put up with their embezzlement of the public money, so long as they did not attempt to rob them of their liberty. No matter how base and worthless the individual; his being such was a stronger guarantee that he would not conspire to raise himself to the tyranny.

It thus appears how irretrievably the government of the Pisistratids had injured the Athenian character, in causing them to be for ever after haunted by imaginary Pisistratids, of their own creation, whereby they were kept in a continual state of fear and anxiety. From that time forward they dreaded nothing so much as that others should subvert the established form of government, and tread in the steps of those, their former abominated masters. And when we consider that the rule of this much-abused family was by no means tyrannical, in the modern sense of the term, it seems difficult to account for the way in which the Athenians suffered themselves to be continually harassed by this prevailing idea. Be that as it may, however, they bitterly felt afterwards that their suspicions had been exercised in the wrong direction; for they found themselves at length reduced to that very state which they had endeavoured by every possible means to avoid; and all their efforts to preserve democracy, and to exclude tyranny, ended in their subjugation to Thirty Tyrants instead of One.

W. E.

[We think it right to mention that this article is by a different hand, in consequence of the author of Part I. having left the school. -ED.]

EDITOR'S SCRAP-BOOK.

OUR space being unfortunately limited, we cannot admit many translations: in the first place they take up the room, which had better be given to original pieces; and secondly, the translators (pace pay) rattle them off, thinking them much easier than the latter. However, in case of a good translation, from some uncommon author, provided also it be not too long, we feel bound to give it a place in our pages. Now, of all authors Horace is confessedly the most untranslateable; and therefore since to a certain degree all his former translators have failed, I hereby warn my young correspondents off that ground, intending of course no offence to them or their pieces; but rather obliged to them for their zeal, though I deem it misplaced. Having said thus much, I mean to insert one or two translated passages from this author, which, considering the difficulty of the task, seem particularly good. The author of the first batch is one pay, and the extracts are from Od. II. xiv. and Od. III. v.

We all must see the hateful stream

Unlightened by the solar beam;

And that ungrateful soil,

Where Belus' bloody daughters groan,

And Sisyphus propels his stone

With never ending toil.

Od. II. xiv. 17-21.

Full well he knew what dreadful fate

His bold defiance must await

At Carthaginian hands;

Yet firmly thro' the sorrowing crowd

He passed, with mien composed and proud,
To die on foreign sands.

As if, his legal business o'er,

He sought a more congenial shore,

Repose and peace to find;

From Rome desiring to retreat,
And hoping in a country seat

To rest his weary mind.

Od. III. v.

I am much indebted to pay for his two contributions, and hope he will appreciate my zeal in wading through one of the longest odes of Horace. Finally, I wish he had turned his poetical genius to better account, in original pieces.

One more translation of Horace we must mention that of Od. I. xxiv.-a neatly executed version, and bears the mark of scholarship. I hope that I shall see more from the same hand, in a different line.

eyes;

Does then an endless sleep oppress his
Whom Modesty and Equity's ally,
Unsullied Honour, Truth that scorns disguise,
Regret their last, their noblest votary?

That death-cry bore distress to many a door :
On thee, O Virgil, fell the heaviest blow;

Thy vows unanswered, piety no more

Can bring Quinctilius from the shades below.

JULY 10." Lines" from Q. I regret being compelled to insert only a couple of his best stanzas.

The wintry sound of falling leaves,

The moaning gusts of wind,
Are consonant with frequent deaths

And wailings of the mind.

But now the zephyrs seem to breathe
Pleasure without alloy;

The sportive birds, the flaunting leaf,
To promise lasting joy.

SEPT. 10.-By Jove, here's a budget! An epic in two cantos, with promise of more! What think you, my Public? I had some thoughts of dosing you with one canto at least-some 150 stanzas or so-in revenge for the trouble of reading the terrible long MSS. The poem is discursive enough, if it has no other merit; the author has wandered from the praises of "Tea," which was the original subject, to spinsters' tea-parties; then, after discussing evening parties in general, off he goes with a hop, skip, and a jump, to theatres and novels, à la Don Juan. He seems to be one of those London nobs, who make it a point to go to the play every night, and know Macready; and after each holidays in the season, pour into the ears of their listless, country schoolfellows, tales of Jenny Lind, Grisi, &c. &c. I can only give a couple of stanzas.

CXXVI.

I'm fond of plays—I could write many a stanza
Full of high treason against Eton's laws;

Praising a farce or an extravaganza

Above the criticisms of Brunck and Dawes.
If it be true, as Shakspeare says, a man's a
Mere player, why am I to blame because
I find in Drury Lane (except the galleries)
More pleasure than in reading Bentley's Phalaris?

CXXVII.

I own I like a novel too; I mean

One that unites the " dulce" with "probabile,"
Not such romances as are often seen,

Almost as wild and marvellous as Rabelais,
But such as Dickens is, and Scott has been.

I think they use Sir Walter rather shabbily;
For tho' they justly give him the first place,
They read him little-much to their disgrace.