enervating breath. Since then, and while the sun was riding in his more northern tropic, my energies fell before his potent presence with a still lowlier prostration. Yet, as utter oppression will drive even the weakest to resistance, so does trampled Nature rise rebellious against the tyrant, and stand upright even before his summerthrone. The cold airs of the morning send a vigorous life through the limbs, which the toils of yesterday exhausted; and a post-prandial siesta, followed by a light repast" of meats and drinks, nature's refreshment sweet," prepares the mind for an evening of quiet thought, or rational enjoyment.

This morning is of the loveliest. Each gentle flower turns her fair face to the god of her idolatry, and, like a grateful bride, repays the warmth of his caresses with the perfume of her breath. It would seem as if the wing of relenting Time had dropt a freshening essence on his vassals, as he passed, and atoned, in the face of Nature and the hearts of her children, for the ravages of years. "Tis not the sacred awe, that falls like a shadow from the stars of midnight, and wakes in the soul an unutterable yearning for a holier home-'tis not the sad solemnity of evening, that fuses into one pervading thought the hopes of the future, and the sorrows of the past, whilst our gaze follows far into his nightly pavilion the golden footsteps of the retreating Day 'tis the freshness, that dwells in the pinion of the eagle, when he springs from his dew-cold aerie in the mountains, and soars, with eye turned direct and unblenching on the morning sun. But to return to the women. It is a lamentable fact-horresco referens'-that the old heathen, and the Greeks among them, did not prize very highly these interesting objects. It is true that the exquisite delicacy of female beauty, excited in their breasts a natural thrill of pleasure, and now and then a Sappho or an Aspasia by the united power of wit and loveliness threw a spell of enchantment around the wisest, and bravest, and proudest of their time. But these were exceptions. There is many a smart bit of satire, and many a dull growl of defiance at the sex, scattered through the pages of the Anthology-and these I have hitherto neglected to translate, well knowing that the ladies are not so perfect as to bear sarcasm with patience, and that a portion of their anger might be diverted from the Greeks to me. Whether their being created second entitles them to be considered second-best, it is not my province to decide. At any rate I see not how we could get along without them, and I am perfectly willing to add my experience to that of Mungo Park, and testify that, where they are suffered to have their own way, I have found them uniformly generous and obliging.

A Paraphrase from Palladas the Alexandrian.

Woman, thou busy, meddling, curious thing,
What endless evils from thy presence spring!

For thee, forth-sailing from the hills of Greece,
Bold Jason wandered for the Golden Fleece.
Thou, and thy paramour, the beauteous boy,
Brought woe and ruin to the gates of Troy.
Achilles' anger for a while delay'd

Th' event occasion'd by the faithless maid;
And then, when Ilion's consecrated wall
Had shook, and reel'd, and nodded to its fall,
Who but a woman, on the foaming brine
Held wise Ulysses, and transformed to swine
His brave companions, and employ'd each wile
To chain the hero to her magic isle?

And is not woman's love, or woman's rage,
Ground of each plot upon the tragic stage?
Quick to perceive, and headlong to resent,
Thy kindled anger never can relent.

So mild in love, so terrible in hate,

The soothing balm, and tri-thonged scourge of Fate;
Thou sure wert born to trouble and perplex,

Involve and puzzle the diviner sex!

Have we a secret? Keep it, as we may,

Full soon it passes from our grasp away.

Has any thing occurred? 'Who, which, what now?
"Come, tell me quick, the why, when, where, and how !"
Yet art thou lovely as the gentle light,

That falleth dew-sprent from the orbs of night;
And, wert thou fled, this world of ours would be
Dark as the Fates, and barren as the sea.
When wise, and kind, and generous, and mild,
Thou rul'st us, as a mother rules her child.
But when thy passions take their headlong way,
We scorn thine empire, and defy thy sway.-
Must, then, a pretty, peering, prying wife,
Soothe, vex, enliven, and distract my life?
I'll cling to thee for better, and for worse,

Our joy, our grief, our blessing, and our curse.

Let those who are not satisfied with this mixture of compliment and sarcasm read the following, and see with what yearning anguish a Greek could mourn over the grave of a loved one, who had passed what was, to the ancients, with emphatic truth "the valley of the shadow of death." It is by Meleager, one of the most delicate and affectingly simple of all the Greek poets.

To thee, transported by that cruel Power,
Who waves his sceptre over all that live,
Tears wept in darkness at the midnight hour,
Oh! Heliodora! bitterly I give.

Thy home's low roof with ceaseless tears I wet,
In deep, and wild, and passionate regret.

Oh! Heliodora! I have known thee long,

And loved thee deeply, and bewailed thee well;
But what avails the tear, the sigh, the song,

To thee, thus sleeping in thy narrow cell?
Alas! my lovely flower is senseless clay!
My budding rose the Grave has torn away!

To thee, oh earth! then let thy mourning son,
O'er whose glad heaven this cloud hath early past,
Whose day is darkened ere its morn be run,

Lift one appeal-his strongest, and his last-
Take her, oh! take her to thy gentle breast,
And lull her softly to her evening rest!

To the Tettix.

Thou noisy thing, intoxicate with dew,
Thou desert-babbler, with thy rustic lay,
Who sittest idly, where the green leaves through
On thy cranked limbs bright slants the solar ray,
Whilst from thy little frame with hue of fire,
Comes forth the mimic music of the lyre—

Oh! friendly songster, to the Sylphid Maids
'Discourse sweet music,' with thy tiny tongue,
And unto Pan, who habits in the shades,

And roves the mountains and the fields among.
Then, freed from love, my noontide sleep I'll take,
Beneath the shadow which the plane-trees make.

And now, dear reader, thou hast gathered with me a few of the many wild-flowers, which bloom in the Anthology, but are known only to the student, and appreciated only by the scholar. If thou art not interested in them, it is either because thou art not gifted with a love for the simple and the beautiful, or else because that simplicity and beauty have perished in the medium through which thou hast seen them. I am no man-worshipper, and, I hope, no nation-worshipper. Yet I love, admire, and venerate the Greeks; and though I might in liberality allow that there have been minds more mighty than any of the Grecian race, yet it might be shown by the strongest of moral proof-the sentiments of nations, and the evidence of facts-that they were the brightest, simplest, and most classic nation on the earth. I say, it might be shown, and should occasion serve, I will show it. Meanwhile I will content myself with the hope that you may be blessed with an Attic reduplication of wit, a temporal augment in the riches and honors of this world, and a spiritual aspiration after all that is beautiful in knowledge, and all that is generous in deed. HERMENEUTES.

"OUR MAGAZINE,"

Is doing very well-but might do better. It has hitherto had subscribers enough to support it-it has never lacked communications-it has never been so unfortunate as at one and the same time to displease every body—it has been constantly sustained by the countenance of able friends, and the attacks of weak enemies— its general character has been approved by the 'leading prints'—many articles have been copied from it, not without the most gratifying compliments—even the editors have not lost their meed of praise.

So much for the first part of our remark, that the Magazine is 'doing well'— now for the less pleasing adjunct, 'that it might do better.' We might have more subscribers and all our subscribers might pay as they engage to our articles might be more varied and more excellent—and by an increase of patronage, we should be enabled to enlarge the size, and improve the mechanical appearance of the work-and, in a word, make it more worthy of the institution from which it takes its name, and which it is our especial delight to honor.

All subscriptions were considered as made for one year, and will be so charged by the Publishers. Subscribers at a distance are reminded that their money is due.

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