as the state of the mind in the artists themselves approached to the subjective beauty. Determine what predominance in the minds of the men is preventive of the living balance of excited faculties, and you will discover the exact counterpart in the outward products. Egypt is an illustration of this. Shapeliness is intellect without freedom; but colours are significant. The introduction of the arch is not less an epoch in the fine than in the useful arts.

Order is beautiful arrangement without any purpose ad extra ;-therefore there is a beauty of order, or order may be contemplated exclusively as beauty.

The form given in every empirical intuition, -the stuff, that is, the quality of the stuff, determines the agreeable: but when a thing excites us to receive it in such and such a mould, so that its exact correspondence to that mould is what occupies the mind,-this is taste or the sense of beauty. Whether dishes full of painted wood or exquisite viands were laid out on a table in the same arrangement, would be indifferent to the taste, as in ladies' patterns; but surely the one is far more agreeable than the other. Hence observe the disinterestedness of all taste; and hence also a sensual perfection with intellect is occasionally possible without moral feeling. So it may be in music and painting, but not in poetry. How far it is a real preference of the refined to the gross plea

sures, is another question, upon the supposition that pleasure, in some form or other, is that alone which determines men to the objects of the former;—whether experience does not show that if the latter were equally in our power, occasioned no more trouble to enjoy, and caused no more exhaustion of the power of enjoying them by the enjoyment itself, we should in real practice prefer the grosser pleasure. It is not, therefore, any excellence in the quality of the refined pleasures themselves, but the advantages and facilities in the means of enjoying them, that give them the pre-eminence.

Suppose its

This is, of course, on the supposition of the absence of all moral feeling. presence, and then there will accrue an excellence even to the quality of the pleasures themselves; not only, however, of the refined, but also of the grosser kinds,-inasmuch as a larger sweep of thoughts will be associated with each enjoyment, and with each thought will be associated a number of sensations; and so, consequently, each pleasure will become more the pleasure of the whole being. This is one of the earthly rewards of our being what we ought to be, but which would be annihilated, if we attempted to be it for the sake of this increased enjoyment. Indeed it is a contradiction to suppose it. Yet this is the common argumentum in circulo, in which the eudæmonists flee and pursue.

POEMS AND POETICAL FRAGMENTS.

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus. CATULLUS.

My Lesbia, let us love and live,

And to the winds, my Lesbia, give
Each cold restraint, each boding fear
and all its saws severe !

Of age,
Yon sun now posting to the main
Will set, but 'tis to rise again;—
But we, when once our little light
Is set, must sleep in endless night.
Then come, with whom alone I'll live,
A thousand kisses take and give!
Another thousand !-to the store
Add hundreds-then a thousand more!
And when they to a million mount,
Let confusion take the account,-
That you, the number never knowing,
May continue still bestowing-
That I for joys may never pine,

Which never can again be mine!*

Lugete, O Veneres, Cupidinesque. CATULLUS.

Pity, mourn in plaintive tone

The lovely starling dead and gone!

Pity mourns in plaintive tone

The lovely starling dead and gone.

*This and the following poems and fragments, with the exception of those marked with an asterisk, were communicated by Mr. Gutch. Ed.

Weep, ye Loves! and Venus, weep
The lovely starling fall'n asleep!
Venus see with tearful eyes—
In her lap the starling lies,
While the Loves all in a ring
Softly stroke the stiffen'd wing.

Moriens superstiti.

"The hour-bell sounds, and I must go; Death waits-again I hear him calling ;No cowardly desires have I,

Nor will I shun his face appalling.
I die in faith and honour rich-
But ah! I leave behind my treasure
In widowhood and lonely pain;-
To live were surely then a pleasure!

"My lifeless eyes upon thy face
Shall never open more to-morrow;
To-morrow shall thy beauteous eyes
Be closed to love, and drown'd in sorrow;
To-morrow death shall freeze this hand,
And on thy breast, my wedded treasure,
I never, never more shall live;—
Alas! I quit a life of pleasure."

Morienti superstes.

"Yet art thou happier far than she
Who feels the widow's love for thee!
For while her days are days of weeping,
Thou, in peace, in silence sleeping,
In some still world, unknown, remote,

The mighty parent's care hast found,
Without whose tender guardian thought
No sparrow falleth to the ground.”

THE STRIPLING'S WAR SONG.

IMITATED FROM STOLBERG.

My noble old warrior! this heart has beat high,
Since you told of the deeds that our countrymen wrought;
Ah! give me the sabre which hung by thy thigh,
And I too will fight as my forefathers fought!

O, despise not my youth! for my spirit is steel'd,
And I know there is strength in the grasp of my hand;
Yea, as firm as thyself would I move to the field,
And as proudly would die for my dear father-land.

In the sports of my childhood I mimick'd the fight,-
The shrill of a trumpet suspended my breath;
And my fancy still wander'd by day and by night
Amid tumult and perils, 'mid conquest and death.

My own eager shout in the heat of my trance,
How oft it awakes me from dreams full of glory,
When I meant to have leap'd on the hero of France,
And have dash'd him to earth pale and deathless and
gory!

As late through the city with bannerets streaming,
And the music of trumpets the warriors flew by,-
With helmet and scymetar naked and gleaming
On their proud trampling thunder-hoof'd steeds did
they fly,-

I sped to yon heath which is lonely and bare-
For each nerve was unquiet, each pulse in alarm,—