O thou gallant blade unconquered! We come to a few short specimens of a different class—the Greek epigrams, the sonnets of Greece. They may perhaps not unaptly be termed so, as mostly embodying one thought, developed in a few lines. The grace and loveliness of youth, beauty, the joys of drinking, the deformities of old age, the biting sarcasm pointed against the coward, the impostor, the false pretender to learning, all these formed the subject of these exquisite fragments of antiquity. One prevailing idea runs through the liveliest of them, the deep bass accompanying their merriest moods, that of "eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die," and thus separates them by a great gulf from all poetry of modern times. It is to be traced in these lines of Rufinus on his mistress Melite, although remotely. Petrarch would have spoken of a happy meeting in heaven with his Laura; Boccaccio, with his Fiammetta. Rufinus wishes to bestow on his mistress (let the expression pass) the imperishable immortality of sculpture. Ποῦ νῦν Πραξιτέλης ποὺ δ' αἱ χέρες αἱ Πολυκλείτου ; κ. τ. λ. Beneath whose hands their works, yea, soulèd were? With eye of fire and glowing neck, portray? Ye founders, sculptors, come! a shrine should be Here is a shorter one, a compliment to a physician, Magnus-a rare thing with the Greeks; for the epigrams abound with sarcasms against the learned faculty. What would they have said to St. John Long, and Mesmerism, and homœopathy? Μάγνος ὅτ' εἰς 'Αϊδην κατέβην, κ. τ. λ. When Magnus came to Hades, Pluto said, Paul the Silentiary to his mistress. Εἰμὶ μὲν οὐ φιλόοινος, κ. τ. λ. No drunkard I; but only taste the cup, If thou wouldst have me drunk,-I drink it up. The same to his mistress. Further than Meroë should thy footsteps bend, I send a small sea-gift, propitious be; ⚫ Marianus. Η καλὸν ἄλσος Ἔρωτος ὅπου καλὰ δένδρεα ταυτα, SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN ASH. It is not vanity in me,-but all The wanton zephyrs come and do declare I am of sylvan beauties the most fair!* In deep and glassy stream beneath my feet. That shaped me thus, and not my own conceit. The warrior's wind-nursed spear of old was I,† Wherever chance may fix my love for earth ;§ *Virgil, too, amongst the poets, describes the Ash as the fairest tree of the forest: Fraxinus in sylvis pulcherrima. 66 + Et fraxinus utilis hastis (Ovid); and Homer, describing the spear of Agamem. non, has "xwv dveμoтpepès čyxos.—Il. X. Seneca observes that woods most exposed to the winds are the strongest and most solid; and that therefore Chiron made Achil les's spear of a mountain-tree. The sweet-smelling mountain-ash, or roan-tree, was held in great veneration by the Druids. Tantus amor terræ (Virg.); and Evelyn of the ash says, it is an obstinate and deep rooter. By the banks of sweet and crystal rivers, I have observed them to thrive infi. nitely.-EVELYN. STANLEY THORN. BY THE AUTHOR OF "VALENTINE VOX." CHAPTER IV. Stanley has an interview with Ripstone, and upsets his nerves altogether. WHEN Stanley had summoned the servants with due promptitude and violence, he left the room, and such restoratives as were immediately available were applied with great delicacy and zeal to the temples, palms, and nostrils of the overwhelmed widow. The attendants were, however, in an intellectual maze, out of which they could not see their way at all clearly, for their mistress had not been accustomed to faint and then that Mr. Ripstone!-where was Mr. Ripstone? It really seemed to them, viewing the thing as they did in all its varied ramifications, to be very suspicious; and they looked at each other with an aspect which denoted that they absolutely felt it to be mysterious in the extreme. Surely Stanley had not pitched the man out of the window ?-and yet it was thought extremely probable; and Simpson opened the window with a view to the immediate satisfaction of that thought; but Mr. Ripstone was not in the area!—nor was he impaled upon any one of the spikes! This had a direct tendency to render the mystery more dense, for who had let him out? As not one of them had had that honour, the impression became general that he was still in the room. They hence examined every place in which it was both most likely and most unlikely for a gentleman to be concealed, and the butler was just on the point of ascertaining whether the well-known hat and peculiar cloak of Mr. Ripstone were in the hall, when the widow developed striking symptoms of reanimation, and soon after retired for the night, without, however, imparting the slightest information as to the cause of the occurrence to her puzzled attendants, who-having created innumerable conjectures with the celebrated tact and ingenuity of their order-were by no means satisfied, but felt, strongly and most acutely felt, that there was something at the bottom of it. As soon as the widow had retired, the drawing-room bell was rung, in a style in which it never by any chance was rung save when Stanley was at home. There could not be two opinions about who had It was therefore immediately answered by Simpson, receiving orders for supper, looked curiously round and pulled the rope. who, while round the room. "What are you looking for?-what have you lost?" demanded Stanley, in a tone that was not extremely pleasing. "Me, sir? Nothing, sir-nothing," mumbled Simpson. "I only thought, sir, that perhaps Mr. Ripstone "What!" exclaimed Stanley. Simpson muttered something, of which the design was apparently to convey some idea, and vanished. Now, albeit the widow retired to bed, her sensibilities had received so powerful a shock that she found it impossible to sleep. She turned "Why should I have been so alarmed? The position was peculiar, and turned again, and sighed and wept, and exclaimed, sotto voce, VOL. V. 14 certainly there's no denying that; but, then, why should a mother thus fear her own son ?" To this natural interrogatory she felt unable to give a perfectly satisfactory answer, and hence really began to form a resolution to break the chains which she herself had forged to shackle her will. But then her fond love for Stanley! And what can be compared with the love of a mother? It is ardent, enduring and pure to the last. There is there can on earth be-no love so devoted, so constant, so powerful. By its virtue a mother's soul seems centred in her child, in whom alone exists the power to fill her heart with pure joy or to plunge it into misery the most poignant: still be that fond love the source of rapture or of wretchedness, it shines in the ascendant till life is extinct. In its most comprehensive sense the widow was actuated by this love for Stanley. He was the pride of her heart: she idolized, adored him! Still she thought it hard, that she should be so controlled, because-as she explained to herself again and again very pointedly—if there be one state of life in which a lady has the privilege of being more independent of family influences than in another, it is distinctly the state of widowhood: she therefore held control to be intolerable. She did not, she could not by any means recognize the right of a son to dictate to a mother at all under the peculiarly afflicting circumstances of the case: she thought it highly incorrect and very presumptuous, and the style in which she resolved to be thenceforth mistress of her own actions, as far, at least, as matrimonial matters were concerned, was so extremely energetic that it eventually sent her to sleep. In the morning, when she met Stanley at the breakfast-table, he requested an explanation of the scene on the previous night. "What you saw, I grant, was-odd: but then, under the circum stances "Circumstances? What were the circumstances?" Why, my love, the fact is-I feel that I must tell you-a proposal had just been made as you entered." "A proposal? What, a proposal of marriage?" exclaimed Stanley, knitting his brows, and pursing his lips into an expression which fluctuated finely between a smile and a sneer. I had no idea the fellow had so much impudence in him. And of course-you accepted that proposal?" "Why, my dearest love, look at my present position. It is really very lonely, more especially- "Mother! do you mean to tell me that you have promised to marry old Ripstone?" Why, what could I do? He is a very old friend; and while conscious of his fondness for you, I well knew that you had ever been sincerely attached to him.' "I-I attached to him?" "What, not to your own Pippin ?" "Pippin! Mother, are you mad? But the thing is too monstrously absurd. If you must marry, choose some one worthy of you. Why have you not a becoming degree of pride? There are hundreds of men-men of influence and station!-with whom you might form an alliance. For Heaven's sake banish from your mind the idea of throwing yourself away upon so paltry a creature as this poor fool Pippin." The fact of Stanley arguing any point which he had made up his mind to carry was a species of condescension for which the widow was not prepared: it had therefore, alone, no inconsiderable weight: but when in addition to this he assailed her vanity, the consideration sank deep into her heart. What Stanley had suggested might occur! She might become the wife of a man of influence-perhaps, of a Baronet!-why not of a Peer? She could really see nothing to prevent it! Yet how on earth could she ever look in the face of Mr. Ripstone again? "Leave Pippin to me. Let him be invited here this evening. I will write to say that I am anxious to see him. I will make him feel that if he values his peace he had better not attempt to form an alliance with you." An invitation was accordingly sent to Mr. Ripstone immediately after breakfast. Stanley then explained-without, however, entering at all into particulars-that he had left Eton. The widow, being of course utterly ignorant of the fact of his having been expelled, was amazed. very And so was Mr. Ripstone. The night preceding he had not an hour's sleep. He had been racked with conflicting emotions. He had placed-with an eye to his own prospect of peace-the widow's love in juxta-position with Stanley's tyrannous spirit, and found the balance against the former to be so considerable, that he really began to think that his present state of life was, on the whole, to be preferred. But, when he received the invitation, his ideas on the subject were in an instant, as if by magic, metamorphosed. The matter then assumed a different aspect. He saw at a glance, and with a distinctness which was absolutely marvellous in itself, that Stanley, having had the prominent features of the case explained, wished to acknowledge his error and to apologize for his abruptness, which Ripstone very naturally held to be very proper. "I always thought," he observed, with great point to himself, "that that youth was all right at the bottom, and this tends to confirm the correctness of that thought, for he evidently feels that he was wrong, and is now anxious to make all the reparation in his power. But I'll have no apologies! No! it shall never be said that I exacted humiliation from any living soul." Actuated by this extremely generous sentiment, he went with a light heart through those toils of the day which are notoriously inseparable from an official existence, and in the evening repaired to the mansion of his love. The widow was invisible. He found Stanley in the drawing-room alone, and the coldness with which he received him not only contrasted very strongly with his own elastic bearing, but had the effect of inspiring him at once with the conviction that he had made a slight mistake. sent for you, sir," he continued, "to demand an explanation of your "Be seated, Mr. Ripstone," said Stanley, in a haughty tone. "I conduct last night." "An explanation ?" echoed Ripstone with great timidity. "Ay, sir! An explanation." -I hoped-that-all had been explained." "Re-ally," observed Ripstone, who felt much confused, "I thought a man to be trifled with. Instantly, therefore, explain to me all that to that I |