on our feet, I attacked Timothy, in hopes that he

would loosen his hold in showing fight, and give me another

opportunity of escape. But he was a philosopher in his way, and did

not regard pugilistic _punishment_ so much as the retention of his

prisoner. He allowed me therefore to _mill_ him without mercy, dodging

to avoid my blows, but making no offensive demonstration. I pommelled

him severely, and might possibly have broken his hold by my repeated

attacks, but for the slippery place on which we stood. Several times I

lost my footing and came to the ground. At last yielding to necessity,

I relinquished the contest and walked quietly with him to the street,

determined when on better ground, to make another effort for liberty.

Instead of returning towards his shop, as I supposed he would have

done, he turned up St. Peter's street, and led the way towards Notre

Dame. I did not then perceive his object--perhaps I was too much

flurried to think of it. We paced along in a very friendly manner,

until we reached the corner of St. Sacrament street, running midway

between and parallel with St. Paul's and Notre Dame. Here the snow was

firm, and the spot inviting to my purpose, for St. Sacrament offered

me a number of places of retreat, where I might have defied the scent

of my antagonist.

At this corner therefore I made a halt, and while Timothy was

endeavoring to force me forward, I struck him a right handed blow in

the face, which made him bound from his feet and brought him down like

a shot. But true to his object he still held to my coat with his right

hand, and while I was endeavoring to disengage his grasp, he rose

again to his feet, and matters assumed their former aspect. Grown

desperate by my disappointment, I fell upon Timothy without mercy,

hitting right and left whenever I could bring him within the range of

my blows--for he avoided many of them by leaping aside. At length a

chance blow took effect on his throat and I was momentarily freed from

his hold, but I was so weakened by my exertions that I stumbled, and

again measured my length on the snow. Before I could recover myself,

Timothy had as firm a grasp upon me as ever.

Up to this time, not a syllable had passed the lips of either: but at

this juncture, Timothy opened his mouth, and to some purpose,

bellowing "Watch!" at the top of his voice. Instantly the rattles were

heard at no great distance; and Timothy repeating the call, we were

soon surrounded by half a dozen watchmen, with staves, rattles and

lanterns.

I saw plainly that the game was up with me, and yielding with a good

grace, I followed them in silence. I was much surprised to find that

we had turned the left corner of Notre Dame Street, and were entering

the decayed gate of a building which was once an appendage of the

Recolet Church, and part of the establishment of the decayed

brotherhood of Loyola. This building had recently been occupied as a

watchhouse; a fact of which I was ignorant, or master Timothy Crop

would not have led me so easily into the lion's den.

We entered the building, and found ourselves in a rude barrack-like

room, around which were the "guardians of the night," as they are

poetically termed, sitting, standing, and lying--eating, drinking, and

smoking. They were nearly all Canadians; and in their blue and grey

_capots_ with the addition of slouched hats, they might have been

taken for a gang of banditti in their cavern.

When the door closed upon us, and not 'till then, Timothy Crop

loosened his hold upon my raiment. I turned to look at him, and saw

sufficient proof that my blows, although aimed in the dark, had not

been made in vain. His visage exhibited various contusions, and

streams of _claret_ were trickling from his nostrils. But Timothy, to

do him justice, was true _game_; and he returned the smile which his

pickle brought into my face, with a triumphant expression that raised

him much in my estimation.

While we were eyeing each other an inner door opened, and the captain

of the watch made his appearance. Timothy gave me in charge, and the

man of authority conducted me with all due ceremony into his innermost

den, where he invited me to take a seat by the stove, and pointing to

a dirty straw pallet in a corner of the room, gave me to understand

that upon it I was to spend my first night in a watch-house.

{712}

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

The following translations pretend to no other merit than fidelity.

The only aim of the translator has been to give as literal a version

as the genius of the languages would permit. He has not presumed to

blend his own with the pure conception of his author, or to obscure

with ornament the inimitable beauty of his chaste, unaffected

expression; he regrets that the necessity of a measure has obliged him

more than once perhaps, to expand a thought whose concentration he

admired:--the sin, however, was involuntary.

Lib. 1. Ode v. AD PYRRHAM.

Quis multâ gracilis te puer in rosâ

Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus

Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro?

Cui flavam religas comam,

Simplex munditiis? heu! quoties fidem,

Mutatosque Deos flebit, et aspera

Nigris æquora ventis

Emirabitur insolens,

Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aureâ:

Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem

Sperat, nescius auræ

Fallacis! miseri, quibus

Intenta nites. Me tabulâ sacer

Votivâ paries indicat uvida

Suspendisse potenti

Vestimenta maris Deo.

Translation.

What slender youth whom liquid odors lave,

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave

Pyrrha?--for whom with care

Bind'st thou thy yellow hair

Plain in thy neatness? Oft alas! shall he

On faith and changed Gods complain, and sea

Rough with black tempests ire

Unwonted shall admire!

Who now enjoys thee credulous--all gold--

For him still vacant, lovely to behold

Hopes thee: of treacherous breeze

Unmindful. Hapless these

To whom untried thou shinest dazzling fair.

Me Neptune's walls, with tablet vowed, declare

My shipwrecked weeds unwrung

To the sea's potent God to have hung.

* * * * *

ADRIANUS AD ANINAVULAM.

Animula, vagula, blandula;

Hospes, comesque corporis!

Quo nunc abibis in loco

Pallidula, rigida, nudula?

Nec ut soles dabis jocos.

Translation.

Little rambling, coaxing sprite,

Tenant and comrade of this clay,

Into what distant regions say

Pale, naked, cold, wingst thou thy flight?

Nor wilt thou joke as wont in former day.

* * * * *

Lib. 1. Ode xxxv. AD FORTUNAM.

O Diva, gratum quæ regis Antium,

Præsens vel imo tollere de gradu

Mortale corpus, vel superbos

Vertere funeribus triumphos:

Te pauper ambit solicitâ prece

Ruris colonus; te dominam æquoris,

Quicunque Bithynâ lacessit

Carpathium pelagus carinâ.

Te Dacus asper, te profugi Scythæ,

Urbesque, gentesque, et Latium ferox,

Regumque matres barbarorum, et

Purpurei metuunt tyranni,

Injurioso ne pede proruas

Stantem columnam; neu populos frequens

Ad arma cessantes ad arma

Concitet, imperiumque frangat.

Te semper anteit sæva Necessitas,

Clavos trabales et cuneos manu

Gestans ahenâ; nec severus

Uncus abest, liquidumque plumbum.

Te Spes, et albo rara Fides colit

Velata panno, nec comitem abnegat,

Utcunque mutatâ potentes

Veste domos inimica linquis.

At vulgus infidum, et meretrix retro

Perjura cedit: diffugiunt cadis

Cum fæce siccatis amici,

Ferre jugum pariter dolosi.

Serves iturum Cæsarem in ultimos

Orbis Britannos, et juvenum recens

Examen Eois timendum

Partibus, Oceanoque Rubro.

Eheu! cicatricum et sceleris pudet,

Fratrumque: quid nos dura refugimus

Ætas? quid intactum nefasti

Liquimus? unde manum juventus

Metu Deorum continuit? quibus

Pepercit aris? O! utinam novâ

Incude diffingas retusum in

Massagetas Arabasque ferrum.

Translation. TO FORTUNE.

Goddess whose mandate lovely Antium sways,

Prompt at thy will from humblest grade to raise

Weak mortals, or proud triumphs turn

To the sad funeral urn!

Thee the poor rustic sues with anxious prayer:

Thee, Arbitress of Ocean all revere,

Who with Bithynian keel adventurous brave

The rough Carpathian wave.

Thee wandering Scythians, thee the Dacian boor

Cities and nations, Latium fierce adore:

Mothers of barbarous kings grow pale,

Tyrants in purple quail

Lest with insulting foot thou spurn their proud,

Unshaken column: lest th' assembled crowd

Laggards to arms, to arms should wake,

And their dominion break.

Ruthless Necessity before thy band

Forever walks: in her resistless hand

Wedges and spikes: the hook severe

And molten lead still near.

Thee Hope attends, and spotless Faith so rare,

Robed in pure white: nor then departs whene'er,

With vestments changed and hostile lower,

Thou leav'st th' abodes of power.

But shrink the faithless herd and perjured quean:

Friends too skulk off, the casks drained dry, unseen:

Too treacherous equally to brook

Adversity's hard yoke. {713}

Guard Cæsar bound 'gainst Britain's distant land,

Limit of earth--preserve the new-formed band

Of Youths, by Eastern realms to be

Feared, and by the Red Sea!

Alas! I blush for public crimes and rage;

For brothers too: what have we, hardened age,

Eschewed? what vice untried disdained?

When have our youth restrained

Their hands through fear of Heav'n? what altars spared?

Grant to reforge, on anvil new-prepared,

From civil strife our blunted swords,

'Gainst Scythian and Arabian hordes!

* * * * *

Lib. 3. Ode iii.

Justum, et tenacem propositi virum

Non civium ardor prava jubentium,

Non vultus instantis tyranni

Mente quatit solidâ, neque Auster,

Dux inquieti turbidus Adriæ,

Nec fulminantis magna Jovis manus:

Si fractus illabatur orbis,

Impavidum ferient ruinæ.

Hâc arte Pollux, et vagus Hercules

Innixus, arces attigit igneas:

Quos inter Augustus recumbens

Purpureo bibit ore nectar.

Hâc te merentem, Bacche pater, tuæ

Vexêre tigres, indocili jugum

Collo trahentes: hâc Quirinus

Martis equis Acheronta fugit.

Translation.

The upright man tenacious of design,

Nor civil rage commanding acts malign,

Nor tyrant's frown,[1] in fierce career,

Shakes in his firm resolve with fear:

Nor Auster, restless Adria's stormy king,

Nor Jove's strong hand upraised the bolt to wing.

Should Heaven's burst vault sink on his head

The wreck would strike him undismayed.

Pollux, and wandering Hercules, sustained

By arts like these, the starry summits gained,

Mid whom reclining Cæsar sips

Rich nectar with empurpled lips;

Thee, Bacchus, thus deserving virtue's prize

With yoke on neck indocile to the skies

Thy tigers bore--thus Rhea's son

On steeds of Mars 'scaped Acheron.

[Footnote 1: _Glance_ would perhaps be more expressive. Translator.]

* * * * *

Lib. 2. Ode xvi. AD GROSPHUM.

Otium Divos rogat in patenti

Prensus Ægoeo, simul atra nubes

Condidit Lunam, neque certa fulgent

Sidera nautis;

Otium bello furiosa Thrace,

Otium Medi pharetrâ decori,

Grosphe, non gemmis, neque purpura ve-

nale, nec auro.

Non enim gazæ, neque consularis

Summovet lictor miseros tumultus

Mentis, et curas laqueata circum

Tecta volantes.

Vivitur parvo bene, cui paternum

Splendet in mensâ tenui salinum;

Nec leves somnos timor aut Cupido

Sordidus aufert.

Quid brevi fortes jaculamur oevo

Multa? quid terras alio calentes

Sole mutamus? patriæ quis exul

Se quoque fugit?

Scandit æratas vitiosa naves

Cura; nec turmas equitum relinquit,

Ocior cervis, et agente nimbos

Ocior Euro.

Loetus in præsens animus, quod ultra est

Oderit curare, et amara lento

Temperet risu. Nihil est ab omni

Parte beatum.

Abstulit clarum cita mors Achillem:

Longa Tithonum minuit senectus:

Et mihi forsan, tibi quod negârit,

Porriget hora.

Te greges centum, Siculæque circum

Mugiunt vaccoe; tibi tollit hinnitum

Apta quadrigis equa: te bis Afro

Murice tinctæ

Vestiunt lanoe: mihi parva rura, et

Spiritum Graioe tenuem Camenoe

Parca non mendax dedit, et malignum

Spernere Vulgus.

Translation. TO GROSPHUS.

For ease, to Heaven the seaman prays,

Caught in the wide Ægean seas

When black clouds wrap the sky,

Nor moon nor well known star to guide

His barque along the treacherous tide,

Shines to his practised eye.

For ease the Thracian fierce in fight

And Parthian graced with quiver light,

To Heaven incessant sigh.

Ease, which nor gold, nor gems can buy,

Nor robes of Tyria's costly dye.

For wealth or power can quell

No wretched tumults of the breast,

Nor cares, aye fluttering without rest,

Round sculptured domes, dispel.

Well does he live in humble state,

Whose father's salt-stand--his sole plate,

Shines on his frugal board.

Nor fears to lose disturb his rest,

Nor sordid avarice goads his breast

To gain a useless hoard.

Why daring aim beyond our span,

Through distant years at many a plan

When life so brief we find?

Why long 'neath other suns to roam?

What exile from his native home

Has left himself behind?

Fell care ascends the brazen poop,

Nor yet forsakes the horseman's troop,

Outstrips the stag and wind.

Pleased with the present--ills beyond,

The man who loves not to despond,

To trace will wisely shun:

And when they come with tempering smile

The bitter of his cup beguile

Or sweeten ere 'tis done. {714}

In youth the great Peleides sunk,

With tardy age Tithonus shrunk,

For nought is wholly blest.

So time perhaps extends for me

The hour he still denies to thee,

Of choicest gifts possest.

Thee--numerous flocks and herds surround,

Thy neighing coursers paw the ground,

For princely chariot meet.

Rich fleeces steeped in murex bright

Invest thy limbs with purple light

And flow around thy feet.

To me content, veracious heaven

A little farm to till has given

In independence proud,

A gentle breath of Grecian muse

Its airy visions to infuse

And scorn the envious crowd.

CRITICAL NOTICES AND LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.