CHAPTER II.

SOME PARTICULARS CONCERNING A LION.

We have a great respect for lions in the abstract. In common with most other people, we have heard and read of many instances of their bravery and generosity. We have duly admired that heroic self-denial and charming philanthropy, which prompts them never to eat people except when they are hungry, and we have been deeply impressed with a becoming sense of the politeness they are said to display towards unmarried ladies of a certain state. All natural histories teem with anecdotes illustrative of their excellent qualities; and one old spelling-book in particular recounts a touching instance of an old lion of high moral dignity and stern principle, who felt it his imperative duty to devour a young man who had contracted a habit of swearing, as a striking example to the rising generation.

All this is extremely pleasant to reflect upon, and indeed says a very great deal in favour of lions as a mass. We are bound to state, however, that such individual lions as we have happened to fall in with, have not put forth any very striking characteristics, and have not acted up to the chivalrous character assigned them by their chroniclers. We never saw a lion in what is called his natural state, certainly; that is to say, we have never met a lion out walking in a forest, or crouching in his lair under a tropical sun waiting till his dinner should happen to come by, hot from the baker's. But we have seen some under the influence of captivity and the pressure of misfortune; and we must say that they appeared to us very apathetic, heavy-headed fellows.

The lion at the Zoological Gardens, for instance. He is all very well; he has an undeniable mane, and looks very fierce; but, Lord bless us! what of that? The lions of the fashionable world look just as ferocious, and are the most harmless creatures breathing. A box-lobby lion or a Regent-street animal will put on a most terrible aspect, and roar fearfully, if you affront him; but he will never bite, and, if you offer to attack him manfully, will fairly turn tail and sneak off. Doubtless these creatures roam about sometimes in herds, and, if they meet any especially meek-looking and peaceably-disposed fellow, will endeavour to frighten him; but the faintest show of a vigorous resistance is sufficient to scare them even then. These are pleasant characteristics, whereas we make it matter of distinct charge against the Zoological lion and his brethren at the fairs, that they are sleepy, dreamy, sluggish quadrupeds.

We do not remember to have ever seen one of them perfectly awake, except at feeding-time. In every respect we uphold the biped lions against their four-footed namesakes, and we boldly challenge controversy upon the subject.

With these opinions it may be easily imagined that our curiosity and interest were very much excited the other day, when a lady of our acquaintance called on us and resolutely declined to accept our refusal of her invitation to an evening party; "for," said she, "I have got a lion coming." We at once retracted our plea of a prior engagement, and became as anxious to go, as we had previously been to stay away.

We went early and posted ourself in an eligible part of the drawing-room, from whence we could hope to obtain a full view of the interesting animal. Two or three hours passed, the quadrilles began, the room filled; but no lion appeared. The lady of the house became inconsolable,--for it is one of the peculiar privileges of these lions to make solemn appointments and never keep them,--when all of a sudden there came a tremendous double rap at the street-door, and the master of the house, after gliding out (unobserved as he flattered himself) to peep over the banisters, came into the room, rubbing his hands together with great glee, and cried out in a very important voice, "My dear, Mr. ---- (naming the lion) has this moment arrived."

Upon this, all eyes were turned towards the door, and we observed several young ladies, who had been laughing and conversing previously with great gaiety and good-humour, grow extremely quiet and sentimental; while some young gentlemen, who had been cutting great figures in the facetious and smalltalk way, suddenly sank very obviously in the estimation of the company, and were looked upon with great coldness and indifference. Even the young man who had been ordered from the music-shop to play the pianoforte, was visibly affected, and struck several false notes in the excess of his excitement.

All this time there was a great talking outside, more than once accompanied by a loud laugh, and a cry of "Oh, capital! excellent!" from which we inferred that the lion was jocose, and that these exclamations were occasioned by the transports of his keeper and our host. Nor were we deceived; for when the lion at last appeared, we overheard his keeper, who was a little prim man, whisper to several gentlemen of his acquaintance, with uplifted hands and every expression of half-suppressed admiration, that ---- (naming the lion again) was in _such_ cue to-night!

The lion was a literary one: of course there were a vast number of people present, who had admired his roarings, and were anxious to be introduced to him; and very pleasant it was to see them brought up for the purpose, and to observe the patient dignity with which he received all their patting and caressing. This brought forcibly to our mind what we had so often witnessed at country fairs, where the other lions are compelled to go through as many forms of courtesy as they chance to be acquainted with, just as often as admiring parties happen to drop in upon them.

While the lion was exhibiting in this way, his keeper was not idle, for he mingled among the crowd, and spread his praises most industriously. To one gentleman he whispered some very choice thing that the noble animal had said in the very act of coming up stairs, which, of course, rendered the mental effort still more astonishing; to another he murmured a hasty account of a grand dinner that had taken place the day before, where twenty-seven gentlemen had got up all at once to demand an extra cheer for the lion; and to the ladies he made sundry promises of interceding to procure the majestic brute's sign-manual for their albums. Then, there were little private consultations in different corners, relative to the personal appearance and stature of the lion; whether he was shorter than they had expected to see him, or taller, or thinner, or fatter, or younger, or older; whether he was like his portrait or unlike it; and whether the particular shade of his eyes was black, or blue, or hazel, or green, or yellow, or mixture. At all these consultations the keeper assisted; and, in short, the lion was the sole and single subject of discussion till they sat him down to whist, and then the people relapsed into their old topics of conversation--themselves and each other.

We must confess that we looked forward with no slight impatience to the announcement of supper; for if you wish to see a tame lion under particularly favourable circumstances, feeding-time is the period of all others to pitch upon. We were therefore very much delighted to observe a sensation among the guests, which we well knew how to interpret, and immediately afterwards to behold the lion escorting the lady of the house down stairs. We offered our arm to an elderly female of our acquaintance, who--dear old soul!--is the very best person that ever lived, to lead down to any meal; for, be the room ever so small or the party ever so large, she is sure, by some intuitive perception of the eligible, to push and pull herself and conductor close to the best dishes on the table;--we say we offered our arm to this elderly female, and, descending the stairs shortly after the lion, were fortunate enough to obtain a seat nearly opposite him.

Of course the keeper was there already. He had planted himself at precisely that distance from his charge which afforded him a decent pretext for raising his voice, when he addressed him, to so loud a key as could not fail to attract the attention of the whole company, and immediately began to apply himself seriously to the task of bringing the lion out, and putting him through the whole of his manoeuvres. Such flashes of wit as he elicited from the lion! First of all they began to make puns upon a salt-cellar, and then upon the breast of a fowl, and then upon the trifle; but the best jokes of all were decidedly on the lobster-salad, upon which latter subject the lion came out most vigorously, and, in the opinion of the most competent authorities, quite outshone himself. This is a very excellent mode of shining in society, and is founded, we humbly conceive, upon the classic model of the dialogues between Mr. Punch and his friend the proprietor, wherein the latter takes all the up-hill work, and is content to pioneer to the jokes and repartees of Mr. P. himself, who never fails to gain great credit and excite much laughter thereby. Whatever it be founded on, however, we recommend it to all lions, present and to come; for in this instance it succeeded to admiration, and perfectly dazzled the whole body of hearers.

When the salt-cellar, and the fowl's breast, and the trifle, and the lobster-salad were all exhausted, and could not afford standing-room for another solitary witticism, the keeper performed that very dangerous feat which is still done with some of the caravan lions, although in one instance it terminated fatally, of putting his head in the animal's mouth, and placing himself entirely at its mercy. Boswell frequently presents a melancholy instance of the lamentable results of this achievement, and other keepers and jackals have been terribly lacerated for their daring. It is due to our lion to state, that he condescended to be trifled with, in the most gentle manner, and finally went home with the showman in a hack cab: perfectly peaceable, but slightly fuddled.

Being in a contemplative mood, we were led to make some reflections upon the character and conduct of this genus of lions as we walked homewards, and we were not long in arriving at the conclusion that our former impression in their favour was very much strengthened and confirmed by what we had recently seen. While the other lions receive company and compliments in a sullen, moody, not to say snarling manner, these appear flattered by the attentions that are paid them; while those conceal themselves to the utmost of their power from the vulgar gaze, these court the popular eye, and, unlike their brethren, whom nothing short of compulsion will move to exertion, are ever ready to display their acquirements to the wondering throng. We have known bears of undoubted ability who, when the expectations of a large audience have been wound up to the utmost pitch, have peremptorily refused to dance; well-taught monkeys, who have unaccountably objected to exhibit on the slack-wire; and elephants of unquestioned genius, who have suddenly declined to turn the barrel-organ: but we never once knew or heard of a biped lion, literary or otherwise,--and we state it as a fact which is highly creditable to the whole species,--who, occasion offering, did not seize with avidity on any opportunity which was afforded him, of performing to his heart's content on the first violin.

THE LEGEND OF BOHIS HEAD.

One of the most south-western points of Ireland is the promontory of Bohis, which forms the northern shore of the bay of Balinskeligs. A singular conformation of rock is observable upon the extremity of the wild cape, it being worn by the incessant beating of the billows into a grotesque resemblance of the human profile. The waves, however, are not suffered to claim undisputed this rude sculpture as their own; a far different origin being attributed to it by the legends of the country around. The following is the legend, as told to us.

In times long, very long ago,--prior even to that early age when Milesius came over from Spain, to plant in Ireland the prolific tribes of the _O_'s and the _Mac_'s,--Bohis Head, instead of the abrupt, broken cliffs that now terminate it, presented a lofty and uniform wall of rock to the assaults of the Atlantic. Upon the topmost summit (much about where now stand the unfinished walls of one of those desirable winter-residences, the coast watch-towers, built at _the end_ of the last war,) there stood, at the period of our tale, the castle of a very celebrated personage, generally known in those parts as the Baon Ri Dhuv,--in plain English, "The Black Lady,"--a title partly bestowed on her, on account of her dark hair and face, and partly on account of the cruelty and tyranny which she exercised upon all those who were subject to her dominion. She must have been redoubtable in no small degree, as, besides the possession of a large army, which she could at any time collect from her numerous array of vassals, she was a deep proficient in the art of magic, and was even said to have once, by the potency of her spells, prevented a drop of rain from falling upon her territories (which included the whole of Munster) for a week together. But as the south of Ireland at least has never since been known to be so long without showers, this feat is not so implicitly believed as other of the traditions about her. However that may be, this at least is certain, that she wanted for nothing that force or fraud, fair means or means the most unholy, could give her; and she was deemed the happiest as well as the most powerful being in the world.

Those who said this, did not judge truly. In the midst of all her splendour and state, caressed, feared, flattered, obeyed as she was by all, she was not happy; and it is strange that her tenants and servants did not find this out, as her usual method of easing her feelings was by ill-treating and abusing them. But they were, in all probability, too much afraid of her to call even their thoughts their own, for fear of being metamorphosed into goats, or cows, or some other species of beasts; a change of life which, from the scanty grazing of the neighbouring mountain pastures, they did not deem very inviting. She was _not_ happy; and simply because, among her myriad of vassals, flatterers, and slaves, she had not one _friend_. There was the whole secret. In her inmost soul she--that proud, tyrannical, haughty, hard-hearted woman--felt that, all feared and all potent as she was, she still was no more than mortal; and that within her own breast there was that which tyrannised over herself,--the innate longings of our nature for sympathy, for companionship, for affection. The humblest hind that served her, had a comrade,--a friend; while she, the queen and mistress of all, was the object of detestation as universal as the slavish obedience that met her at every step. At first she scoffed and spurned at the dull internal aching; it was a weakness, she thought, that needed but to be fought against, to be for ever quelled. She sought wars and conflicts; she dived deeper than ever before into the unholy mysteries of the "Black Art;" she revelled, she feasted, and she succeeded in quelling the rebel feeling for a time,--but only for a time. There came a reaction to her excitement; and, while her spirits and all else seemed exhausted and worn out, this dull yearning was stronger and more aching than ever. At length, one day, after a long and painful reverie, she started up, striking her forehead violently, and vowed that she would have a friend,--a companion,--nay, even (as her sentimentality increased with indulgence) a _husband_,--or perish in the attempt! As the oath passed her lips, a tremendous peal of thunder rolled over the castle towers and passed off to seaward, dying away in the distance with a sound not unlike a wild and prolonged shout of laughter.

She had not much time to lose, if she intended to marry. The little servant-boy, who had been allowed to get drunk on the night of rejoicings for her birth, was now a grave and sedate major-domo of most venerable age. She herself, but some fifteen or sixteen years his junior, was long past the time when the grossest flattery could make her believe that she was young; and her years had not passed over her head without leaving their traces behind. She had been in her best days what is called by friends "rather plain," which generally means "very ugly." Her forehead bowed out and overhung her nose, which endeavoured to stretch out to some decent length, but was unfortunately foiled by the want of a bridge. The mouth, as if it perceived this failure on the part of the feature immediately above it, modestly declined the contest, and retreated far inward. The chin, however, amply made up for all intermediate deficiencies, and even surpassed the forehead in the hugeness of its proportions, or _dis_proportions. Her hair was black, as has been said, and hung in long, lanky clusters about her face. Time seldom improves the human countenance, and certainly made no exception in favour of the Baon Ri Dhuv. At the time of her vow many wrinkles had made their appearance, and unequivocal grey hairs chequered the once uniform sable that covered her head. Magic had not then arrived at the pitch of perfection to which it afterwards attained in the times of Virgilius and Apollonius Rhodius; and, among the inventions yet in the womb of time, were the charms for restoring youth and imparting beauty.

The lady of the castle set off, one fine morning, on the back of a cloud which she had hailed as it was drifting over her chimney-tops, driven inland by the fresh breeze from the ocean. As she was borne along, she looked anxiously right and left down upon the earth, to spy out, if possible, the desired companion. But she found she had grown very fastidious, now that the means of ridding herself of her troublesome desires appeared open to her. She looked at no women; she felt instinctively that none of her own sex could be the friend that would satisfy her heart: but all the young men that she passed over, she scrutinized, as if her life depended upon it. They in their turn stared a good deal at her, as well they might; for it was no common thing, even in those days, to see a woman perched up on a cloud, sailing over your head before a rattling breeze of wind. Perhaps it was their staring at her, so different from the downcast eyes and humble mien of her slaves at home,--perhaps it was their rude remarks that displeased her; whatever it was, on she went without making her choice, until towards the close of the day she found she had nearly crossed Ireland in a diagonal line from south-west to north-east, the wind blowing in that direction. As it still blew merrily, and it was full-moon night, she determined to go on to Scotland, and try whether Sawnie could please her, better then Paddy. With this resolve she had not proceeded more than half a league from the shore of Ireland, when she perceived she was going over a mountain-islet some five or six miles in girth, and apparently very fertile in its soil, for large herds of cattle were grazing upon its sides. It is a trite and true saying, that those who possess much, are often covetous of more; and in her case it was especially true. With a word she stayed the cloud over the island; the wind falling all at once, in obedience to her will. If there were any of the old Vikingir, those daring privateersmen of ancient times, that night upon the waters, how they and their fierce crews must have heaped maledictions on the unseen power that quelled the merry breeze before which they were late careering gaily with bended mast and bellying sail, and summoned them to ply the labouring oar throughout the hours they had vainly hoped to give to slumber! But the Black Lady was not a person to care much for such trifles as curses. If she had been so, she would have led an extremely uncomfortable life, for she had merited a good many of them in her time. Over the island she hung, gazing down upon it, and gloating on its richness and fertility, while she inwardly resolved to strain her magical powers to the utmost, to transfer it from its present position to the neighbourhood of her own coast. Her attention, however, was soon withdrawn from all other objects, and concentrated on one that had just caught her eye: it was a young man, the only one she had as yet seen who did not stare up at her, rudely and impertinently. Indeed he did not look up at all. He seemed to have no eyes, no soul, for any one but a young girl who was by his side. The lady on the cloud could see by the moonlight that the girl's face was exceedingly beautiful; that is to say, as much as could be perceived of it when she occasionally, and but for a moment, raised her eyes from the ground, on which they were riveted.

"Speak! will you not speak to me?" were the words of the young man: "but one word, Eva,--dearest Eva,--to tell me have I offended by my boldness?"

The girl blushed ten times deeper than before, and her lips quivered as at length she slowly murmured out, "No, Conla!"

"Thanks! thanks!" was his rapturous exclamation; "a thousand times thanks, my own, my ... Hallo! what is this? Whence come you?" These latter words were addressed to the Black Lady, as, to his utter astonishment, she alighted from the cloud right in his path. Eva shrieked, and hid her face in his bosom.

"I am the Baon Ri Dhuv," said the enchantress, trying to look dignified, and to smooth away the scowl that had darkened her visage since she perceived his companion,--"the Queen of the South!"

"And what can the Baon Ri Dhuv, the Queen of the South, want with Conla, a shepherd of the north?"

"Young man, mock me not," replied she, frowning most awfully: "you know not, but you may be made to _feel_, my power. Listen to me," continued she in a milder tone, and putting on what she intended to be a most amiable and engaging look; but which gave her coarse lineaments a still more grotesque hideousness, that almost made the young shepherd laugh in her face, despite the secret dread he felt creeping on his heart. "I am the ruler of a vast tract of country; I have a vast army to do my will; nay, more, I have dominion over the elements in their fiercest rage, and spirits obey my bidding. I am rich beyond counting. You smile, and believe not. Look here!"

As she spoke, she struck the ground three times with her foot, muttering rapidly to herself, when up sprang close to her, a tall tree of the purest gold, the glittering branches laden with jewels beyond all price. Seizing one of these, a magnificent emerald, and pulling it off the branch, again she stamped her foot, and the tree disappeared, leaving the jewel in her hands.

"Here," continued she, putting it into Conla's passive hand, "here is earnest of my wealth; leave that weak girl, and come with me to wealth and happiness!"

Conla had hitherto been kept dumb by the strange scene before him; but now, rousing himself, he looked at his Eva, and meeting her gaze of deep, whole-hearted, confiding affection, he dashed the glittering jewel on the ground, and cried,

"Away, sorceress! I spurn your gifts, your accursed power, yourself! With Eva will I live or die!"

The face of the Black Lady showed horrible in the pale moonlight, as, with a withering scowl of hatred and vengeance, she again spoke:

"You shall not die, insolent wretch! You shall live in agonies to which death were mercy; ay, and she, too,--that worthless thing you prefer to me,--she, too, shall suffer!"

As she spoke, she described a circle in the air with her hand round the island. At once the moon became obscured, and a terrible darkness fell upon all, while a sudden storm swept over the island. Conla and his Eva tried to fly to some cave for refuge, but were arrested by the sight that met their eyes when the transitory darkness cleared away. The moon again shone out brilliantly, and by its light the lovers perceived, to their great horror, that the island itself was in motion! A little ahead of its southernmost point their persecutor was scudding over the waters in a bark, the traditional accounts of which, represent it as a good deal resembling the steam-boats of modern days, for there was smoke issuing out of it; and two or three respectable individuals, with black faces, fiery eyes, horns on their heads, and tails twirled in graceful folds, might be seen through an open hatchway, employed in much the same manner as the hard-working, hard-drinking steam-packet engineers of our own times, while a clacking and clanging of iron was continually heard, similar to the sounds that annoy sea-sick passengers at present. From the taffrail of this inviting-looking vessel, three or four strong cables stretched to the island, and were rove through an immense hole in a huge projecting rock, that seemed as if it had been bored for this especial purpose. The steamer tugged gallantly, and the island plashed and splashed heavily along, at the rate of twenty or thirty knots an hour: the cows and sheep upon the latter, not having their sea-legs aboard, tumbled and rolled about in fine style. Eva got exceedingly sea-sick, and Conla exceedingly indignant: but there was no use in his anger. On the island went.

On and on,--past Belfast, Drogheda, Dublin,--rattling and splashing along, greatly to the astonishment of the fishes, who, besides being then quite unaccustomed to public steaming, had never before seen an island on the move. Between Dublin and Holyhead there was a little difficulty; for the island, which was exceedingly unmanageable, fetched away to starboard, and took the ground a little outside of Howth. This was a cause of great delight to the lovers, who thought their voyage was now at an end; but they were much mistaken; two of the amiable gentry who manned the tug-boat jumped lightly on the island, and cut away with a couple of strokes of an axe the part that was aground, it breaking into two pieces, which remain to this day, proof of the truth of this tale, under the names of Lambay and Ireland's Eye. On went the steamer again, and on went the island merrily and clumsily as ever, and the Black Lady looked back and laughed at the disappointed lovers.

Wicklow went by,--Wexford,--and now the shores of the county Waterford hove in sight; and the vessel and island, rounding Point Carnsore in gallant style, issued out from the Irish Channel into the waters of the Atlantic.

Morning had broken by this time, and a bright and beautiful morning it was. Eva, overpowered by fatigue, had sunk to sleep; Conla sate beside her, deep anxiety lowering on his brow, and his soul rent with the most agonizing emotions. Meantime his body was just as much disturbed, for the island was now heaving and pitching worse than before, upon the longer billows of the ocean; and he occasionally had to hold on with both his hands to the stones and shrubs near him, to prevent himself from being what sailors would call "hove overboard" by the violent motion of the strange craft in, or rather _on_, which he was embarked. Disliking his situation exceedingly, and greatly fearing that he would have still more reason to do so, he saw that there was no chance of his delivery from it, if he could not succeed in mollifying the enraged enchantress. Espying her again seated upon the steamer's taffrail, he therefore hailed her, and sought by humble prayers and entreaties to induce her to release him and his Eva; or, if one should suffer, to set her free, and vent the heaviest vengeance upon his head. But the Black Lady let him talk on. He had a very sweet voice, and she liked to hear that; and, when he had done, she contented herself with simply shaking her head in token of refusal: then, as he again stooped his proud spirit to still more vehement entreaties and supplications, and raved in the intensity of his anguish, she mocked at him, and laughed loud and long in scorn, till at length, wearied out and despairing, he sunk his head upon his bosom, and was silent. Slowly the day wore on, but quickly the headlands and bays of the southern shore of Ireland glided by; and great was the wonder and amaze of those who looked to seaward from that shore. Many were the noble fishes left that day in the depths of the ocean with the barbed hook fast in their jaws, as the wild natives of the coast, in terror at the sight of the demon vessel and her charge, hove overboard their rude fishing-gear to lighten their frail coracles, and plied sail and oar to seek refuge on the land. It has been even surmised that it was some such sight as this, that scared that first great geographer, Ptolemy, and made him fly the Irish coast ere he had completed his survey. However, this is a point that has never been fully ascertained.

The sun was sinking gloriously into the bosom of the slow-heaving main as the steamer, with the island in tow, rounded Dursey Head, and hove in sight of their destination, the promontory of Bohis. With exultation in her eyes, the Baon Ri Dhuv pointed out her lofty castle, shining in the distance with the last rays of the departing orb of day. Eva was now awake, and her and Conla's supplications were poured out for mercy and for pity; but they might as well have been uttered to Bohis Head itself. The leagues between the latter place and Dursey Head were rapidly traversed, and now the island had been towed within a mile of its final destination, which was the promontory on which the castle stood. At this moment another sudden storm, such as that of the preceding night, passed athwart the scene; and, when it cleared away, the steamer had disappeared, and the Black Lady was to be seen, upon the headland tugging at the island to bring it closer.

"Is there no help in Heaven!" cried Conla, as, after another appeal in vain to their persecutor, he threw his eyes up with a reproachful glance.

"Hush, Conla! reproach not the powers above; they are most merciful, and will protect us. Hark! they answer!"

At this moment a heavy peal of thunder crashed over head, and, rolling towards the castle, seemed to expend itself over its summit.

"Dread lady," cried Eva, animated to unusual courage by the omen, "hearken to that, and yield to the powers of Heaven!--they declare against thy tyranny!"

"Never!" roared the tyrant, her eyes flashing baleful fire. "Sooner will I become part of this mountain on which I stand mistress, than ye shall escape me!"

As she spoke, she gave a pull with her utmost strength to the chains. At the moment a vivid flash of lightning darted from the clouds, and the chains snapped right asunder. With the force of the shock the Black Lady was precipitated into the sea, the island at the same time rebounding back and becoming fixed for ever about halfway between Dursey and Bohis Head.

The Baon Ri Dhuv's tenants and servants spent the night in vainly searching for her. The morning revealed to them a terrible sight. Upon the extremity of the cape her well-known visage appeared, but transformed to stone, and doomed for ages to remain there, lashed by the raging billows of the ocean. Thus was her fatal wish accomplished!

The island so strangely brought round, remains where it recoiled to, and is now known by the name of Scariff. It is still rich land, and feeds many herds; a strong proof of the authenticity of this tale, and which is farther borne out by the fact, that the hole through which the towing-chains were rove remains to this hour. Conla and Eva lived happily for the rest of their days where they were, and left a numerous progeny. It is said that the little old man who, with his strapping offspring, fourteen in number, now tenants the island, is their lineal descendant. The emerald that Conla threw away was afterwards found, and preserved as a memorial of the events narrated until the times of Cromwell; when some of his soldiers, having visited the island for the laudable purpose of killing a friar who lived there as a hermit, indulged another of their virtuous propensities by carrying the jewel away with them.

BOB BURNS AND BERANGER. SAM LOVER AND OVIDIUS NASO.

BY FATHER PROUT.

TO THE EDITOR OF BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.

SIR,--Under the above title I forward you two more scraps from _Water-grass-hill_.

The first is a glee in praise of poverty, a subject on which poets of every country have a common understanding. The Italian BERNI, indeed, went a step farther when he sang the "comforts of being in debt,"--_La laude del debito_; but your enthusiast never knows where to stop. This MS. may suit in the present state of the money market,--a bill drawn by Burns and endorsed by Beranger. You can rely on the Scotchman's signature, _experto crede Roberto_; while there can be no doubt that the French songster's financial condition fully entitles him to join Burns in an attempt of this kind. Since, however, much spurious paper appears to be afloat, you will use your own discretion as to the foreign acceptance.

Of Scrap No. VI. I say nothing, Doctor Prout having left a note on the subject prefixed to the same. Yours, &c. RORY O'DRYSCULL. _Water-grass-hill, April 20._

SCRAP NO. V.

I. 1. Is there, Quoi! Pauvre honnête For honest poverty, Baisser la tête? That hangs his head Quoi! rougir de la sorte? And a' that? Que l'âme basse The coward slave S'éloigne et passe We pass him by, Nous--soyons gueux! n'importe! We dare be poor for a' that: Travail obscur-- For a' that, and a' that, N'importe! Our toils obscure, Quand l'or est pur And a' that; N'importe! The rank is but Qu'il ne soit point The guinea's stamp, Marqué au coin The MAN's the gowd for a' that. D'un noble rang--qu'importe!

II. 2. What! though Quoiqu'on dût faire On homely fare we dine, Bien maigre chère Wear hidden grey, Et vêtir pauvre vêtement; And a' that; Aux sots leur soie, Give fools their silks, Leur vin, leur joie; And knaves their wine, Ça fait'il L'HOMME? eh, nullement! A man's a MAN for a' that: 'Luxe et grandeur-- For a' that, for a' that, Qu'importe! Their tinsel show, Train et splendeur-- And a' that; Qu'importe! The honest man, Coeurs vils et creux! Though e'er so poor, Un noble gueux Is king o' men for a' that. Vaut toute la cohorte!

III. 3. Ye see Voyez ce fat-- Yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Un vain éclat Wha struts and stares, L'entoure, et on l'encense, And a' that; Mais après tout Though hundreds worship Ce n'est qu'un fou,-- At his word, Un sot, quoiqu'il en pense; He's but a coof for a' that: Terre et maison, For a' that, for a' that, Qu'il pense-- His riband, star, Titre et blazon, And a' that; Qu'il pense-- The man of Or et ducats, Independent mind Non! ne font pas Can look and laugh at a' that. La vraie indépendence!

IV. 4. A king Un roi peut faire Can make a belted knight, Duc, dignitaire, A marquis, duke, Comte et marquis, journellement; And a' that; Mais ce qu'on nomme But an HONEST MAN Un HONNÊTE HOMME, 's aboon his might, Le peut-il faire? eh, nullement! Guid faith he manna fa' that. Tristes faveurs! For a' that, for a' that, Réellement; Their dignities, Pauvres honneurs! And a' that; Réellement; The pith o' sense Le fier maintien And pride o' warth Des gens de bien Are higher ranks than a' that. Leur manque essentiellement.

V. 5. Then let us pray Or faisons voeu That come it may-- Qu'à tous, sous peu, As come it will Arrive un jour de jugement;-- For a' that-- Amis, ce jour That sense and warth, Aura son tour, O'er all the earth, J'en prends, j'en prends, l'engagement. May bear the gree, and a' that! Espoir et encouragement, For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, Aux pauvres gens For a' that, Soulagement; That man to man, 'Lors sure la terre The warld a' o'er, Vivrons en frères, Shall brothers be, for a' that. Et librement, et sagement!

SCRAP NO. VI.

Possevino, in his _History of the Gonzagas_, (fol. Mantua, 1620,) tells us, at page 781, that a Polish army, having penetrated to the Euxine, found the ashes, with many MSS. of Ovid under a marble monument, which they transferred in pomp to Cracow, A.D. 1581. It is well known that the exiled Roman had written sundry poems in barbaric metre to gratify the Scythian and Getic literati with whom he was surrounded. We have his own words for it:

"_Cæpique poetæ Inter inhumanos nomen habere Getas._"

The following is a fair specimen, procured by the kindness of the late erudite Quaff-y-punchovitz, Keeper of the Archives of the Cracovian University. The rhythmic termination, called by the Greeks [Greek: omoioteleuton] is here clearly traceable to a Northern origin. It would appear that the Scandinavian poets took great pride in the nicety and richness of these rhymes, by which they beguiled the tediousness of their winter nights:

"_Accipiunt inimicam hyemem_ RIMIS_que, fatiscunt._"

Ovid first tried thus an experiment on his native tongue, which was duly followed up by the CHURCH, not unwilling to indulge by any reasonable concession her barbarous converts in the sixth century. Of Mr. Lover's translation it were superfluous to point out the miraculous fidelity; delicate gallantry and well-sustained humour distinguish every line of his vernacular version, hardly to be surpassed by the _Ars amandi_ of his Latin competitor.

TO THE HARD-HEARTED MOLLY AD MOLLISSIMAM PUELLAM, È GETICÂ CAREW, THE LAMENT OF HER CARUARUM FAMILIÂ OVIDIUS IRISH LOVER. NASO LAMENTATUR.

1. I. Och hone! Heu! heu! Oh! what will I do? Me tædet, me piget o! Sure my love is all crost, Cor mihi riget o! Like a bud in the frost ... Ut flos sub frigido ... And there's no use at all Et nox ipsa mî, tum In my going to bed; Cum vado dormitùm, For 'tis dhrames, and not sleep, Infausta, insomnis, That comes into my head ... Transcurritur omnis ... And 'tis all about you, Hoc culpâ fit tuâ My sweet Molly Carew, Mî, ollis Carùa, And indeed 'tis a sin Sic mihi illudens, And a shame.-- Nec pudens.-- You're complater than nature Prodigum tu, re In every feature; Es, verâ, naturæ, The snow can't compare Candidor lacte;-- To your forehead so fair: Plus fronte cum hâc te, And I rather would spy Cum istis ocellis, Just one blink of your eye Plus omnibus stellis Than the purtiest star Mehercule vellem.-- That shines out of the sky; Sed heu, me imbellem! Tho'--by this and by that! A me, qui sum fidus, For the matter o' that-- Vel ultimum sidus You're more distant by far Non distat te magis ... Than that same. Quid agis! Och hone, wierasthrew! Heu! heu! nisi tu I am alone Me ames, In this world without you! Pero! pillauleu!

2. II. Och hone! Heu! heu! But why should I speak Sed cur sequar laude Of your forehead and eyes, Ocellos aut frontem When your nose it defies Si NASI, cum fraude, Paddy Blake the schoolmaster Prætereo pontem?... To put it in rhyme?-- Ast hic ego minùs Though there's one BURKE, Quàm ipse LONGINUS He says, In verbis exprimem Who would call it _Snub_lime ... Hunc nasum sublimem ... And then for your cheek, De floridâ genâ Throth 'twould take him a week Vulgaris camoena Its beauties to tell Cantaret in vanum As he'd rather:-- Per annum.-- Then your lips, O machree! Tum, tibi puella! In their beautiful glow Sic tument labella They a pattern might be Ut nil plus jucundum For the cherries to grow.-- Sit, aut ribicundum; 'Twas an apple that tempted Si primitùs homo Our mother, we know; Collapsus est pomo, For apples were scarce Si dolor et luctus I suppose long ago: Venerunt per fructus, But at this time o' day, Proh! ætas nunc serior 'Pon my conscience I'll say, Ne cadat, vereor, Such cherries might tempt Icta tam bello A man's father! Labello: Och hone, wierasthrew! Heu! heu! nisi tu I'm alone Me ames, In this world without you! Pereo! pillaleu!

3. III. Och hone! Heu! heu! By the man in the moon! Per cornua lunæ You teaze me all ways Perpetuò tu ne That a woman can plaze; Me vexes impunè?... For you dance twice as high I nunc choro salta With that thief Pat Macghee (Mac-ghìus nam tecùm) As when you take share Plantâ magis altâ Of a jig, dear, with me; Quàm sueveris mecùm!... Though the piper I bate, Tibicinem quando For fear the ould chate Cogo fustigando Wouldn't play you your Ne falsum det melus, Favourite tune. Anhelus.-- And when you're at Mass A te in sacello My devotion you crass, Vix mentem revello, For 'tis thinking of you Heu! miserè scissam I am, Molly Carew; Te inter et Missam; While you wear on purpose Tu latitas vero A bonnet so deep, Tam stricto galero That I can't at your sweet Ut cernere vultum Pretty face get a peep. Desiderem multùm. Oh! lave off that bonnet, Et dubites jam, nùm Or else I'll lave on it (Ob animæ damnum) The loss of my wandering Sit fas hunc deberi Sowl! Auferri! Och hone! like an owl, Heu! heu! nisi tu Day is night, Coràm sis, Dear, to me without you! Cæcus sim: eleleu!

4. IV. Och hone! Heu! heu! Don't provoke me to do it; Non me provocato, For there's girls by the score Nam virginum sat, o! That loves me, and more. Stant mihi amato ... And you'd look very queer, Et stuperes planè, If some morning you'd meet Si aliquo manè My wedding all marching Me sponsum videres; In pride down the street. Hoc quomodo ferres? Throth you'd open your eyes, Quid diceres, si cum And you'd die of surprise Triumpho per vicum, To think 'twasn't you Maritus it ibi, Was come to it. Non tibi! And 'faith! Katty Naile Et pol! Catherinæ And her cow, I go bail, Cui vacca, (tu, sine) Would jump if I'd say, Si proferem hymen "Katty Naile, name the day." Grande esset discrimen; And though you're fair and fresh Tu quamvis, hìc aio As the blossoms in May, Sis blandior Maio, And she's short and dark Et hæc calet rariùs Like a cowld winter's day, Quàm Januarius; Yet, if _you_ don't repent Si non mutas brevi, Before Easter,--when Lent Hanc mihi decrevi Is over--I'll marry (Ut sic ultus forem) For spite. Uxorem; Och hone! and when I Tum posthâc diù Die for you, Me spectrum 'Tis my ghost that you'll see Verebere tu ... eleleu! every night!

FAMILY STORIES. No. IV.--THE SQUIRE'S STORY.

THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. A GOLDEN LEGEND.

"Tunc miser Corvus adeo conscientiæ stimulis compunctus fuit, et execratio eum tantopere excarneficavit, ut exinde tabescere inciperet, maciem contraheret, omnem cibum aversaretur, nec ampliùs crocitaret: pennæ præterea ei defluebant, et alis pendulis omnes facetias intermisit, et tam macer apparuit ut omnes ejus miserescerent."

"Tunc abbas sacerdotibus mandavit ut rursus furem absolverent; quo facto, Corvus, omnibus mirantibus, propediem convaluit, et pristinam santitatem recuperavit." _De Illust. Ord. Cisterc._

The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair! Bishop, and abbot, and prior were there; Many a monk, and many a friar, Many a knight, and many a squire, With a great many more of lesser degree,-- In sooth, a goodly company; And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee. Never, I ween, Was a prouder seen, Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims!

In and out, Through the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about; Here and there, Like a dog in a fair, Over comfits and cates, And dishes and plates, Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall, Mitre and crosier, he hopped upon all! With a saucy air, He perch'd on the chair Where in state the great Lord Cardinal sat In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat; And he peer'd in the face Of his Lordship's Grace With a satisfied look, as if he would say, "We two are the greatest folks here to-day!" And the priests, with awe, As such freaks they saw, Said, "The devil must be in that little Jackdaw!"

The feast was over, the board was clear'd, The flawns and the custards had all disappear'd, And six little singing-boys,--dear little souls In nice clean faces and nice white stoles, Came, in order due, Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through! A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Embossed, and filled with water as pure As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch In a fine golden hand-basin made to match. Two nice little boys, rather more grown, Carried lavender water and eau de Cologne; And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap, Worthy of washing the hands of the Pope. One little boy more A napkin bore, Of the best white diaper, fring'd with pink, And a Cardinal's Hat mark'd in permanent ink.

The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Of these nice little boys dress'd all in white: From his finger he draws His costly turquoise; And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, Deposits it straight By the side of his plate, While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait; Till, when nobody's dreaming of any such thing, That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring.

* * * * *

There's a cry and a shout, And a deuce of a rout, And nobody seems to know what they're about, But the monks have their pockets all turn'd inside out; The friars are kneeling, And hunting, and feeling The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling. The Cardinal drew Off each plum-coloured shoe, And left his red stockings expos'd to the view; He peeps, and he feels In the toes and the heels. They turn up the dishes, they turn up the plates, They take up the poker and poke out the grates, They turn up the rugs, They examine the mugs:-- But no! no such thing; They can't find the ring; And the abbot declared that, "when nobody twigg'd it, Some rascal or other had popped in, and prigg'd it!"

The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He call'd for his candle, his bell, and his book! In holy anger, and pious grief, He solemnly cursed that rascally thief! He curs'd him at board, he curs'd him in bed; From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head; He curs'd him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright; He curs'd him in eating, he curs'd him in drinking, He curs'd him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking; He curs'd him in sitting, in standing, in lying, He curs'd him in walking, in riding, in flying, He curs'd him living, he curs'd him dying! Never was heard such a terrible curse; But, what gave rise To no little surprise, Nobody seem'd one penny the worse!

The day was gone, The night came on, The monks and the friars they search'd till dawn; When the Sacristan saw, On crumpled claw, Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw! No longer gay, As on yesterday; His feathers all seem'd to be turn'd the wrong way; His pinions droop'd, he could hardly stand, His head was as bald as the palm of your hand; His eye so dim, So wasted each limb, That heedless of grammar, they all cried, "That's him!-- That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing! That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's ring!"

The poor little Jackdaw, When the monks he saw, Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw; And turn'd his bald head, as much as to say, "Pray, be so good as to walk this way!" Slower and slower He limp'd on before, Till they came to the back of the belfry-door, Where the first thing they saw, 'Midst the sticks and the straw, Was the ring, in the nest of that little Jackdaw!

Then the great Lord Cardinal call'd for his book, And off that terrible curse he took; The mute expression Serv'd in lieu of confession, And, being thus coupled with full restitution, The Jackdaw got plenary absolution. When those words were heard, That poor little bird Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd: He grew sleek and fat; In addition to that, A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat! His tail waggled more Even than before; But no longer it wagged with an impudent air, No longer he perch'd on the Cardinal's chair. He hopped now about With a gait devout; At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out; And, so far from any more pilfering deeds, He always seem'd telling the Confessor's beads. If any one lied, or if any one swore, Or slumber'd in pray'r time and happened to snore, That good Jackdaw Would give a great "caw," As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!" While many remarked, as his manner they saw, That they never had known such a pious Jackdaw! He long lived the pride Of that country side, And at last in the odour of sanctity died; When, as words were too faint His merits to paint, The conclave determined to make him a Saint; And on newly-made Saints and Popes, as you know, It's the custom at Rome new names to bestow, So they canoniz'd him by the name of Jem Crow!

OUR SONG OF THE MONTH. No. VI. June, 1837.

I. Mother of summer roses! Winter's ling'ring closes Made us fear for thee:-- Many a hope was wailing, Thinking thou wert sailing, With thy smile, To some false isle, Upon our tribute sea!

II. Mother of summer roses! Nought on earth opposes Our fond claim to thee! Find'st thou welcome dearer? Beauty or minstrels nearer? In the arch Of thy round march Can gentler rest-place be?

III. Mother of summer roses, June! thy month discloses All that is sweet and fair: Birds and flower wreathing Minstrel garlands, breathing Song and bloom In one perfume, Reviving the faint air!

IV. Mother of summer roses! On thy breast reposes The flush'd cheek of the year: Break not his soft slumbers With rude music-numbers: Mingled gush Of stream and thrush Be all that may come near! W.

PERIODICAL LITERATURE OF THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS.

It is an astounding but gratifying proof of the rapid march of civilization, that periodical literature springs up and flourishes among tribes and nations which, but twenty or thirty years ago, had hardly advanced a few steps beyond barbarism. A Cherokee newspaper has for some time been published, and in the Sandwich Islands a gazette has recently been established; and a file of a paper called "the Indian Phoenix," published in the United States, under the superintendence of an Indian editor, and addressed exclusively to his countrymen, has just fallen under our notice. These are pleasing facts for the consideration of every true philanthropist, and stable data on which the philosopher may argue that the day is not far distant when the rays of knowledge shall illumine every nation of the earth. Wherever a newspaper is established, ignorance must diminish; for the newspaper is not only the effect, but the cause of civilization,--not only the work itself, but the means by which the work is performed. The Indian Phoenix is published in the English language at Washington, and is from thence distributed among these roving aborigines, not only in every part of the United States, but throughout the vast territories of Mexico and Texas. The paper is not only edited, but printed by Indians; and, whatever may be said of the intellectual portions of it, the mechanical parts will certainly bear comparison with the provincial journals of England, and are much before the newspapers of several of the nations of Europe, those of Germany and Portugal for instance, which are as wretched specimens of typography as it is now possible to meet with.

For the amusement of our readers we shall proceed to make a few extracts from these very curious journals. The principles which are advocated therein will, no doubt, appear startling at first sight; but a little reflection will show, that, although strange, they are not altogether unfounded. These men have, by the strong arms of European civilization, been driven from the wild forests inherited by their forefathers, the woods they hunted in have been converted into corn-fields, and the clear waters of the lonely rivers beside which they dwelt have been contaminated by the refuse of smoky manufactories, and rendered busy with the sails and paddle-wheels of enterprising commerce. The civilization which thus came upon the land from afar has now reached its original inhabitants; and the Indians, savages no more, have begun to employ the arts of peace and the powerful weapons of opinion to reconquer a portion of the broad lands of which they have been despoiled. The struggles in Texas, and the unsettled state of Mexico, have caused them to turn their eyes in that direction; and they have been inspired by the hope that Mexico is to be the region in which all the scattered tribes will be collected together to form one great independent nation. It is not intended in this brief notice to speculate upon the probability or improbability of such a scheme, or to say whether or not these dispersed and dismembered clans, without leader or bond of union, will ever be able to accomplish so gigantic a project. It is sufficient to state that such is their object, in order that the reader may understand the allusions in the extracts which we shall place before him. The following will show the prose these Indians are capable of writing (we shall come to their poetry by and by), and will also give an idea of their political creed. In the leading article of the first number, the editor says,

"Our creed may be met with in these words. We render unto the self-esteemed civilized world the things which are the self-esteemed civilized world's, and unto the long-oppressed, yet noble, elevated, and dignified Indian the things which once belonged and shall again belong to him."

These sentiments, and their open avowal, although they may not cause the settler to tremble for the safety of his homestead, ought nevertheless to make the statesman ponder well on the condition and aspirations of this ill-used race. The editor continues:

"In the deep gloom of the future position of these countries we see no evidence of a single periodical grasping with energetic vision the coming time. Alone, therefore, do we step on the arena of public opinion. With nerved heart and nerved hand shall we advance: the curiosity of the many, the surprise of others, the encouragement of the few, the denunciations of the National Gazette, or New York American, or all who may follow in their fetid and nauseous trail, shall not turn wide one of the barbed arrows which shall now and henceforth be launched unsparingly at all who cross our path."--"We are not mad, most noble Festus, but speak the words of truth and soberness."

The following little bit of Scriptural exposition will, no doubt, cause a smile even on the grave faces of the learned doctors who are versed in Biblical knowledge. The Indians, stigmatized by the civilized nations of the earth for the cruel practice of scalping their fallen enemies, bring forward the authority of our sacred book in their justification. Even David, the man after God's own heart, and one of the finest poets the world ever produced, went out on the war-path like a Mohican or a Cherokee, and bore away the scalps of his enemies! The editor hints that this alone would warrant the assertion which has been so often put forth, that America was peopled by the lost ten tribes of Israel. He says,

"We invite the attention--we throw down the gauntlet of defiance to all and every civilized Christian in Europe or America to gainsay or dispute the correctness or validity of the inferences and facts stated below. The Scriptures say,

"'And Michal, Saul's daughter, loved David; and they told Saul, and the thing pleased him.

"'And Saul said, I will give him her that she may be a snare to him, and that the hand of the Philistines may be against him.

"'And Saul said, Thus shall ye say to David: the king desireth not any dowry, but a hundred foreskins of the Philistines, to be avenged on the king's enemies. But Saul thought to make David fall by the hand of the Philistines.

"'Wherefore David arose, he and his men, and slew of the Philistines two hundred men, and David brought their foreskins, and they gave them in full toll to the king, that he might be the king's son-in-law.'

"We see from this," (continues the editor of the Phoenix,) "that David, who was a great Jewish warrior, went out on the war-path not from any motive of war, or to revenge the death of his fallen comrades; but for what? Why, to get a marriage portion to lay before the king of the Jewish nation. And what was this marriage portion? Lo! it was one hundred _scalps_ of the Philistines. * * * * * At the conclusion we are told that Michal, Saul's daughter, loved him. Why? _Because he was a great warrior, who had taken many scalps, and, moreover, David behaved himself wisely, that is, cunning, in taking of scalps from the Philistines, so that his name was much set by._ As the Jews were in the time of Saul and David, so are the Indian tribes of the West and of North America. They go out on the war-path, they return with scalps; and the daughters of the tribe sing, as in the days of David, 'The warrior Dutch hath slain his tens, but the warrior Smith hath slain his fifties in the villages of the Tarwargans.'"

The following is a specimen of the poetry,--one of the war-songs of these regenerated Indians. We cannot say it is quite equal to the prose, but it is certainly more curious.

"Indian chiefs, arise! The glorious hour's gone forth, And in the world's eyes Display who gave you birth! Indian chiefs, let us go In arms to Mexico; Till the Spanish blood shall flow In a river at our feet.

Then, manfully despising The pale faces' yoke, Let your tribes see you rising Till your chains is broke!"

Fastidious readers may object both to the vigour and the grammar of the above; but we have still richer specimens in store for them. The song continues:

"As rose the tribes of _Judah_ In days long past and gone, I'll lead you to as _good a_ Land to be your own.

Cherokee! in slumbers Why lethargic wilt thou lie? Arise, and bring thy numbers Us to ally.

Arouse! Oh, then, awake thee! And hasten to my standard; For I will ne'er forsake thee, But ever lead the vanguard!

Come on, the brave Oneida, Seneca, Delaware, The promised land divide a- -Mong you when you're there."

The rhymes of "Judah" and "good a" and "standard" and "vanguard," are tolerably original; but they are beaten hollow by that of the last verse, "Oneida" and "divide a-"!--"-Mong you when you're there," is a sequel which has much more truth than elegance in it. "-Mong you (_when you're there_?)" we would suggest as a new and improved reading of the passage. The following is in a much more elevated style; there is a rough vigour about it which many of our own namby-pamby poetasters would do well to imitate. The rhymes are also more felicitous, and the measure and grammar less objectionable.

"The mountain sheep are sweeter, But the valley sheep are fatter; We therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter. We planned an expedition: We met a host, and quelled it; We took a strong position, And killed the men who held it!"

The above stanza is unique. Every line tells; and there is a raciness, a tartness about it, if we may so express it, which is quite delightful.

"_The valley sheep are fatter;_ _We therefore deemed it meeter_ _To carry off the latter._"

Many ballads have been written about Rob Roy, who also had a sneaking inclination for the "fat sheep" of other people: but the daring simplicity of these lines has never been surpassed. The song continues:

"On Norte's richest valley, There herds of kine were browsing; We made a nightly sally To furnish our carousing. Fierce soldiers rushed to meet us, We met them, and o'erthrew them; They struggled hard to beat us, But we conquered them, and slew them!

As we drove our prize at leisure, Santa Anna marched to catch us; His rage surpassed all measure, Because he could not match us. He fled to his hall pillars; But, ere our force we led off, Some sacked his house and cellars, While others cut his head off."

Poetry has always been allowed some licence, and we suppose we must pass over the assertion in the last line, by merely observing by the way that Santa Anna is, in vulgar phrase, still "alive and kicking." The song ends thus:

"We then, in strife bewildering, Spilt blood enough to swim in; We orphaned many children, (_childering_) And widowed many women.

The eagles and the ravens We glutted with the foemen; Their heroes and their cravens, Their lancers and their bowmen.

As for Santa Anna, their blood-red chief, His head was borne before us; His wine and beasts supplied our feasts, And his overthrow our chorus."

The foregoing extracts are all in a warlike strain. We will now give a few specimens of the softer lyrics in which these _scalpers_ indulge. The Irish melodies of Moore are, it appears, not unknown even amongst them; and that they are admired, the following imitation, or rather parody, of one of the most beautiful of them will sufficiently show.

"There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that Mexican vale in whose bosom "lakes" meet. Oh! the last ray of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart!

Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal, and brightest of green; 'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill: Oh, no, it was something more heart-touching still!

'Twas remembrance of all,--Montezuma--his throne-- The power and the glory of Aztek all gone! Like the leaves of the forest in autumn are strewn, Were the splendour and hope of that race overthrown.

But the day-star is rising unclouded and bright, That shall clear and illumine long ages of night, And restore to that valley the Indian race, And leave of their white lords no longer a trace.

Sweet "Mexican valley," how calm shall we rest In thy bosom of shade, when thy sons are all blest! When 'neath the fig-tree and the vine of each man They shall sing to the praise of the Almighty one! When the storm of the war, and its bloodshed, shall cease, And our hearts, like her lakes, be mingled in peace!"

Interspersed through the papers are various imitations of our poets, especially of Scott, Byron, and Mrs. Hemans. As an apology for the plagiarisms, the editor places over the poet's corner the following motto:

"To the living poets we beg to say, that it not being fair for them to monopolize the best words in the language we write in, to say nothing of the ideas, we take free liberty with them when need is. We will make them amends two years hence when they come to see us in the valleys of Mexico. To the illustrious dead we shall fully explain our reasons when we may chance to meet them in the 'great elsewhere.'"

The next specimen is an imitation of Ossian, a bard whose poetry must necessarily possess many charms for them.

"Come, all ye warriors! come with your chief--come! The song rises like the sun in my soul! I feel the joys of other times. The Cherokee was on the land of Arkansas. The strange warriors of the prairie were rich in horses. We said in our souls, why not give the Tarwargans of their abundance? Six of our warriors were found on the great prairie, advancing like the moon among clouds, concealed from the view. Days had passed when they approached the wigwams of the Tarwargans. A narrow plain spreads beneath, covered with grass and aged trees. The blue course of a stream is there. The horses were secured. Their feet were slowly advancing towards the wigwams. Not without eyes were the Tarwargans. The warriors had not been invisible. High hopes of prairie horses and the scalps of the enemy fill their souls. A blast came upon them. The sound of rifles was heard in the air. Three of the warriors fell! The tomahawk descended, and they were left in their shame without scalps. Two warriors fled together. SMOKE (a warrior) fled not: he rushed for safety, and laid himself low with his rifle among the briers. Shouts of triumph are heard. The Tarwargans return. The slain are dragged to the dancing-ground--oh, grief! oh, revenge! Did you not know the heart of _Smoke_? Placed in the ground are three stakes; tied are the scalpless dead! Upright they sit. Oh, grief! the derision of the Tarwargans! 'Cunning warriors are ye, oh, Cherokees! but your scalps are at our feet.'"

The following, which the editor assures us is a literal translation from an old song highly popular among the aboriginal tribes of Mexico, is interesting. The poetry of the original is so sublime that the translator, in despair of equalling it in rhyme, has given it us in plain prose.

"Mexitli Tetzauhteotl (the Terrible God) o-ah! o-ah! o-ah! The son of the woman of Tula. The green plume is on his head, the wing of the eagle is on his leg; his forehead is blue, like the firmament. He carries a spear and buckler, and with the fir-tree of Colhuacan he crushes the mountains! O-ah! o-ah! o-ah! Mexitli Tetzauhteotl!"

* * * * *

"Mexitli Tetzauhteotl! o-ah! o-ah! o-ah! my father ate the heart of Xochimilco! Where was Painalton, the god of the swift foot, when the Miztecas ran to the mountains? 'Fast, warrior, fast!' said Painalton, the brother of Mexitli. His foot-print is on the snows of Istaccihuatl, and on the tops of the mountains of Orizaba. Toktepec, and Chinantla, and Matlalzinco were strong warriors, but they shook under his feet as the hills shake when the king of hell groans in the caverns. So my father killed the men of the south, the men of the east, and the men of the west, and Mexitli shook the fir-tree with joy, and Painalton danced by night among the stars! O-ah! o-ah! Mexitli Tetzauhteotl!"

* * * * *

"Mexitli Tetzauhteotl! o-ah! o-ah! Where is the end of Mexico? It begins in Huehuetapallan in the north, and who knows the end of Huehuetapallan? In the south it sees the land of crocodiles and vultures,--the bog and the rock where man cannot live. The sea washes it on the east, the sea washes it on the west, and that is the end: who has looked to the end of the waters? Mexico is the land of blossoms,--the land of the tiger-flower, and the cactus-bud that opens at night like a star,--the land of the dahlia, that ghosts come to snuff at. It is a land dear to Mexitli! O-ah! o-ah! Mexitli Tetzauhteotl!

* * * * *

"Mexitli Tetzauhteotl! o-ah! o-ah! o-ah! Who were the enemies of Mexico? Their heads are in the wall of the house of skulls, and the little child strikes them as he goes by with a twig. Once Mexico was a bog of reeds, and Mexitli slept on a couch of bulrushes. Our god now sits on a world of gold, and the world is Mexico. Will any one fight me? I am a Mexican. Mexitli is the god of the brave. Our city is fair on the island, and Mexitli sleeps with us. When he calls me in the morning, I grasp the quiver,--the quiver and the axe,--and I am not afraid. When he winds his horn from the woods, I know that he is my father, and that he will look at me while I fight. Sound the horn of battle; I see the spear of a foe. Mexitli Tetzauhteotl, we are the men of Mexico! O-ah! o-ah! Mexitli Tetzauhteotl!

With this extract we shall conclude our notice of this very curious subject, promising, however, to return to it at a future period.

EPITAPH.

When London, of a rogue bereft, Saw Tompkins, the _distiller_, die; It seems some twenty pounds he left, To pay a poet for a lie. Thus wrote the bard, who, lacking gold, Was yet to tell a fib unwilling: "This stone need not _his_ worth disclose, Who half his life was good _in-stilling_." R. J.

A GEOGRAPHICAL EPIGRAM.

"Oh, dear! such a climate 'tis death to be in-- I surely shall die in the 'Bights of Benin'!"

"All look for your death, and the more shall we rue it, Since the _sups_, not the 'Bights,' will, alas! bring you to it." R. J.

DARBY THE SWIFT; OR, THE LONGEST WAY ROUND IS THE SHORTEST WAY HOME.

"He who runs may read."