in the country. If then, from their account, you find that I have spoken falsely, I will submit to the charge of an adulteress."

When she had concluded this plausible. tale, she seized upon his hand and kissed it. He could not but believe this account, since it tallied with that given him by Sosthenes, yet still a lurking suspicion remained, for jealousy, when once it has taken root, is not easily effaced. But the intelligence that Leucippe was my wife, exasperated him still more against

me.

At day-break, next day, they returned to Leucippe. When they approached the door, they heard her voice uttering broken lamentations of distress from within. Attracted by the sound, they stopped and listened. "Oh! Clitophon," she murmured, "my lord-my husbandwhere art thou? Ignorant of each other's fate, we are torn with mutual anguish. Oh, Clitophon! my constant love, shall I not again behold thee? But what shall I say to Thersander upon his return? shall I tell him my real condition? Think me not a wretched slave, Thersander-think not the daughter of a Byzantian general, the wife of a Tyrian youth is a Thessalian captive. But, alas! complaint is bootless! I must now resume my feigned character."

When Thersander heard these broken exclamations, he turned to Sosthenes, and said, "By heaven! I think that wretch is some wizard! Melite, loves him-Leucippe loves him! Oh! that I were Clitophon!" "Do not despair," said Sosthenes, "woman's love is fleeting as the air. They only love those who are present-but disregard those who are absent." Thersander was encouraged at these words, and after staying a short time without, so as not to appear to have listened, entered. In vain he endeavoured to draw her into conversation; tired with the attempt, he at length attempted to kiss her. She repelled him with indignation, and turned her head away. Enraged at her resistance, he attempted to do it by violence; Leucippe turned to him and said, "Your behaviour is not that of a man. You follow the example of Sosthenes, a servant, worthy indeed of such a master. Cease then this violence, unless you can change yourself from Thersander into Clitophon."

Thersander, when he heard this, transported with passion, struck her violently on the face. "Base, licentious slave!" he exclaimed, "I know you. If you will not listen to me as

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a lover, you shall obey me as a master." "If," replied Leucippe, you are determined to act the tyrant, I will submit patiently to your tyranny. You, Sosthenes," she continued, turning to him, "you know how well I can bear it. You made the trial yourself." Sosthenes reddened at her words, and advised Thersander to scourge her, and thus teach her the duty she owed to her lord. "Do;" exclaimed Leucippe, obey his cruel counsel, bring your torments and scourges, I will undergo them all, rather than submit to eternal infamy. Come, then, bring your scourges, your fire, and chains -I, alone, a woman, defy you; liberty shall be my only shield, that you can never destroy-that will I never lose-though you cast me into the flames, they will not prevail against it." Thersander, moved by love and rage reciprocally, knew not how to act, but holding no further converse with her, rushed out in extreme agitation.

(To be resumed.)

THE BARBER AND THE PARSON. About half a century ago, Whitstable had parson of the name of Patten, celebrated for his great oddity, great humour, and equally great extravagance. Once standing in need of a new wig, he went over to Canterbury, and applied to a barber young in the business to make him one. The tradesman, who was just going to dinner, begged the honour of his new customer's company; to which Patten most readily consented. After dinner, a large bowl of punch was produced; and the reverend guest with equal readiness joined in emptying it. When it was out, the wig-maker was proceeding to business, and began to handle his measure; when Mr. Patten desired him to desist, saying he should not make his wig. Why not?" exclaimed the astonished host. "Have I done any thing to offend you, sir?" "Not in the least," replied Patten; "but I find you are a very honest, good-natured fellow, so I will take some one else in.'

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THE DEAD IN WANT OF THE LIVING.

GEORGE Garrick, the brother of the celebrated Roscius. was particularly attentive to him; and every night on coming behind the scenes, usually inquired, "Has David wanted me?" On its being asked, how George came to die so soon after the demise of his distinguished relative, it was answered, "David wanted him."

CALENDAR OF NATURE.

(Resumed from page 163.)

APRIL.

Next came fresh April, full of lustyhed,
And wanton as a kid whose horne new buds;
Upon a bull he rode, the same which led
Europa floating through th' Argolick fluds:
His horns were gilden all with golden studs,
All garnished with garlands goodly dight
Of all the fairest flowers and freshest buds
Which th' earth brings forth; and wet he seem'd in sight
With waves, through which he waded for his love's delight.

SPENSER.

APRIL is so called from the Latin Aprilis, which is derived from the word Aperire, to open. The allusion is obvious. April is the moist and budding month, nourished with alternate rains and sunshine. Nature, after the less unequivocal rigour of winter, seems to take delight in rendering herself more evident in this operation than in any other. Winter rains and summer suns may appear to the superficial observer, to bring him nothing but cold and heat; but the watering the vegetation with light showers, then warming it, and then watering it again, seem to shew to our very eyes her " own sweet hand," divested of its " cunning." She dresses her plants visibly, like a lady at her window.

This is truly the spring and youthfulness of the year. March was like an honest blustering servant, bringing home buds and flowers for his young mistress. April is she herself, issuing forth adorned with them. To these she adds, of her own rearing, columbines, jonquils, lady-smocks, "all silver white," lilies of the valley, the lychnis, fumitory, alysson cretan, gentianellas, pulsatillas, moth-mullein, ornithogalum, saxifrage, stocks, and the large crimson pæony, or piony, one of which is enough to give a glowing light and centre to twenty of the white vernal flowers. Shakspeare seems to have observed the singular beauty of this contrast, when he speaks of

Banks with pioned and lilied brims.

If the season is fine, and the places where they are planted favourable, and taken care of, the delicate sprouting green of the trees and shrubs is now interspersed with the blossoms VOL. II.] [No. X.

M

of the barbery, of the cherry-plum, of the double-flowering cherry, the bird-cherry, the sweet-scented and sweet-named honey-suckle, hypericums, the black-thorn or sloe, laburnum, or gold-chain (truly so called,) the service, or sorb-apple, scorpion-senna, privet (the ligustrum of Virgil,) the apricot, peach, and nectarine, lilacs, lautustinuses, the laurel, vulgarly so called, more properly the lauro-cerasus*, and lastly, the real laurel of old, or bay-tree, which the Greeks associated with every species of victory, which Sophocles and Epaminondas thought of with reverence, which Cæsar wore day by day, and with which Petrarch was crowned in the capitol.

The swallow, whom the Greeks used to welcome with a popular song, re-appears at the beginning of this month. The other birds of passage follow by degrees; and all the singing birds are now in full life, and saturate the trees with music. The nightingale is recognized towards evening, keeping up his inexhaustible song; and, about the middle of the month, the lover of nature who ventures among the hedges and fields to see how the wild flowers get forward, is happily startled with the voice of the invinsible cuckoo, repeating at intervals its two fluty notes. The Greeks had songs also for the cuckoo; and now that our days of poetry have returned, we too have a song for it, as genuine as any of theirs :

O blithe new-comer! I have heard,

I hear thee and rejoice:
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering voice.
While I am lying on the grass,

Thy loud note smites my ear!
From hill to hill it seems to pass,

At once far off and near!

The same which in my school-boy days

I listened to; that cry

Which made me look a thousand ways,

In bush, and tree, and sky.

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain,
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

WORDSWORTH.

April, however, is proverbial for its fickleness. All its

* Evelyn says, that if the lauro-cerasus or cherry-laurel were not always suffered to run so low and shrubby, it would make a handsome tree on a stem, with a head resembling the orange.

promises may sometimes be retarded, sometimes blighted by the return of frosty winds; and the agriculturist, the more exuberant the season is, thinks with greater anxiety of the next that depends upon it. The domestic cultivator of flowers should still take particular care of them. Hardy annuals may still be planted; anemone, ranunculus, and hyacinth roots, past flowering, should be taken up to be preserved; and autumnal flowering bulbs be taken up and transplanted. Shrubs on very fine days may now be brought into the balconies, in order to refresh the eyes with the sight of the spring-green; but the balconies should be defended from cutting winds. The more the light is seen through the leaves of plants, the finer and more vivid they look. They seem to shew the amber sunshine that nourished them.

*

MAY.

Then came faire May, the fairest Mayd on ground,
Deck't all with dainties of her season's pryde,
And throwing flowres out of her lap around:
Upon two brethrens shoulders she did ride,
The twinnes of Leda; which on either side
Supported her like to their soveraine queene;
Lord! how all cratures laught when her they spide,
And leapt and daunc't as they had ravisht beene!
And Cupid self about her flutted all in greene.

MAY is so called from the goddess Maia, a name under which the earth was worshipped at this deedal season of the year. May is the month spoken of with the greatest rapture in all the polite countries of Europe, though the Englishman is sometimes at a loss to perceive why. The stanza at the head of our chapter is a beautiful specimen of this enthusiasm, which in fact, is partly owing to the happy and happy-making imagination of poets in general, and partly to their favourites the southern poets, who find all that they speak of in their sunnier countries. It is to be recollected, however, that by the alteration of the style, the first of May, so renowned in the poetical calendar, was thrown back twelve days into April; and it may be added, that the cli

*It is said that Virgil had a sister named Maia, which serves to give us an idea of the very probable attachment felt towards rural things by the poet's father.