CURATE.-It is very tender—the it is too general to allow of such a last image is delicately beautiful. I limit,) vulgarity of speech ? “Where,” did not translate it.

says Catullus, “ Arrius meant to say GRATIAN.—Pretty as the passage commoda, he uttered it as chommoda, of the maiden's disaster in dropping and hinsidias for insidias, and never the lover's gift--and that, too, be it thought he spoke remarkably well observed, in the hurry of her tender- unless he laid great stress upon the ness, which increases the beauty, or aspirate, calling it with emphasis rather accomplishes it-yet is it not hinsidias. I believe his mother, his abrupt in a piece where there is the uncle, his maternal grandfather and expression of so much grief? Catullus grandmother all spoke in the same was an affectionate man, more espe- way. When the man went into cially affectionate brother ;, on other Syria, all ears had a little rest, and occasions, if I remember rightly, he heard those words pronounced without deplores this brother's loss. Now, this emphatic aspirate, and began to Master Curate, what do you offer us? entertain no fears respecting the use

CURATE.-Not now a verse trans- of the words ; when on a sudden they lation, but an observation on a little hear—that after Arrius had gone thipiece of raillery, in which Catullus ther, the Ionian seas were no longer quizzes one Arrius for his aspirating; Ionian, but Hionian.” This is curious. and, I mean it not as a pun, exaspe- As the Romans had possession here rating, though it should seem that his more than four hundred years, did friends were not a little exasperated they leave us this legacy? at his bad pronunciation.

Do we

AQUILIUS.-I will, then, give you inherit from the Romans this, our versions of the two which immediately (Cockneyism, I was going to say, but follow.

DE AMORE SUO.

I love and hate. You ask me how 'tis so.
Small is the reason which I have to show:

I feel it to my cost— 'tis all I know."
Then follows a compliment, by comparison, to his Lesbia.

DE QUINTIA ET LESBIA.
Many think Quintia beautiful : she's tall,
And fair, and straight. I know, I grant it all,
When each particular beauty I recall ;
But I deny !- when these are uncombined
To form a whole of beauty-and I find
So large a person with so small a mind.
But Lesbia's perfect person is all soul,
Compact in beauty-as if grace she stole

From all the rest, and made herself one perfect whole. CURATE.-This is compliment after : for he loves her in their greatest enough as far as comparison goes- quarrels. but he pays her a much greater shortly

OF LESBIA.

“ Lesbia mî dicit

semper male."
Lesbia's always speaking iii
Of me—her tongue is never still :
Yet may I die, but 'gainst her will,

I
She loves me, spite of her detraction.
Why think I so ? Because I blame
Her ways, abuse her just the same:
Yet howsoe'er I name her name,

I still love Lesbia to distraction.

GRATIAN.-Perhaps the constancy Catullus. Now then, Aquilius. was more to the credit of Lesbia than AQUILIUS.

AQUILIUS.-I object to "pretty that mulier here is a word of contempt. she," for mulier. I think, however, I make it out thus:

DE INCONSTANTIA FEMINEI AMORIS.

She says-the woman says-she none would wed
But me, though Jove came suitor to her bed;
She says-but, oh! what woman says-so fair,
And smooth to doting man, is writ on air,
And on the running stream that changeth every where.
been a good hater.

AQUILIUS.-We have seen much of our friend Catullus as a loving poet, let us end by showing him to have

If

The following is

no bad specimen of his powers in this line:

IN COMINIUM.

said he ; "and you, Aquilius, made, this occasion, to appease the manes of I think, this my baculus the staff of the Latin poet in his anger at your office. A good umpire might, not bad translations. But for yourselves, very improperly, give the stick to you I have still something to award. My both, breaking it equally, “secundum pig has two cheeks — there is one for artem baculinam." But it is a good, each, and you shall have them put useful staff to me; we have had some before you at breakfast to-morrow rubs together, and I won't part with morning ; and thus, I think, you will it. True, it has not unfrequently agree with me that I have duly rubbed my pigs' backs, and shall again. countenanced you both. And I hope But the pig Aquilius has made his my pig will have both sharpened your acquaintance with, has grunted out appetites and your wit, 'sus Minerall his happy days; and, to do him vam.' Good-night! all honour, I have sacrificed him upon "To-morrow to fresh fields and turnips new.

POSTSCRIPT.

66

I here send you, Eusebius, the desk, and has been in danger of belast of our Horæ Catullianæ, which coming a popular." has been lying by a week or more. A subscription has actually been This little delay enables me to set on foot, by Nicholas Sandwell, at wind up the Curate's affair to your the instigation, it is said, of certain satisfaction. Our friend Gratian ladies, and even encouraged by Mif.. gave verbally the Bishop's reply to fins, to purchase a coffee-pot and Mathew Miffins, who, seeing himself tea-spoons for the Curate; but an deserted by his principal witness and event a few days ago has put an end informer, Prateapace, was not sorry to the affair, and given rather a new to veer round with the weather-cock, turn to the parochial feelings. This and was obsequiously civil. It was event is of such moment, that I ought, characteristic of our friend Gratian, perhaps, to have told you of it at first that he should settle it as he did with — but I should have spoiled my rothat huckster. Going through, as it mance, my novel -- and what is any is called, the main street, I saw him writing without a tale in it worth nowengaged with Miffins, in his shop, and a-days? The Curate, then, is actually went in. He was talking somewhat fa- married-even since the termination miliarly with the man--of all subjects, of the Horæ Catullianæ. on what do you suppose ?-on fishing. Miss Lydia, (“alas, false man!" sighGratian had been a great fisherman ed some one,) of the family at Ashford, in his day, as his rheumatic pains can is the happy bride. The Curate had now testify. As he afterwards told me, unexpectedly come into a very decent fearing he might have given the independence; and is, and will be for Bishop's message rather sharply, and ever after, according to the usual renot liking to pain the man, he turned ceipt, happy. off the subject, and talked of fishing, Since this event, the bouquets have to which he knew Miffins was addicted; ceased to be laid in the vestry and the and so it ended by Gratian's obtaining desk. Lydia Prateapace has been his good-will for ever, for he sent him heard to say she should not wonder if some choice hackles. Prateapace and all was true after all, and affects to Gadabout have returned to the church, be glad, for propriety's sake, that whereupon the Rev. the cow-doctor they are married. Gadabout runs has stirred up the wrath of the chapel every where repeating what Prateby a very strong discourse upon back- apace said; and Brazenstare looks sliding. A poor woman spoke of it audacious indifference, and once stared as very affecting; adding, “Some loves in the Curate's face and asked him how sons of consolation, but I loves sons many Misses Lydia there might be of

! of thunder.'” Doubtless there was his acquaintance. My dear Eusebius, lightning too; and there is of that vivid “So goes the world, and such the Play of Life. kind which bewilders and leaves all This loves to make, and t'other mends a darker than before. The Curate has

strife; found bouquets in the vestry and the

Old fools write rhymes - the Curate takes a wife.”

AQUILIUS.

Yours ever,

PROSPER MÉRIMÉE.

RARELY, in these days of pro- fect the delusion and give success to

and unscrupulous scribbling, the cheat; fragments of old Spanish do we find an author giving the authors were prefixed to each play, essence, not a dilution, of his wit, showing familiarity with the literature learning, and imagination, dispensing of the country; the style, tone, and his mental stores with frugal caution, allusions were thoroughly Spanish; instead of lavishing them with reckless and, through the French dress, the prodigality. Such one, when met Castilian idiom seemed here and there with, should be made much of, as a to peep forth, confirming the notion model for sinners in a contrary sense,

of a translation. Clara was an Anand as a bird of precious plumage. dalusian, half gipsy, half Moor, skilled Of that feather is Monsieur Prosper in guitars and castanets, saynetes and Mérimée. He plays with literature, boleros. L'Estrange makes her narrather than professes it; it is his re- rate her own origin. creation, not his trade; at long inter- "I was born,' she told us, under vals and for a brief space, he turns an orange-tree, by the roadside, not from more serious pursuits to coquet far from Motril, in the kingdom of with the Muse, not frankly to embrace Granada. My mother was a fortuneher. Willing though she be, he will teller, and I followed her, or was not take her for a lawful spouse and carried on her back, till the age of constant companion, but courts her five years. Then she took me to the par amours. The offspring of these house of a canon of Granada, the moments of dalliance are buxom and licentiate Gil Vargas, who received us debonair, of various but comely aspect. with every sign of joy. Salute your In two-and-twenty years he has uncle, said my mother. I saluted written less than the average annual him. She embraced me, and departed. produce of many of his literary coun- I have never seen her since.' And to trymen. In several paths of litera- stop our questions, Donia Clara took ture, he has essayed his steps her guitar and sang the gipsy song, and made good a footing ; in not Cuando me pariò mi madre, la gitana.” one has he continuously persevered, Biography and comedies were so but, although cheered by applause, skilfully got up, the deception was so has quickly struck into another track, well combined, that the reviewers which, in its turn, has been capri. were put entirely on a wrong scent. ciously deserted. His “Studies of Ro- Two years later, M. Mérimée was man history” give him an honourable guilty of another harmless literclaim to the title of historian; his ary swindle, entitled La Guzla, a “Notes of Archæological Rambles” are selection of Illyrian poems, said to be greatly esteemed; he has written collected in Bosnia, Dalmatia, &c., plays; and his prose fictions, whether but whose real origin could be traced middle-age romance or novel of no further than to his own imagination. modern society, rank with the best Although the name was a manifest of their class. He began his career anagram of Gazul, the public were with a mystification. His first gulled. The deceit was first unmasked work greatly puzzled the critics. It in Germany, we believe, by Goethe, professed to be a translation of certain to whom the secret had been becomedies, written by a Spanish actress, trayed. Thenceforward the young whose fictitious biography was pre- author was content to publish under his fixed and signed by Joseph L'Estrange, own name works of which he certainly officer in the Swiss regiment of had no reason to be ashamed. One Watteville. This imaginary person- of the earliest of these was, "La Jacage had made acquaintance with Clara querie”—a sort of long melodrama, or Gazul in garrison at Gibraltar. series of scenes, illustrating_feudal Nothing was neglected that might per- aggressions and cruelties in France,

a

scene

a

and the consequent peasant revolts improbable and unpleasant, although of the fourteenth century. It shows so neatly managed that one is less much historical research and care in startled when reading them than collection of materials, is rich in refe- shocked on after-reflection. It cerrences to the barbarous customs and tainly requires skilful management strange manners of the times, and, to give an air of probability to such like the “ Chronicle of Charles IX.,'

as is detailed in chapter another historical work of M. Méri- five. A French gentleman, a man of mée's, has, we suspect, been found fortune and family, mixing in good very useful by more recent fabricators society, is anxious for an appointment of romances.

at court, and to obtain it he reckons Educated for the bar, but not prac- much on the influence and good word of tising his profession, M. Mérimée was a certain Duke of H- There is a one of the rising men of talent whom benefit night at the Opera, and the the July revolution pushed forward. young wife of the aspirant to court After being chef de cabinet of the honours has a box. Between the acts Minister of the Interior, Count her husband, who has unwillingly d'Argout, he held several appoint- accompanied her, rambles about the ments under government, amongst house, and discovers the Duke in an others, that of Inspector of Historical inconvenient corner, where he can see . Monuments, an office he still retains. nothing. His grace is not alone, but In 1844 he was elected to a chair in the in the society of his kept-m tress. French Academy, vacant by the death To propitiate his patron, the unscruof the accomplished Charles Nodier. pulous husband introduces him and He has busied himself much with ar- his companion into the box of his unchæological researches, and the pub- suspecting wife! The sequel may be lished results of his travels in the west of imagined; the stare and titter of France, Provence, Corsica, &c., are acqaintances, the supercilious grati

, most learned and valuable. In the in- tude of the Duke, the astonishment of tervals of his antiquarian investigations the lady at the singular tone of the and administrative labours, he has pretty and elegantly dressed woman thrown off a number of tales and with whom she is thus unexpectedly sketches, most of which first saw the brought in contact, and whose want light in leading French periodicals, of usage bespeaks, as she imagines, and have since been collected and re- the newly arrived provincial.

All published. They are all remarkable this, which might pass muster in a for grace of style and tact in manage- novel depicting the manners and ment of subject. One of the long- morals of the Regency, is rather est, “Colomba," a tale of Corsican violent in one of our day; but yet, so life, is better known in Engianu ilian its cloverly are the angles of improbability author's name. It has been translated draped and softened down, the reader with accuracy and spirit, and lately perseveres. The plot is very slight; has been further brought before the the tale scarcely depends on it, but is public, on the boards of a minor thea- what the French call a tableau de tre, distorted into a very indifferent mours, with less pretensions to the melodrama. The Corsican Vendetta regular progress and catastrophe of a has been taken as the basis of more novel, than to be a mirror of everythan one romantic story, but, handled day scenes and actors on the bustling by M. Mérimée, it has acquired new stage of Paris life. The characters and fascinating interest; and he has en- are well drawn, the dialogues witty riched his little romance with a profu- and dramatic, the book abounds in sion of those small traits and artistical sly hits and smart satire; but its bittertouches which exhibit the character ness of tone injured its popularity, and, and peculiarities of a people better unlike its author's other tales, it met than folios of dry description. “La little success. The opening chapter Double Méprise,” another of his longer is a picture of a lively Parisian tales, is a clever novelette of Parisian ménage, such as many doubtless exist; life. According to English notions a striking example of a mariage de its subject is slippery, its main inci

convenance, or mis-match. dent, and some of its minor details, “Six years had elapsed since the

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