memory originate in inattention. We neglect to observe, and then we say we forget. The want of laudable curiosity is a great source of weak impressions; and consequently of defective memory.

THE ICHNEUMON.

root of the tail, and its head is about three inches in length, tapering from a goodly breadth between the ears to a small and pointed muzzle. The tail is about sixteen inches long; and the height of the creature at the greatest is about seven inches.

In Egypt, the crocodile was anciently regarded as a river deity, and his mortal enemy the ichneumon was also looked upon with great veneration. They regarded the latter as a benevolent power which devoted itself to the destruction of those dangerous and annoying reptiles and other creatures which inhabit humid, warm climates. No animal in appearance could seem so ill adapted for a great protective work of this kind as the ichneumon; so small, so weak, and so timid is this creature both in form and nature. Any animal capable of offering a positive resistance to its attacks is perfectly safe from its enmity, and as it is not very carnivorous in its nature, it does not manifest any great love for battle. This little timid creature, however, is furnished with caution, prudence, and a keen sense of prey. It is not serpents and crocodiles that the ichnenmon destroys, but their ova, and these it discovers with wonderful precision and eats with great avidity. Besides the eggs of serpents, lizards, crocodiles, and fowls, this little quadruped lives upon rats, mice, small snakes, and birds.

When the Nile is inundated it retires inland, and, compelled by necessity, approaches the poultry-yards, where, coming in contact with the jackal and fox, it is often caught and devoured by these creatures. The ichneumon would not be so dangerous an enemy to the reptiles did it only kill what it was capable of eating, but its destructiveness impels it to kill and destroy far more than it is able to consume as food. All the young fowls which it comes upon fall victims to its rapacity, and eggs above everything are objects of its search and voracity. Towards evening this delicate little animal glides forth upon its mission, moving stealthily and warily along, and snuffing the ground, as it almost unerringly moves toward the place where the eggs of which it is in quest are deposited, and, gnawing the ends of the shells, it soon seals the fate of many embryo crocodiles. The ichneumon is one of the most patient and indefatigable of watchers, and will sit for hours in waiting on its prey; and this quality, and its capacity for domestication, have made it a valuable substitute for the cat in Egypt and India. When it has become habituated to a place and attached to persons, it never seeks to wander or to return to its natural state. It is as gentle and playful as a kitten, and manifests as much love of attention and caresses as does a petted little dog; when feeding, however, it manifests all the ferocity of the cat, running to some secret spot in order to conceal its food, and emitting an angry sound if any attempt is made to deprive it of the same.

In form and nature the ichneumon resembles the ferret, being identical in many of its habits. In colour it is brown interspersed with a dirty white. The hair with which it is covered is very short, lengthening on the back and tail, which is long, terminating in a black tuft, which contrasts with the brownish fawn colour of the body. The ichneumon is about a foot long, from the ears to the

ing upon this sense as its guide, which, from its energy and keenness, seems to compensate for that feebleness of sight and taste which attaches to this creature. The term ichneumon is from the Greek, and is not a particular but a generic name. It means an egg-sucker, and is applied to the cuckoo and other vampire birds and beasts, as well as to this little animal. The tupiramhis and mar-1 gouste are creatures of a similar character, and have from this circumstance been confounded by naturalists with the one we have just described. The name ichneumon was first employed towards the creature by Herodotus, to indicate its nature, and the name has continued to be used indiscriminately since the days of the Greek historian. The name, however, is now more particularly applied to the little brown egg-eater of the Nile, who was fabulously believed to creep into the mouth of the crocodile while it slept, and to eat out its intestines, but which really wages a constant and destructive war with the eggs which it lays upon the muddy banks of the great river.

THREE DAYS' HUNT AFTER CROAKERS. (Third Day's Hunt-continued from page 87.)

[Last of the Season.-Supernumeraries from Parnassus.]

Asphation- Last evening weary with the toils of day

Lull'd in the lap of rest secure I lay.
Methonght I sat upon a shelfy steep,

And watch'd the fish that gamboll'd in the deep:
Suspended by my rod, I gently shook
The bait fallacious, which a huge one took. . .

At last quite spent, I drew him safe to shore,
Then grasp'd him with my hand, for surer hold,
A noble prize, a fish of solid gold!...

My prize I loosed, and strictest caution took,
For fear some gold might stick about the hook;
Then safe secured him, and devoutly swore,
Never to venture on the ocean more,

But live on land as happy as a king:

At this I wak'd: what think you of the thing?
Speak free, for know, I am extremely loath,
And greatly fear to violate my oath."

Friend- Fear not, old friend; you took no oath, for why?
You took no fish-your vision's all a lie.

Go, search the shoals, not sleeping, but awake,
Hunger will soon discover your mistake;
Catch real fish; you need not sure be told,
Those tools must starve who only dream of gold."
The Fishermen; Theocritus

'Look round the habitable globe, how few
Know their own good, or knowing it, pursue.
How void of reason are our hopes and fears!
What in the conduct of our life appears
So well designed, so luckily begun,

But when we have our wish, we wish undone.
Whole houses, of their desires possest,
Are often ruin'd at their own request.

In wars, and peace, things hurtful we require,
When made obnoxious to our own desire.

Of all the vows, the first and chief request
Of each, is to be richer than the rest:
And yet no doubts the poor man's draught control,
He dreads no poison in his homely bowl;
Then, fear the deadly drug, when gems divine
Enchase the cup, and sparkle in the wine.
In his own age, Democritus could find
Sufficient cause to laugh at human kind;
Learn from so great a wit; a land of bogs
With ditches fenced, a heaven made fat with frogs,
May form a spirit fit to sway the state,
And make the neighb'ring monarchs fear their fate.
He laughs at all the vulgar cares and fears;
At their vain triumphs and their vainer tears;
An equal temper in his mind he found,
When tortune flatter'd him, and when she frown'd.
'Tis plain, from hence, that what our vows request
Are hurtful things, or useless at the best.

"

The path to peace is virtue: what I show,
Thyself may freely on thyself bestow:
Fortune was never worshipped by the wise;

But, set aloft by fools, usurps the skies.'-Juvenal, Sat. 10.

Virtue is really in itself reward,

Alone secure, and out of fortune's power,

It shines triumphant, let her smile or frown.

Nor in high station, is it puffed with pride,

Nor meanly sues for popular applause,

Nor covetous of wealth, nor wanting praise:
Rich in itself, and confident it stands,

Immoveable, superior to events,

And with contempt looks down on mortal things.'— Claudian

*If man to man his friendly succour lends,

It rarely proves but fair reward attends

Each generous deed; at least we thus ensure
Our future peace, and Heaven's regard secure.
Who wrongs another, soon or late shall find
The punishment for evil deeds assign'd.'

Book 23; Orlando Furiosa.

'Learn, mortals, learn the motions of the mind,
Why you were made, for what you were designed;
And the great moral end of human kind.
Study thyself, what rank or what degree

The wise Creator has ordain'd for thee:

And all the offices of that estate

Perform; and with thy prudence guide thy fate.
Pray justly, to be heard; nor more desire

Than what the decencies of life require.

Learn what thou owest thy country and thy friend;
What's requisite to spare and what to spend.

Learn this; and after, envy not the store

Of the greased advocate that grinds the poor.'-Persius, Sat, 3.

None, none descends into himself to find
The secret imperfections of his mind:
But every one is eagle-eyed to see

Another's faults, and his deformity.'-Persius, Sat. 4.

Tell me, my friend, from whence hadst thou the skill

So nicely to distinguish good from ill?

Or by the sound to judge of gold and brass,

What piece is tinker's metal, what will pas?
And what thou art to follow, what to fly,

Thus to condemn and that to ratify?
When to be bountiful, and when to spare,
But never craving or opprest with care?
The baits of gifts, and money to despise,
And look on wealth with undesiring eyes?
When thou canst truly call these virtues thine,
Be wise and free by Heaven's consent and mine.
Speak; wilt thou avarice, or pleasure, choose
To be thy lord? take one, and one refuse.
But both, by turns, the rule of thee will have;
And thou, betwixt them both, wilt be a slave.
Nor think, when once thou hast resisted one,
That all thy marks of servitude are gone:

The struggling greyhound gnaws his leash in vain;

If, when 'tis broken, still he drags the chain.'- Persius, Sat, 5.

• What time Huemonia's lofty mountains rung

With hymeneal songs for Peleus sung,
Officious Ganymede, at Jove's request,

Supplied with sparkling wine each welcome guest;
And all the gods to Thetis' nuptials came,
Sister of Amphitrite, honour'd dame.

But from these blissful scenes was Discord warn'd.

As by the gadfly stung, the heifer strays
Far from its fields, through every devious maze;
Thus, stung with envy, Discord roam'd, nor ecused
Her baneful arts to interrupt the feast.
Oft from her flinty bed she rush'd amain,
Then stood, then sunk into her seat again:
With desperate hand she tore her snaky head,

And with a serpent-scourge, she lash'd her flinty bed.

The burnish'd apples, rich with golden rind.
Growth of Hesperian gardens, struck her mind.
Resolv'd contention.'s baneful seed to sow,

She tore the blushing apple from its bough,

Grasp'd the dire source whence future battles sprung,
And 'midst the gods the golden mischief flung."
The Rape of Helen, by Coluthus.

But here our days' appointed end

To mortals is unknown;
Whether distress our period shall attend.
And in tumultuous storms our sun go down,
Or to the shades in peaceful calms descend;
For various flows the tide of life,
Obnoxious still to fortune's veerig gale;

Now rough with anguish, care, and strife,
O'erwhelming waves the shatter'd bark assail:
Now glide serene the smooth and limpid streams,
And on the surface play Apollo's golden beams."
Second Olympic Ode of Pindar.

O! Perses, justice ever be thy guide;

May malice never gain upon thy will-
Malice that makes the wretch more wretched still
The good man injured to revenge is slow,

To him the vengeance is the greater woe.
Ever will all injurious courses fail,

And justice ever over wrongs prevail;
Right will take place at last, by fit degrees;
This truth the fool by sad experience sees.

Who, full of wiles, his neighbour's harm contrives,

False to himself, against himself he strives;

For he that harbours evil in his mind
Will from his evil thoughts but evil find.

Who, or by open force, or secret stealth,
Or perjured wiles, amasses heaps of wealth,
Such many are, whom thirst of gain betrays,
The gods, all-seeing, shall o'ercloud his days;
His wife, his children, and his friends shall die,
And, like a dream, his ill-got riches fly.
Whatever by dishonest means you gain,
You purchase an equivalent of pain.

0: Perses, foolish Perses, bow thine ear
To the good counsels of a soul sincere.
To wickedness the road is quickly found,
Short is the way and on an easy ground.
The paths of virtue must be reach'd by toil,
Arduous and long, and on a rugged soil.
Thorny the gate, but, when the top you gain,
Fair is the future, and the prospect plain.
Far does the man all other men excel,
Who, from his wisdom, thinks in all things well,
Wisely consid'ring, to himself a friend,
All for the present best, and for the end;
Nor is the man without his share of praise,
Who well the dictates of the wise obeys;
But he that is not wise himself, nor can
Hearken to wisdom, is a useless man.

The man who gives from an unbounded breast,
Though large the bounty, in himself is bless'd;
Who ravishes another's right shall find,
Though small the prey, a deadly sting behind'
Hesiod's Works and Days'; Book L

Through every task, with diligence, employ
Your strength, and in that duty be your joy;
And to avoid of life the greatest ill,

Never may sloth prevail upon thy will:

Bless'd, who with order their affairs dispose.

But rude confusion is the source of woes.'-Book il

Old woman-'Yes.'

Gorgo-Can we get in, d'ye think?' Old woman- Make trial.'

The steady never take denial;

The steady Greeks old Ilium won:

By trial all things may be done."

Theocritus; The Syracusian Gossips."

As when embattled hosts their foes assail,
Tumultuous shouts and martial sounds prevail;
So from the ship loud clamours pierced the sky;
No more the Greeks their feather'd foes descry:
Rattling their bucklers, near the land they drew
And tar away the winged furies flew ;

So when great Jove on close-thronged cities pours
From hyperborean clouds his baily showers;
Within the dwellers sit in peace profound,
Nor heed the rattling storms that rage around;
In vain the hail descends, the tempests roar,
Their roofs from harm were well secured before:
Thus on their shields the furies shot their quills,
Then clamouring vanish'd to far distant hills."

Appollonius Rhodius Argonautics"; Book ti 'For the hurt eye an instant cure you find; Then, why neglect for years the sick'ning mind?"

Horace; Epistle to Lollius, But wretched mortals shun the heavenly light; And, though to bliss directing still their choice, Hear not, or heed not reason's sacred voice, That common guide ordain'd to point the road That leads obedient man to solid good. Thence, quitting virtue's lovely paths, they rove As various objects various passions move.'

The Hymn of Cleanthes. But since of life we have but one small share, A pittance scant which daily toils impair, Why should we waste it in pursuit of care? Why do we labour to augment our store, The more we gain, still coveting the more? Alas! alas! we quite forget that man

Is a mere mortal, and his life a span.'- Bion; Idyllium 5.

For in the search, grown grey with pain,

We lose the bliss we strive to gain;

And thus absorb'd by distant views,

In thoughts of living, lite we lose.'- Manilius
Why, hopeless parent, should thine eyes o'ertlow?
Why should remembrance thus renew thy wo?
Why thus afflict us both? or why once more
Repeat the loss we oft have wept before?
Sure each sad day sufficient sorrows bears.
And none but wretches would recount our cares."

'Let wary thought each enterprise for run,
And ponder on thy task before begun,
Lest folly should the wretched work deface,
And mock the fruitless labours with disgrace.

Fools huddle on and always are in haste,

Act without thought, and thoughtless words they waste:

But thou, in all thou dost, with early cares,

Strive to prevent, at first, a fate like theirs;

That sorrow on the end may never wait,

Nor sharp repentance make thee wise too late.

Nor let thy body want its part, but share

A just proportion of thy tender care;

For health and welfare prudently provi le,
And let its lawful wants be all supplied.

Let sober draughts refresh, and wholesome fare Decaying nature's wasted force repair; And sprightly exercise the duller spirits cheer. In all things still which to this case belong Observe this rule, to guard thy soul from wrong. By virtuous use thy lite and manners frame, Manly and simply pure, and free from blame. Unhappy race! that never yet could tell, How near their good and happiness they dwell. Deprived of sense, they neither hear nor see; Fetter'd in vice, they seek not to be free, But, stupid, to their own sad fate agree.' The Golden Verses of Pythagoras. To close all, my friends, what I would entreat of you is, to think over everything I have said to you, to weigh it well in your minds, and to practise accordingly. Get a habit of doing right, whatever pain it costs you; let no difficulties deter you in the way to virtue, and account everything else despicable in comparison of this. Then will the lesson that I have taught you prove to yourselves a lesson of happiness.'-The Table of Cebes.

[A Croaker at Bay]

Strict to the set time Mr Smith presented himself in the library of Mr Brown. After some little time, they entered on the business for which they had met.

'I promised you some extracts from different writers,' began Mr Brown, but on second thoughts, I considered it better to give you the volumes with you, that you may read them at leisure. The places are marked. I was just marking off when you came in that noted saying of Seneca-My thoughts of the dead are not as others are; I have fair and pleasant apprehensions of them; for I enjoyed them as one who reckoned he must part with them.' How wise was this, in comparison of what Solon said, in a moment of weakness-'I weep the more because weeping can do no good.' David curbed his anguish when his child died. An old author, whose name I forget, remarks -It is with the mind of man as with the stone tyrhenus: as long as it is whole it swims; but once broken it sinks presently.' Flavel in his Token to Mourners,' has an observation of like effect. Grief,' says he, is a moth, which, getting into the mind, will in a short time make the body, be it ever so strong and well-wrought a piece, like an old scary garment.' There is another passage, but I must have the book. This is it: Many a man's soul is to his body, as a sharp knife to a thin sheath, which easily cuts it through; and what do we by poring and pondering upon our troubles, but whet the knife that it may cut the deeper and quicker ? Of all the creatures that ever God made, devils only excepted, man is the most able and apt to be his own tormentor. Some men's souls have given such deep wounds to their bodies, that they are never likely to enjoy many easy or comfortable days more whilst they dwell in them. Now, this is very sinful and displeasing to God; for if he have such a tender care for our bodies that he would not have us swallowed up of over much grief-no, though it be for sin (2 Cor. ii. 7.), how

What a waste of time!"

In many cases it may be so, and I believe is so, but still I do not grudge the time I spent on it in early life. The pleasure it has given me has more than repaid ine.'

Apply these things at your leisure to the case in hand-' 'I see! well, you have me for once, I daresay; but if grief has settled down in a man's heart who can minister to a mind diseased? who can'

'I can't help you out, but I know the sentiment of the passage. In the first place, the man erred in letting grief for any temporal loss get the mastery of him; and again, if it be grief for guilt, God has provided a cure for that.' 'As to the latter, I don't doubt, and even granting error as to the former, still the evil is there, and it is irreparable.'

Not irreparable! hopeless certainly, if he yield to the evil and feed it, but hopeful, if by reason and religion he manfully resist it.'

Ah, if to do--'

'I can help you there-were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces.'

"That's it! my memory's so bad. There's another passage if I could get it, about the ease of giving advice and the difficulty of taking it.'

I know it. My wife has it marked. This is it, is it not? I pray thee therefore cease thy counsel '— 'Yes, go on.'

Which falls into mine ears as profitless

As water in a sieve; for men

C. n counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves feel not; but tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptional medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air and agony with words;
No, no, 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow;
But no man's virtue nor sufficiency

To be so moral when he shall endure
The like himself: therefore, give me no counsel-
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.'

That settles the question,' cried Mr Smith.

It may settle the question of fact,' answered Mr Brown, " but the question of duty remains as before. All men sin, but sin is not therefore proper nor pardonable on that ground. Nor is it universally, though generally true, to be no man's virtue nor sufficiency to bear grief patiently or follow good advice; for some men have, and more might, if they would take the pains they do in some other things of less importance. Nor is advice needless because few take it; nor does good advice become bad, because he who gives it acts not on it himself; neither is a man justified in withholding it though all should neglect it. Noah advised, and was laughed at for his pains, but he went on advising till the flood came. All men being wrong does not set one man right, and one man being right, is right, though all men be wrong. God did not cease to be, nor the earth to turn round, because the enemies of Elijah and Galileo would have it so.'

'Of course,' said Mr Smith, impatiently; but you said

some have been so moral as to listen to advice under misfortune. But if the nature of the misfortune be not known, as is often the case-some secret grief, for example-how can a cure be administered where the disease is not known?' It was the advice of Commineus to Charles, Duke of Burgundy, and to all distressed in mind,' said Mr Brown, 'first to pray to God and lay himself open to him, and then to some special friend whom he held most dear. Nothing,' says Commineus, 'tends more to strengthen, recruit, and heal the wounded soul of a miserable man.' Seneca gives a similar advice. He advises to get some trusty friend to whom we can freely communicate our secrets. Nothing so delights and eases the mind, as when we have a prepared bosom into which we can pour our sorrows. The very sight of such a friend mitigates our sorrow.' Cicero, in like manner, expresses himself thus to his bosom friend Atticus-'I live here in a great city, where I have many acquaintance, but not one with whom I can converse familiarly, or freely jest. Wherefore, I expect thee-I desire thee I send for thee; for there are many things which trouble and molest me, of which, were you but present, I could speedily deliver myself in a walking discourse.' Porphyrius the philosopher, in his life of Plotinus, relates that, being in a discontented humour, he was about to commit suicide; but meeting by chance his master Plotinus, who, perceiving by his distracted looks, that all was not well, urged him to confess his grief. Porphyrius did so, and Plotinus so quieted his mind, that he immediately renounced all thoughts of self-destruction, and afterwards was heartily ashamed of himself, when he thought of the plot which he devised against his own life.' This is one way by which the knowledge of the disease may be imparted to him whose advice is sought.'

But if delicacy induce a man to keep part back, and an important part?"

He has himself to blame. This, at any rate, cannot apply to God. Let him go there the best of friends to those who trust him. The secret grief must have reference either to the things of time or those of eternity. If the former, it is unwise to grieve inordinately about what will so soon be past; and if the latter, the means of cure are furnished by God himself, and his help promised to them that ask it.' Suppose a man's grief to arise from envy or covetousness, or anything of that sort?'

These are vices, and carry their own punishment with them; and the only way of escaping the punishment is to leave off the vice.'

But a vain man can hardly be called a vicious man; yet I have known some vain men who suffered dreadfully.' ⚫ Vainness is a vice, and a most dangerous one, not only to communities but to nations. Hurt vanity has led to all sorts of crimes, and frequently set kingdoms by the ears. One thing is certain, it will always be a source of annoyance to him who indulges it, and the only way to get rid of the annoyance is to get rid of the vice. Let the vain person consider how he hates a vain man; and let him consider again, that that vain man hates him as heartily in return; and let him reflect further, that he is following the surest means to miss what he so eagerly covets, and to secure what he anxiously desires to avoid. He places himself in a pillory, furnishes weapons to the bystanders, gives every one a right to abuse him, and misses the honours of martyrdom after all. Every one pelts him and no one pities him. His real attainments are decried and his deficiencies exaggerated.'

It gives

sitive evil. The sluggard's garden retaliates. weeds, and the ill-ordered mind gives sorrow.' Still I am persuaded the whole thing is more a matter of constitution and condition than anything else.'

I have allowed something to both, as inducing causes either way. It is not denied that some are so happily constituted as to take everything easy, but such cases are comparatively rare; and it is admitted, that ill health, or adversity long continued, is apt to sour the temper, and beget gloomy views and miserable trains of thinking; but the knowledge of this fact points to the cure-should put a man on his guard; for experience has proved that misfortune and disease are not necessarily connected with fretfulness and despondency. The man who is prepared beforehand and resists stoutly at first, is almost sure to succeed. But of all classes of persons who should study this matter, the dispeptic and nervous have most need. Whereever nervous irritability exists, and from whatever cause it may arise, there is a tendency to indulge in morbid thoughts. Some of this class are always forming imaginary quarrels, neglects, or insults, and studying how to be revenged. Some one says that Much of the pain and pleasure of mankind arises from the conjectures which every one makes of the thoughts of others. We all enjoy praise which we do not hear, and resent contempt which we do not see.' There is no doubt that this is in great part true; but if a man will indulge in conjectures of this sort he had better enjoy the unheard praise, than resent the unseen contempt.'

But may it not feed vanity and lead to disappointment?' 'Yes! if carried to excess, or if any measure of credence be attached to it after the reverie is over; and yet it may sometimes do the nervously diffident and desponding some good by operating as a present solace and exciting their powers to action. But, however this may he, it is assuredly unwise to be constantly fancying that people are speaking ill of us or contriving our hurt, or closely watching and remarking upon what we do. People in general are too much occupied with their own concerns to interest themselves greatly or continuously in those of others. It often happens that the man who thinks a whole street is watching and talking of him, is not known by name or profession to his next-door neighbour, and though he were to die to-night, no one in it would miss him to-morrow, or any day afterwards. Society is not an arch, and though it were, he is not its keystone, and no man is. It is rather a sea, a bucketful here and there is never missed-the gap closes instantly, and it rolls on as before. The same kind of unhealthy sensibility leads some people to suspect the sincerity of their friends, and to be constantly devising expedients to test that friendship; whilst others torn.ent themselves by thinking that, into whatever company they enter, a conspiracy is set on foot to bring them into ridicule. Sometimes it is true this actually happens. The bashful man is not unfrequently selected by rude and unfeeling minds as the butt of their coarse wit.'

AN AFTERNOON ON THE ANAPUS. READER, have you not heard of the River Anapus? Does not its very name call up the associations of earlier and more classic days? I can assure you that there is much of interest about this ancient stream, which remains unchanged, while all around has passed through sad mutations, leaving little evidence of the splendour which once adorned its banks and made it celebrated. It will be remembered that nature produced on the shores of this sluggish current the papyrus, which, in ancient days, filled the place now better occupied by those numerous paper manufactories which are the life of several flourishing New England villages. To this interesting spot I propose to conduct you during my ramble of a single afternoon, and the blame is surely mine if you do not find much to interest you.

Leaving the Locanda del Sole, we emerge into a narrow street, which never knew a side-walk, presenting to the view as few comforts as we have left within the walls of our hotel. Before we proceed, our home-if an Italian albergo' may be called by so comfortable a name-deserves a passing notice. Its exterior would promise something better than Italian fare. It once furnished all the comforts of the island, until Neapolitan legislation drove from the town its only profitable customers Owing to the foolish jealousies of the authorities, the American squadron removed their wintering station to Port Mahon, and left this place to its squalid inhabitants, save when a traveller like us is ready to encounter a ride of forty miles under a Sicilian sky, upon the back of an ambling mule. Having pressed our way through the group of beggars which never fail to beset us, and passed through several streets, too narrow to admit the passage of a donkey with panniers of wood, we arrive at the opening by the gate. Let us stop, and observe a few of those peculiarities which remind one that he is in a foreign country. See yonder that circle of laughing girls, who, with flowing tresses and careless attire, are dancing around a companion, who produces music wild and strangely sweet from the simple tambourine. The crowd of muleteers, 'cicerones,' and common people, are dressed in a sort of outside shirt, of a light blue colour, while their heads are covered with a white cap, ornamented with a tassel of the same colour, like those worn by the country schoolboys at home. Donkeys with various burdens, children of all ages, and beggars of both sexes, soldiers with their muskets, priests in their three-cornered hats, and friars with their shaved heads, cowl, and cord, complete the picture.

We have passed the river-gate with its sentinels armed to the teeth, its quadruple walls, its drawbridges, and its moats, as if any nation desired to assault its feeble fortress, and have reached the shore of the Bay of Syracuse. What a noble bay! How beautiful appear the shores of Calabria in the distance! In the still further distance we see the dim outlines of the island of Malta, and trace in imagination the course by which St Paul landed near this very spot. But our cicerone of the morning calls, 'Signor, andiamo (let us go).' These boats remind us, by contrast, of the beautiful models at Whitehall, while the cadaverous but sun-burned countenances, and the bright black eyes of our boatmen, tell of a tropical sky and a miasmatical atmosphere.

The crowd of idlers are left behind, and we are passing along the city wall. 'But stay, boatmen, what is this?' The waters have suddenly become as pure as if poured from our own Horicon's sacred lake, and our boat appears to be suspended in an element that disdains to mingle with the brackish, darkened waters of the bay. Our guide, accustomed to see this spot attract the attention of strangers, cries out, Signor, ecco la Fontana dell' Arethusa.' The classical reader will remember that the story of this stream runs thus. The nymph Arethusa had such exquisite beauty that divine honours were paid her. While bathing in the river, Alpheus, the river-god, became enamoured of her, when Diana, in pity, changed her into a fountain. Alpheus at once mingled his waters with hers, when the patron goddess opened a passage through the earth, and the pursued fountain, passing sea and land, rose up in Ortygia, now Syracuse. The Anapus, the object of our present excursion, is the gallant Alpheus, and fable says that its waters cross this wide bay, unmingled with its briny flood, to meet these crystal waters. Modern improvements have destroyed much of the romance of this place. There are places too sacred for modern structures. As I saw this historic fcunt cramped in and concealed, its pure waters forcing themselves through a crevice in the wall, I would have restored it to its ancient freedom. I would have driven from its silver stream those unpoetical nymphs of the wash-tub, who thus defile its waters and encumber its banks, that nothing might mar the delightful associations it awakens. Thus have I seen a beautiful glen in our own country defiled by a saw-mill or a carding-mill; and with the same feelings, I found myself borne along the

base of Vesuvius by a locomotive, at the rate of twenty miles per hour, the road being graded through ancient towns and buried cities, destroying ancient land-marks, with the recklessness of an American speculator.

But we may not tarry here. We have left the walls, and are standing out into the bay, with a fair wind, under │ a Sicilian lugger sail. Our boatmen are a good specimen of Sicilian ignorance and superstition. Though poorly clad and ill fed, there is seen in them the pride of country, and the devotion to priestly exactions, which characterises the inhabitants of this island. Seeing them look wistfully at our lunch, which we, for the first time, found leisure to eat, I offered some to them. It was refused, with the reply, that this was the second day of their weekly fast. I asked, May not those eat who must work?' They replied, 'No, unless they can buy permission.' In these enfeebling fasts and countless holidays are seen a reason for li the poverty of this island, once the granary of the world. We have crossed the bay, and entered the broad mouth of the Anapus; our sail is lowered, and the oars have taken its place. The banks are low, and the stream narrows as it winds up the valley; the stream still narrows, and is so filled with floating weeds that our boatmen are towing us along from the banks.

We have before us several hours of light, and must not pass this interesting little rivulet, which flows so purely into this clogged stream; it comes from Fonte Cyane, or, in modern language, Fontana Pisma, a spring two hundred and fifty feet in circumference and forty feet deep. This is the passage that the infernal Pluto is said to have made for himself, when he carried off the beautiful Proserpine, who was gathering flowers in these fields. But there are mythological stories connected with every feeling of this vicinage. We are now surrounded by brakes of bamboo and the overtowering papyrus. This plant, which forms the great attraction to this spot, is from eight to twenty feet high. It has a stock of triangular shape, tapering from four or five inches to a point. The top is surmounted by a plume, like the feather of a peacock. This looks as little like paper as a heap of rags, or a pile of tarred ropes, or a bale of cotton. Our landlord, Politi, showed us a piece of rude paper, this morning prepared by himself, from this plant, which enables me to conceive that a tolerable article might be prepared from the slices of the triangular stock.

On yonder hill is the ruin of Olympia. A visit to it will make a good termination of our jaunt. We must reach it before sunset. The hill is reached, and as we stand upon this fallen capital, and view the setting sun, we are reminded of the sinking of this portion of the Roman empire into such a fearful oblivion. See those columns standing in all their majesty, but in dread loneliness. I see by the guide-book they are thirty feet high, and eighteen feet in circumference, seventy feet apart, and stand on bases ten feet square. What a gigantie temple completed with such proportions! It requires little imagination, standing on this elevation, to re-people these plains, to rebuild this immense pile, to return to it the splendid statue of Jupiter, covered with a mantle of wrought gold, erected by Hiero II., and despoiled by Dionysius, and to bring again the thousands of votaries that came up to this shrine to pay homage to imaginary deities. We have no time to tarry, a mile must be traversed, that weedy river rowed through, a wide bay crossed, with hunger and fatigue to destroy the romance of the adven- || ture. Well! the bay is sailed over, the quay, with its crowd of idlers, much diminished by the approaching darkness, is fairly reached. We are fortunate indeed in finding the city gates open, for, were they once closed, no interest would be sufficient to open them until daylight. Such a day as this renders sweet even the hard fare of a Sicilian hotel, which consists of bread, in the shape of a biscuit, and as hard as a paving-stone, butter of goat's milk, maccaroni, miserably cooked, and olive oil. But I will not trouble the reader further with personal adventures, but leave him with the assurance that a visit to this coun try will repay all the toil of such an undertaking.