interested appetite for knowledge, and forms an appreciation for all that is beautiful, noble, and true, shall we according to our day be labouring in that mighty workshop wherein are forged the golden chains which shall bind closer and closer the hearts and affections of husband and wife, brother and sister, man and woman. May it be at least no hasty thought which prompts us to be of the number of those who "stridentia tinguunt æra lacu," and leave it there a dead, cold mass, only accumulating self-consuming rust.

C. C. C.

THE FISHERMEN.

THEOCRITUS. IDYLL XXI.

'TIS Poverty alone provokes the arts,
O Diophantus, teaching men to toil.
To them that labour for a livelihood
Sleep hardly comes: and if a little while
Slumber should overtake them in the night,
Anxieties rush in and break their rest.
Two aged fishermen together lay

On the dry sea-weed of their wattled hut,
Against its leafy wall: about them were
Implements of their craft-the wicker creels,
The rods, the hooks, the weedy baits, and lines;
Bow-nets of rushes, baskets, an old boat
With props kept upright, and a pair of oars:
This was their whole equipment, all their wealth.
Door had they none nor dog; all such to them
Superfluous seem'd; their guard was poverty.
Nor had they any neighbour; but the sea
Came floating softly round their narrow hut.
Not yet the chariot of the moon had run
Full half her circle, when their master-thought
Aroused these fishermen; and thrusting off
The slumber from their lids, they thus began.
ASPH. They're liars all, my friend, who e'er have said
That nights are shorter in the summer time,

When Zeus makes long the days: a myriad dreams I've dream'd already, and it is not dawn. MATE. Blame not fair summer, friend; not at their will The seasons leave their own set course, but care Breaking your slumbers makes the night seem long. ASPH. Have you ever learnt to interpret dreams at all? I've had a fine one, and I would not like That you should be without a part in it; We'll share our visions as we share our fish: Your mother-wit may help you to a guess, He best interprets dreams who follows her.

MATE.

Besides, we've time, for what can any man
Do, lying on rough leaves beside the sea,
Sleeping uneasy on a thorny couch,
Wakeful as any nightingale in bush,
Or lamp in Prytaneum, which they say
Is always burning?

Speak then, friend, and let
Your comrade hear this vision of the night.
ASPH. Yestreen, when after my sea-faring toil
I fell asleep-not over-full of meat,
For, you remember, we supp'd sparingly-
Methought that I sat fishing on a rock,
Flinging the treacherous bait out with the rod;
And one fat fish made at it-for as dogs
Scent bears, even in their sleep, so I a fish—
He caught and held it, blood began to flow,
And with his struggles the rod bent, and I
Using both hands found it no easy task
To land a great fish with so small a hook.
A slight reminder ever and anon

I gave him of his wound, then loosen'd line,
But lost him not; and lastly haul'd him in,
The guerdon of my toil,-a golden fish-
One all compact of gold. And fear was mine
That he might be a fish Poseidon loved
Or one of blue-eyed Aphrodite's own.
Carefully I unhook'd him, lest the barbs
Should from his mouth keep any of the gold;
And when I got him safe I swore an oath
Never to set foot on the sea again,

But live on land, and king it with the gold.
With that I woke; but do you, O my friend,
Resolve me, for I fear the oath I swore.

MATE. Well then, don't fear it, for you did not swear;
You did not find the fish you dream'd about,
And visions are but lies; but if you wish
In sober truth to realize your dream,
Go seek the fish of flesh, or you may die
Of hunger, even tho' you dream of gold.

J. H. CLARK.

THE LAND OF THE FAMOUS..

"Devenere locos lætos et amoena virecta
"Fortunatorum nemorum sedesque beatas."

I MUST confess that once at least in the course of my existence I have been doubtful of my personal identity. This happened on a fine summer's morning, when I unexpectedly found myself in the midst of a pleasantly wooded country, prettily interspersed with gardens, in which I could see groups of men standing under the shade of the trees, or seated in the numerous arbours. How I got there I knew not, and I was equally ignorant of the name or geographical position of the spot where I was. Nor was my perplexity lessened by my noticing that the dress of those of the inhabitants that were visible to me was of the most varied description. Every costume from the Roman toga to the coats still in vogue when our grandfathers were in their prime had numerous representatives. Puzzled beyond measure, I felt greatly relieved to see a sedate looking personage advancing towards me, his dress and bearing indicating that he was English, though of a date some two centuries back. His first words were:

"May I ask what illustrious one I have thus the honour of welcoming to these glorious abodes?"

"Where am I?" I asked eagerly. "How came I here?" He looked at me for a minute in great surprise, then recovering himself he replied, "I thought that you were a new inhabitant of these realms, but I see that you are but a mortal, who, by the permission of the deities of the place, has come to catch a glimpse of our happy existence."

"Am I then in Elysium?"

"Not in that so often sung of by the poets," replied he. "This is the place to which the famous of the earth retire after their work has ceased, though the memory of it yet lives. None but the illustrious enter here."

VOL. V.

U

"Do I then see before me the shades of all the departed great?"

"Yes," answered my informant, " for though these abodes have not been founded many centuries, all those whose names still live have been admitted."

"But how do the favoured ones know of their good fortune? Who decides on those who may enter these happy realms, and by what means is the decision communicated to the successful candidates for admission?"

"The shades come to those huge portals that you see to your right, and should the porter permit them to enter, they have no further opposition. Our state is grievously at fault in not having any certain regulations as to the conditions of admission. The sole restriction is that they should continue to be remembered on earth, and it was thought that there would be no hesitation about the fitness of the applicants. Accordingly our porter was directed to admit those who were famous, and it was anticipated that he would find no difficulty in the discharge of his office, but so far from this being the case he has been driven to his wits' end to discover some serviceable test which may enable him to decide on the merits of the various cases presented to him. The hope that he first entertained that it would be safe to admit all that thought themselves worthy, soon proved delusive, and he saw the necessity of adopting some fixed standard of merit. He commenced by noting the behaviour of friends and acquaintances at the death of each, admitting any one whose deaths caused much mourning, but this was found to depend on circumstances which had nothing to do with his fame. Frequently it depended on the influence which the family possessed, of which he was a member, and was put on and off with the hatband. Abandoning this idea our porter turned philosopher for the nonce, and commenced ruminating on the qualities and deeds that secure immortality. He came to the conclusion that it was the powers of the mind by which men became famous, and knowing no form in which these were so clearly displayed as in books, he determined to judge by these alone, especially as he noticed that authors were usually remembered just so long as their books were. A new difficulty arose-how should he decide on the relative merits of the books of different writers? Thinking it natural that books should be most carefully examined and criticized when they first appeared, he sedulously observed the opinions of the critical world, and became as diligent a reader of the various reviews as if he had been an author