THE FIRST TRANSLATOR OF HOMER.

EUROPE is indebted to Leontius Pylatus, who lived in the fourteenth century, for the first translation of the works of Homer; and nobody seems to know much about him. If it had not been for Boccace, who assisted him in his translation into Latin, we should not have been enabled to trace even the name of a man to whom the literary world is under so much obligation. He was a Greek-a native of Thessalonica, who taught his own language at Florence, and of whom the author of the Decameron has given the following portrait.

"His look was frightful; his countenance hideous; he had an immensely long beard, and black hair, which was seldom disturbed by a comb. Absorbed in constant meditation, he neglected the decent forms of society; he was rude, churlish, without urbanity, and without morals; but to make some amends for this, he was profoundly skilled in the Greek language and Greek literature. Aware that "a prophet hath no honor in his own country," he called himself a Greek in Italy, and an Italian in Greece. He had passed several years among the ruins of the Labyrinth of Crete."

Notwithstanding all the endeavors of Boccace and of Petrarch to retain this wandering character in Italy, he persisted in his resolution to return to Greece; but, scarcely had he set his foot in that country, when he wrote a letter to Petrarch, lunger and more filthy than his beard and hair, as that author expresses himself, in which he extolled Italy to the skies, and spoke in the bitterest terms of Constantinople. Not receiving any answer, he embarked in a vessel bound for Venice. The ship safely arrived in the Adriatic, when suddenly a ter, rible storm arose. Whilst all on board were in motion to do what was necessary for the vessel in this predicament, the terrified Greek clung to a mast, which was struck with a thunderbolt. He died on the spot. The mariners and others were in the greatest consternation, but no other person sustained any injury. The body of the unfortunate Leontius, shapeless and half burnt, was thrown into the sea; and Pe

trarch, in relating this catastrophe to Boccace, says, among other things, "This unhappy man has left the world in a more miserable manner than he came into it. I do not believe he experienced in it a single happy day. His physiognomy seemed to indicate his fate. I know not how any sparks of poetic genius found their way into so gloomy a soul."

EXTRACTS

FROM SOME

DETACHED THOUGHTS OF MONTESQUIEU.

"I AM attached to my country, because I like the government under which I was born, without being afraid of it, or expecting any emolument from it. I share equally with my fellow-citizens in the protection which it affords to us, and I thank God that he has given to me a degree of moderation.

"If I knew any thing that would be useful to myself, and at the same time prejudicial to my family, I would erase it from my mind; if I knew any thing that would be useful to my family, but prejudicial to my country, I would strive to forget it; if I knew any thing that would be useful to my country but prejudicial to mankind, I should look upon it as a crime.

"We are allowed to aspire to the highest situations in our country, because it is permitted to every citizen to wish to be useful to his country. Besides, a noble ambition (when properly directed) is a sentiment very useful to society; for, as the phyiscal world subsists only because every particle of matter tends to fly off from the centre, so the political world sustains isself by the inward and restless desire that every one has to remove from the situation in which he is placed.

"The heroism that sound morality avows has very few charms for most men; the heroism that destroys morality strikes us, and forces our admiration.

"There are no persons that I have ever more completely despised than witlings, and persons of rank devoid of probity."

THE FREEBOOTER.

Female Vanity.

NOTHING is more vain than for a woman to deny her ageshe cannot deceive herself, who is the only person concerned about it. If a man dislikes a woman, because he thinks her of the age she is, he will only dislike her the more by being told she is younger than she seems to be, and, consequently looks older than she ought to do. The Anno Domini of her face will weigh more than that of her register.

The Passions.

"THE passions," Madame de Montier informs us, “rise up only against those who faintly oppose them. To a vigor. ous defence they are sure to submit. He who is under the necessity of plucking nettles, avoids the sting only by seizing them boldly. While he who attacks them more gently, and cautiously, feels how painful it is to eradicate evil dispositions with faintness and irresolution.

On a Lawyer.

A plaintiff thus explain'd his cause
To counsel learned in the laws :
"My bondmaid lately ran away,
And in her flight was met by A,
Who, knowing she belong'd to me,
Espous'd her to his servant B.
The issue of this marriage, pray,

Do they belong to me or A?"
The lawyer, true to his vocation,

Gave sign of deepest cogitation,

Look'd at a score of books, or near,

Then hemm'd, and said, "your case is clear.

Those children, so begot by B,

Upon your handmaid must, you see,

Be your's, or A's.-Now, this I say:
They can't be your's, if they to A
Belong-it follows then, of course,
That if they are not his, they're yours.
Therefore-by my advice-in short,
You'll take the opinion of the court."

Iphigenia to Agamemnon.

From the Iphigenia in Aulis of Euripides.

Had I the voice of Orpheus, that my song
The unbending strength of rocks might lead along,
Melt the rude soul, and make the stubborn bow,
That voice might heaven inspire to aid me now.
But now, ungifted as I am, untaught

To pour the plaint of sorrow as I ought,
Tears, the last refuge of a suppliant's prayer,
Tears yet are mine, and those I need not spare.
Father, to thee I bow, and low on earth
Clasp the dear knees of him who gave me birth-
Have mercy on my youth! O, think how sweet
To view the light and glow with vital heat!
Let me not quit this cheerful scene, to brave
The dark uncertain horrors of the grave!

I was the first on whom you fondly smil'd, And straining to your bosom, call'd, "My child !" Canst thou forget how on thy neck I hung, And lisp'd, "My father!" with an infant tongue ? How 'midst the interchange of holy bliss, The child's caresses, and the parent's kiss, "And shall I see my daughter," wouldst thou say, "Blooming in charms among the fair and gay? Of some illustrious youth the worthy bride, The beauty of his palace and the pride?" "Perhaps," I answer'd with a playful air, "And dares my father hope admittance there,

Or think his prosperous child will e'er repay
His cares, and wipe the tears of age away.
Then, round that dearest neck I clung, which yet
I bathe in tears-I never can forget;

-But thou remember'st not how then I smil'd-
'Tis vanish'd all-and thou wilt slay thy child.

O! slay me not! respect a mother's throes,
And spare her age unutterable woes!
O, slay me not !-or-if it be decreed-
(Great God avert it !) if thy child must bleed,
At least look on her, kiss her, let her have
Some record of her father in the grave!
O come, my brother! join with me in prayer!
Lift up thy little hands, and bid him spare!
Thou wouldst not lose thy sister! e'en in thee,
Poor child, exists some sense of misery-
Look, father, look! his silence pleads for me.
We both entreat thee-I with virgin fears,
He with the eloquence of infant tears.

O, what a dreadful thought it is to die!
To leave the freshness of this upper sky,
For the cold horrors of the funeral rite,
The land of ghosts and everlasting night!
O, slay me not! the weariest life that pain,
The fever of disgrace, the lengthen'd chain
Of slavery, can impose on mortal breath,
Is real bliss to what we fear of death." "

Exclamation of Venus on seeing her Statue by Praxiteles. My naked charms! The Phrygian swain,

And Dardan boy-to those I've shown them,

And only those, of mortal strain.

How should Praxiteles have known them?