none of our brain-symptoms as serious, referring them properly to the class of those indications of exhausted power which yield to generous diet and rest. Mr. Ohlsen suffered some time from strabismus and blindness; two others underwent amputation of parts of the foot without unpleasant consequences, and two died in spite of all our efforts.

This rescue-party had been out for seventytwo hours. We had halted in all eight hours, half of our number sleeping at a time. We travelled between eighty and ninety miles, most of the way dragging a heavy sledge. The mean temperature of the whole time, including the warmest hours of three days, was at minus 41.2°. We had no water exWe had no water except at our two halts, and were at no time able to intermit vigorous exercise without freezing.

ELISHA KENT KANE.

THE LIFE OF TERENCE.

PUBLIUS TERENTIUS AFER was

born at Carthage, and was a slave of Terentius Lucanus, a Roman senator, who, perceiving him to have an excellent understanding and a great deal of wit, not only bestowed on him a liberal education, but gave him his freedom in a very early part of his life.

Our poet was beloved and much esteemed by noblemen of the first rank in the Roman commonwealth, and lived in a state of great intimacy with Scipio Africanus and C. Lælius. He wrote six comedies. When he offered his first play, which was The Andrian, to the ædiles, he was ordered to read it to Acilius, one of the ædiles, the year of

the exhibition of that play. When he arrived at that poet's house, he found him at table; and it is said that our author, being very meanly dressed, was suffered to read the opening of his play seated on a very low stool near the couch of Acilius, but scarce had he repeated a few lines than Acilius invited him to sit down to supper with him; after which, Terence proceeded with his play, and finished it to the no small admiration of Acilius. His six plays were equally admired by the Romans.

To wipe off the aspersion of plagiarism, or, perhaps, to make himself a master of the customs and manners of the Grecians, in order to delineate them the better in his writings, he left Rome in the thirty-fifth year of his age, after having exhibited the six comedies. which are now extant; and he never returned Volcatius speaks of his death in the

more.

following manner:

"But Terence, having given the town six plays,
Voyaged for Asia; but when once embarked,
Was ne'er seen afterward. He died at sea."

He is said to have been of middle stature, genteel and of a swarthy complexion. He left a daughter, who was afterward married to a Roman knight; and at the time of his death he was possessed of an house, together with a garden containing six acres of land, on the Appian Way, close by the Villa Maris. C. Cæsar speaks of Terence thus:

And thou, O thou, among the first be placed —
Ay, and deservedly, thou half Menander,
Lover of purest dialogue. And oh
That humor had gone hand in hand with ease
In all thy writings! That thy Muse might stand
In equal honor with the Grecian stage,
Nor thou be robbed of more than half thy fame!
This only I lament, and this, I grieve,
There's wanting in thee, Terence !"

GEORGE COLMAN.

Ho, Storax!

SELECTIONS.

SCENE, ATHENS.

Enter MICIO.

Eschinus did not return

Last night from supper-no, nor any one
Of all the slaves who went to see for him.
And what a world of fears possess me now!
How anxious that my son is not returned,
Lest he take cold or fall or break a limb!
Gods that a man should suffer any one
To wind himself so close about his heart
As to grow dearer to him than himself!
And yet he is not my son, but my brother's,
Whose bent of mind is wholly different.
I from youth upward even to this day
Have led a quiet and serene town-life,
And, as some reckon fortunate, ne'er married;
He, in all points the opposite of this,

Has passed his days entirely in the country
With thrift and labor, married, had two sons.
The elder boy is by adoption mine;

So that the pranks of youth, which other children

Hide from their fathers, I have used my son
Not to conceal from me; for whosoe'er
Hath won upon himself to play the false one
And practise impositions on a father
Will do the same with less remorse to others,
And 'tis, in my opinion, better far

To bind

your

children to you by the ties Of gentleness and modesty than fear. And yet my brother don't accord in this, Nor do these notions nor this conduct please him.

'Tis hard in him, unjust and out of reason, And he, I think, deceives himself indeed Who fancies that authority more firm Founded on force than what is built on friendship;

For thus I reason, thus persuade myself:
He who performs his duty, driven to't
By fear of punishment, while he believes
His actions are observed, so long he's wary,
But if he hopes for secrecy returns

To his own ways again. But he whom kind

ness

Him also inclination makes your own:
He burns to make a due return, and acts,
Present or absent, evermore the same.
'Tis this, then, is the duty of a father,
To make a son embrace a life of virtue
Rather from choice than terror or constraint.
Here lies the mighty difference between
A father and a master. He who knows not

Joining in consultation to apply

Relief to the misfortune that has fallen
On me, my mistress and her daughter, all
Would not avail. Ah me! so many trou-
bles

But why do I delay to tell my mistress This heavy news as soon as possible?

(Going.)

Sos. Let's call him back. Ho, Geta! CAN. Whosoe'er

The pavement with his brains. For Eschinus,

Sos. I am Sostrata.

GETA. Where, where is Sostrata? (Turns about.) I sought you, madamImpatiently I sought you-and am glad To have encountered thus readily. Sos. What is the matter?

tremble thus?

GETA. Alas!

you

Why d'ye

Sos. Take breath. But why thus moved, good Geta?

GETA. We're quite—

Sos. Quite what?

GETA. Undone. We're ruined, madam.
Sos. Explain, for Heaven's sake!
GETA. Ev'n now-

Sos. What now?

GETA. Eschinus

Sos. What of Eschinus?
GETA. Has quite

Estranged himself from all our family.
Sos. How's that? Confusion! Why?
GETA. He loves another.
Sos. Wretch that I am!

GETA. Nor that clandestinely,

But snatched her in the face of all the world. Sos. Are you sure of this?

GETA. Sure? With these very eyes I saw

it, madam.

Sos. Alas, alas! What, then, can we believe,

I'd rush on, drag, crush, trample under foot.

her?

Translation of GEORGE COLMAN.

HISTORY AND POETRY.

FROM THE GREEK OF LUCIAN.

do not mean by this that in history we are not to praise sometimes, but it must be done. at proper seasons and in a proper degree, that

degree of falsehood.

Poetry has its particular rules and precepts; history is governed by others directly opposite. With regard to the former the license is immoderate, and there is scarce any law but what the poet prescribes to himself. When he is full of the deity, and possessed, as it were, by the Muses, if he has a mind to put winged horses to his chariot and drive some through the waters and others over the tops of unbending corn, there is no offence taken; neither if his Jupiter hangs the earth and sea at the end of a chain are we afraid that it

for future ages must be considered in this affair. In history nothing fabulous can be agreeable, and flattery is disgusting to all readers except the very dregs of the people; good judges look with the eyes of Argus on every part, reject everything that is false and adulterated, and will admit nothing but what is true, clear and well expressed.

Translation of THOMAS FRANCKLIN.

BEWARE, YE DEBTORS.

wants to extol Agamemnon, who shall forbid his bestowing on him the head and eyes of Jupiter, the breast of his brother Neptune and the belt of Mars? The son of Atreus and Erope must be a composition of all the gods; nor are Jupiter, Mars and Neptune sufficient, perhaps, of themselves to give us an idea of his perfection. But if history admits any adulation of this kind, it becomes a sort of prosaic poetry without its numbers or magnificence, a heap of monstrous stories only more conspicuous by their incredibility. He is unpardonable, therefore, who cannot distinguish one from the other, but lays on history the paint of poetry, its flattery, fable and hyperbole; it is just as ridiculous as it would be to clothe one of our robust wrestlers, who is as hard as an oak, in fine purple or some such meretricious garb, and put paint on his cheeks. How would such ornaments debase and degrade him!

I

beware,

Be circumspect: oft with insidious ken
The caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft
Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave,
Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch
With his unhallowed touch. So (poets sing)
Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn
An everlasting foe, with watchful eye
Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap,
Her fell claws to thoughtless mice
Sure ruin. So her disembowelled web
Arachne in a hall or kitchen spreads
Obvious to vagrant flies. She secret stands
Within her woven cell; the humming prey,
Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils
Inextricable, nor will aught avail
Their arts or arms or shapes of lovely hue;
The wasp insidious and the buzzing drone,
And butterfly, proud of expanded wings,
Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares,
Useless resistance make.

JOHN PHILIPS.

Am just new-born in some lost isle of joy,

spring,

With his own joy he hears the skylark sing,