in EUTERPE -an embroidered veil, woven by a Gentle hand, preserving them from the dust. A Gentle hand! ay! heaven bless her, there she comes gliding in at once like a light and a shadow! With smiles like words-yet what words but her own were ever like those smiles! We are somewhat blind now, and more than somewhat deaf-but that smile we as clearly see, that voice we as distinctly hear-as ever in youth we saw and heard the musical and resplendent Morn. Leaning one arm on CLIO-for 'tis a girl's height-she stands like a Priestess at a religious rite; and dipping the other into the Poetry, as into perfumes, brings out a bunch of incense, and lays it on our knees. The same lovely Image, in the same attitude, next moment at EUTERPE! And now our Heart's Desire and Delight is seated by our side." Maga must have some Poetry this month, my dearest Sir, and" (we kissed her hands as she spoke) "let me name the Series-OUR TWO VASES-shall you begin with Clio or with Euterpe?" With Clio, my Beloved! and let thy Christopher read this-whatever it be, it must be beautiful, since thy hand hath touched it-aha! 'tis of Love of Love-of Love! SAPPHO. Blest as the gods I hold the youth who fondly sits by thee The chilling breath of grief arrests the current of my breath, Well-Love! since you will have it so, let us go on again with the Series. That version of the famous Ode, glows with much of the fire that so burns in the original that one might wonder that the very words were not consumed. 'Tis by an Oxonian who has given only his initials H. K., and they are not familiar to our eyes -but many a gifted spirit dwells within those sacred groves, and here is a leaf by another Infant of Isis J. A., whose name "well may we guess, but dare not tell "On the Statue of Ariadne, at Frankfort-representing her riding on a Lion. Our memory of names is impairednor can we recal that of the Artistthough it is famous; the Statue itself we saw last summer, and thought it nobly beautiful-and our young Poet has it-vivid as life we were going to say-in his enamoured imagination. Ride on, thou peerless beauty! frank and free So proud a gesture, so divine a mien— What matchless grace! what soft seductions thrown Mars the luxuriance of each rounded limb; But lovely womanhood's voluptuous prime Nay, do not keep your face so long averted-for the marble is pure as your own soul. Those lads write with an elegance and grace that are very delightful-and if CLIO continue to give to your touch such presentments, EUTERPE'S offerings must be beautiful indeed if they do not pale their colours. What have we here? Why, in spite of all we have so often said-Meleager on Spring! And other versions too from the Greek Anthology-after our own Series which would make a thick crown octavo--and Hay's which would make another! But there is no help for it-thy hand has saved this leaf from being wafted away into oblivion -a fate from which, but for that touch, its own excellence could not have saved it--for swore we not by Styx that we should admit not into Maga, even from the pen of an angel, versions of any Greek poem that had before graced in English our imperishable page? But we are no Heathen god-and W. S. is not an angel-but a Queen's man, an accomplished scholar--and a conscientious curate at Castle Thorpe, Stoney Stratford, Bucks-and happy should we be to pass a Saturday and a Sunday with him there-as if we were one of his own parishioners. MELEAGER ON SPRING. When windy winter flies the milder air, Spell to touch thy stony heart? But chiefly spare, O King of Clouds! What pity was in that sob! what compassion in that tear! O gentlest Lady! we think on a few lines in a forgotten poem, written many years ago by our friend Clifford-long since dead--who was prouder of his buckskin breeches than of any thing else in this life-yet of a fine genius and a tender heart! ΑΛΛΟ. "And oft when real sorrows asked a sigh, I've fondly viewed the pearl in Emma's eye, And kissed it ere it fell, more pleased to see A tear for others than a smile for me!" But what in the name of goodness have we here? Latin and Greek! Why, a batch of the Epigrams of Theocritus! Take up your knitting, Mrs Gentle, while I look over a few of them-for we intend that our Article shall suit all tastes-and good people to whom Greek Epigrams are caviar will please skip two pages, though graced to gifted eyes with the fine scholarship of Fitzjames Price, an honour to Hereford. Let Mr Hughes look to the strange characters for the character of the Ballantyne Press is at stake-and we have often threatened a list of errata. έ. Λῆς, ποτὶ τῶν νυμφῶν, διδύμοις αυλοῖσιν ἀεῖσαι Quid mihi, per nymphas, grati tua cantet arundo, Si placet, effundat tibia dulce melos; Come, by the nymphs, I pr'ythee play And I will take this reed of mine, We'll banish with our merry numbers Heu! abiit dulcis sobolès; descendit ad Orcum Jamque canes ululant, nequicquam-namque capellæ Ah! Thyrsis, weep no more ; though both thine eyes By the fell wolf's destructive talons slain. Parce, precor, vitæ, neque pontum e tempore sulca, O, mortal, heed thy life, nor quit the port It amused us to see the dunderheads -all Scottish-scribbling their scorn of the Latin and English versions of the first four epigrams of Theocritus, in a late number by the same admira ble pen, and other pens equally admirable-nay, of the originals of which they could not read one letter. We love all that vegetates and lives in Scotland-plants and people; but how happens it that in a country possess. ing such scholars as Sandford, and Ramsay, and Willians, and Pillans, and Carson, and Piper, such barbarism should be so prevalent? Let our educated youth wipe off the reproach thus cast on the character of our colleges, by contributing to CLIO. What more graceful exercise of their taste and ingenuity? There are many accomplished scholars among them; and we are angry, and do well to be angry, to think that while that VASE is filled to overflowing with elegancies from all the seminaries in England, not one, so far as we know, has been wafted thither from this side of the Tweed. Now, Lady Mine, yet, alas! not Lady Mine, lay down thy knittingand-but let us look at thy handiwork-eh! a worsted night-cap?Nay-it wants the tappitoury-and a night-cap without a tappitoury is little more than a night-cap but in name. Besides, you ought to know-for you have heard us tell it that we never wear a night-cap-any more than did Eschylus. We declare-HOSE! That is kind. Let them come up well above the knee-half-way up, or more-that no debateable land may be left between them and our flannel shirt comfortably long in the tail. Pardon the hiut-dearest-but our rheumatism has seized-all right, we see-lay it aside, love-and resuming your seat here-gladden the old man's heart by reading aloud-if, indeed, such a word can apply to voice of thine-these other pleasant trifles-from Theocritus, or Bion, or Moschus-omitting not the translators' names. do now. REV. MORDAUNT BARNARD, AMWELL, HODDESDON, Herts. Chasing wild birds, beheld the truant Love Perch'd on a box-tree bough,-and joy'd, I ween, To see bird larger than he e'er had seen. He brought his lime twigs, and he rang'd them right, -When he saw Love amid the boughs, the sage Come |