"It was unquestionably among the Celtic inhabitants of our island that this worship was celebrated with the greatest importance and solemnity. Whether it was preserved among them simply by the force of their old traditions, or whether its revival in greater pomp was a result of the Phoenician intercourse, we cannot now determine; but it is curious to find in the names both of the great Carthaginian leader and of the valiant British chief who each so bravely withstood the Roman arms, the name of this god assumed as a title of honourable distinction. We have it in the Punic names Hannibal and Asdrubal, and the ancient British Carribelin and Cunobelin. We have it in Baalam, in the Assyrian Belshazzar, and in Jezebel, the great protector of idolatry in Israel, who so faithfully fulfilled the promise of her name. Far away among the hills of the Antilibanus lie the glorious ruins of Baalbec, the temple of the Sun; and here, too, his altars were erected, and perhaps his name bestowed on many a beautiful English hill."-(p. 97.)

"The conclusion" of Mr. Ferguson's little volume is neither the least interesting nor least worthy of notice. We have pointed out to us the great difference between the impressions left on the country by the Romans and those of their Teutonic successors: the altars, inscriptions, and coins of the former are scattered plentifully in all directions, but they alone are the almost only witnesses, independent of history, that the standard of the "seven-hilled" city was planted on our soil. On the other hand, we need not search in a museum for the footprints of our Northern ancestors; many a hill and many a glen still bear the names which they received in past ages from the hardy and adventurous sons of Scandinavia, whilst many of our most familiar and homely words are living records of the vast influence exercised by the descendants of Odin upon this country. We cannot do better than conclude with the author's own words, joining heartily with him in the hope expressed :

"Finally, may I express a hope that the closer relationship which has of late years been proved between ourselves and the people of the North may strengthen our sympathies with those simple and kindly races to whom we owe so much of our nationality, and by whom those ancient ties have never been forgotten: for whether on the firescorched rocks of Iceland, amid the great pine-forests of Sweden,-or beneath the midnight sun' of Norway, our wandering countrymen find ever warm hearts and open hands; and even in the capital of Denmark no harsh memories are allowed to interfere with the welcome of an Englishman."

VERSES ADDRESSED TO WALTER SAVAGE LANDORa.

WITH TRANSLATIONS FROM HIS "IDYLLIA HEROICA."

AH, LANDOR, what a joy were mine

To blend my humble wreath with thine

Of sempiternal bay;

Could I but deftly interfuse

The accents of thy Roman muse

With my untutored lay!

"My dear Sir: I had no idea that any man living could translate my Idylls. You have performed the first admirably. Proud shall I be if you continue the task with

all the others of them.

"I return your proof with a few corrections; a very few, and chiefly in punctuation. I abhor dashes. The verses you do me the honour of addressing to me personally will make me proud for life. I must shew them to the young ladies who patronize a man who entered his 83rd year yesterday.

Copy of note addressed to the translator.

“Very truly yours,

"W. S. LANDOR."

On Fairfield, my Soracte's brow,

The snows lie wreathed; and keen winds plough
The mere, my Larian lake;

But bending o'er thy classic page,
I heed not though the tempest's rage
My mountain-cottage shake.

I seem to stand in Mincio's grove,
And list how Pan with Cupid strove,
While Virgil wakes the shell:
Yet in thy varied verse I trace
Something surpassing Maro's grace,—
A power of deeper spell.

Beyond the bright Pierian fount,
Above the old bi-forkèd mount,

Where Phoebus erst held sway,
Thy muse can urge her daring course,
And rise undazzled to the source
Of empyréan day.

Yet, Landor, thou wilt not disdain
To list these echoes of thy strain,
And teach my willing hand
To strike the lyre I shaped from thine
(Ah might I catch its fire divine!)
In my rude mountain-land.

C.

CUPID AND PAN.

AN IDYLL.

From the Latin of W. S. Landor.

CUPID, discovering Pan in slumber laid,
Slipt off the decent cloak a goat's-skin made,
And plucked with spiteful hand his shaggy locks;
But Pan kept snoring on, and dreamt of flocks,
5. And of the long-enduring snows that hide
The early herbage on the mountain's side;
Nor felt his twitches more than some old oak
Through its tough rind a passing stripling stroke;
Nor woke he when the boy his pipe espied,

10. And gently to his lips the reeds applied.

By Jove! these gods Arcadian sleep amain!"
Exclaimed the imp: Him wakeful spouse in vain
"Might objurgate!" Then, with upheaving chest,
Once more the syrinx to his lips he prest,

15. And blew so shrilly that, with one great bound,
Arcas, his ears still quivering at the sound,
Leapt from his leafy couch. But the winged boy
More nimble was than he, and screamed for joy
At Pan's dismay.

'Ill-doing imp!" Pan cried: 20. "Thou darest not lay bow and shafts aside!"

"Dare I not ?" answered Love; "Goat-foot shall know

To vanquish him there needs nor shaft nor bow!"
So vaunting, lightly to the sward he sprung,

And his bright bow and quiver from him flung.

25. ""Twould shame me, boy," cried Pan, "to fight with thee!"
"Shame thee it shall; for vanquisht thou shalt be!"
Cried Eros: "Now, come on! Goat-foot, come on!"
As when some bird of plumage rare has flown
Into the light-mesht net, with eager haste,
30. Yet careful lest its beauty he should waste,
The fowler strives to take it, so the god

Rolled his green eyes, and stretched his arms abroad
To clutch the flitting boy, whose rosy grace
To deadly paleness now seemed yielding place.
35. Thus have we seen in some first day of spring,
While youth were sporting with the disc or ring,
The sudden snow-flakes fill the silent air,

40.

45.

And clothe their flushing cheeks and foreheads fair.
Begone!" cried baffled Pan: "Flit hence, thou elf!
And keep thy taunts for children like thyself!
"Scarce fifteen summers hast thou seen, and thou
"Darest the terrors of my grizzled brow!

Away thou imp! Away thou beardless prig!
"Or thou shalt howl beneath a willow twig."

By shame and fury fired, with one great blow,
Cupid now sought to quell his burly foe:

His quick eye marked where, bared of spotted cloak, 50. Pan's hairy breast lay open to his stroke;

And swift as stooping hawk, or Jove's red brand,
His arm descended; Pan the falling hand
Arrested, but as quickly dropt again,

And blew his palm, and danced with very pain,
55. For like red steel it glowed. Then in such grasp
As wrestlers use, Pan sought his foe to clasp;
With limbs entwined they struggled as for life,
Yet Pan no longer cared to close the strife;
For as he strains the fair boy to his side
60. Through his rude frame insidious tremors glide;
(Ah Pan! thou dealest with a subtile foe!)
But Cupid held his own; and to and fro
Over the trampled turf they swayed; at length,
Uplifted by the rude superior strength

Of Arcas, and thrice whirled his head around, 65. The dauntless wrestler smote the trembling ground. The victor shouted triumph; but the guile

Of Cupid overmatched him; for the while

Pan stooped to chafe his bruised limbs, and sought
To soothe the woes his own rough arm had wrought.

70. Cupid with unseen hand a feather drew

From his right shoulder, and thus armed anew,
Sprung up and plunged it in his victor's eyes.
Then woods, rocks, vales resounded with the cries

Of hapless Pan; bright flowing Ladon gave 75. To reedy marsh and pool his startled wave; Alpheus trembled; the Mænalian peaks. Echoed to Stymphalus those frantic shrieks; And Pholoe and Cyllene sent again

Pan's loud lament to Tegea's fruitful plain. 80. Scared by his wail, the winged steed that fed On far Parnassus tossed his beamy head,

And snorting plunged adown the giddy steep,
Nor stayed his flight till hid in forest deep.
"Evo, Evoë!" Cupid cried; while Pan

85. This woful plaint with thickening sobs began:
"Ah never more shall I my fields behold!

Nor when the zephyrs loosen winter's cold, And mountain-rivulets cast their icy chains And leap in flashing torrents to the plains, 90. "Shall I be gladdened with their new-born glee! No more, no more, shall the bright heavens to me "Bring vernal joy; nor golden Hesper lead

'His starry flock! Ah me! undone indeed!

A sightless helpless wanderer I must roam 95. "O'er the green earth without or hope or home. Ah Cupid, pity me! I seek not now

"The victor's wreath; let it adorn thy brow;
"But lend thy guiding hand." Thus Arcas spoke,
While o'er his rugged cheeks the big tears broke;

100. And Cupid pitying answered his appeal:

"Be cheered, Pan; myself thy wound will heal !" Then gathering with quick hands rare herbs and flowers, He said: "O Pan! this solemn pact be ours, "That these, my trophies, shall adorn thy brow 105. "Till I release thee from them: swearest thou ?" The humbled god then swore by Jove and Fate, And Cupid hastened a fresh wreath to plait. First, amaranth he took; but frail as bright,

The flower broke short; then chose he roses white;

110. (In early times no other hue, I ween,

Than purest white adorned the flower's fair queen ;)
Next pale narcissus, and the violet,

And lily, in the wreath he deftly set,

Still mingling as he wove, with curious care,

115. Some leaves and flowers of form and virtues rare;

One little sprig of myrtle closed his toil.

Deep groaned the god, and gnashed his teeth the while Cupid the wreath o'er his slant forehead drew, And hid his eyes and half his nose from view. 120. Arcas thus quelled, the Hamadryads found Unwonted peace, and fearless danced around Their favourite trees, and gaily trilled their songs. But Pan, unable to endure such wrongs, Hastened to Paphos. Him with haughty air 125. Bright Aphrodite met, and scorned his prayer:

We will not ease thee of a single flower!

"Go, and bear hence these trophies of our power; "And wear them till our potent son shall please "Of his own grace to grant thee full release. 130. "Go, hie thee, Goat-foot, to thy woods; and know "Who flouts at Cupid, flouts at his own woe! "But Pan, that wreath once dropt, no more for thee "Shall my own flowers too fair a garland be;

Rude as thyself, no coronal be thine

135. "Save spiky branches of the mountain-pine."

SIR CHARLES NAPIER".

"A WAYWARD life of adventure has been mine!" wrote Charles Napier himself: "a good romance it would make, full of accidents by flood and field, stories of love, and war, and shipwreck, and escapes of all kinds." Certainly this was very true; these volumes give us no ordinary history, and the history of no ordinary man. The qualities of the man, indeed, were more uncommon than the circumstances in which they were developed; in fact, it is these peculiar qualities in himself which give the colouring of romance to his career. In outward course, the life of many a man has been more brilliant, and, so to speak, more glorious than his; but to his inner life, as this memoir reveals it, it would be hard to find a parallel. There was something essentially heroic in Charles Napier's character: its refined honour, its dauntless courage, its mingled sternness and tenderness, seem to belong more to the days of chivalry than to our prosaic age. It was not surprising that he was not comprehended or appreciated as he should have been. His modes of thinking upon many subjects must have been infinitely staggering to the understandings of the worldly-wise; and it is not strange, if they found it difficult to realize that the man who could entertain and act up to such principles, could be, also, really one of the most wise and efficient of practical men.

Charles Napier belonged to a remarkable family. On the one side he was descended from Henry the Fourth of France and Charles the Second of England; and on the other from the great Montrose, and from the inventor of logarithms; whilst of his immediate kindred, one aunt was the mother of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and another of Charles Fox. His mother, herself, only narrowly escaped being queen of England. It was a nobler fortune for her to become the wife of the true and gallant gentleman from whom her illustrious sons inherited all their loftiest virtues. Of these sons, the subject of the book before us was the eldest. He was born at Whitehall, upon the 10th of August, 1782. Like so many other distinguished men, his childhood was marked by great physical weakness: whilst all his brothers were tall and stout, he was but a little fellow. He was, moreover, a very grave and retiring boy, in whom a casual observer would have found nothing by any means extraordinary. It was only when anything was to be done that other people either lacked ability or resolution

"The Life and Opinions of General Sir Charles James Napier, G.C.B. By Lieut.Gen. Sir William Napier, K.C.B. In Four Volumes. Vols. I. and II." (London: John Murray.)

GENT. MAG. VOL. CCII.

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