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that shall warrant what we say with the sincere, the good-inten

tioned, and the good-natured?

Ah-take care. You see what that old-looking saucer is, with a handle to it? It is a venerable piece of earthenware, which may have been worth to an Athenian, about two-pence; but to an author, is worth a great deal more than ever he could -deny for it. And yet he would deny it too. It will fetch his imagination more than ever it fetched potter or penny-maker. Its little shallow circle overflows for him with the milk and honey of a thousand pleasant associations. This is one of the uses of having mantel-pieces. You may often see on no very rich mantel-piece a representative body of all the elements physical and intellectual- -a shell for the sea, a stuffed bird or some feathers for the air, a curious piece of mineral for the earth, a glass of water with some flowers in it for the visible process of creation, a cast from sculpture for the mind of man;-and underneath all is the bright and ever-springing fire, running up. through them heavenwards, like hope through materiality. We like to have a little curiosity of the mantel-piece kind within our reach and inspection. For the same reason we like a small study, where we are almost in contact with our books. We like to feel them about us ;-to be in the arms of our mistress Philosophy, rather than see her at a distance. To have a huge apartment for a study is like lying in the great bed at Ware, or being snug on a mile-stone upon Hounslow Heath. It is space and physical activity, not repose and concentration. It is fit only for grandeur and ostentation,-for those who have secretaries, and are to be approached like gods in a temple. The Archbishop of Toledo, no doubt, wrote his homilies in a room ninety feet long. The Marquis Marialva must have been approached by Gil Blas through whole ranks of glittering authors, standing at due distance. But Ariosto, whose mind could fly out of its nest over all nature, wrote over the house he built, "parva, sed apta mihi"-small, but suited to me. However, it is to be observed that he could not afford a larger. He was a Duodenarian in that respect, like ourselves. We do not know how our ideas of a study might expand with our walls. Montaigne, who was Montaigne" of that ilk " and lord of a great cha

teau, had a study "sixteen paces in diameter, with three noble and free prospects." He congratulates himself, at the same time, on its circular figure, evidently from a feeling allied to the one in favor of smallness. "The figure of my study," says he, "is round, and has no more flat (bare) wall, than what is taken up by my table and my chairs; so that the remaining parts of the circle present me with a view of all my books at once, set upon five degrees of shelves round about me." (Cotton's Montaigne, b. 3, ch. 3.)

A great prospect we hold to be a very disputable advantage, upon the same reasoning as before; but we like to have some green boughs about our windows, and to fancy ourselves as much as possible in the country, when we are not there. Milton expressed a wish with regard to his study, extremely suitable to our present purpose. He would have the lamp in it seen, thus letting others into a share of his enjoyments, by the imagination of them.

And let my lamp at midnight hour
Be seen in some high lonely tower,
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear
With thrice-great Hermes; or unsphere
The spirit of Plato, to unfold

What world or what vast regions hold
The immortal mind, that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook.

There is a fine passionate burst of enthusiasm on the subject of a study, in Fletcher's play of the Elder Brother, Act i., Scene 2.

Sordid and dunghill minds, composed of earth,
In that gross element fix all their happiness:
But purer spirits, purged and refined,
Shake off that clog of human frailty. Give me
Leave to enjoy myself. That place, that does
Contain my books, the best companions, is
To me a glorious court, where hourly I
Converse with the old sages and philosophers;
And sometimes for variety I confer

With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels;

Calling their victories, if unjustly got,
Unto a strict account; and in my fancy,
Deface their ill-placed statues. Can I then
Part with such constant pleasures, to embrace
Uncertain vanities? No, be it your care

To augment a heap of wealth: it shall be mine

To increase in knowledge. Lights there, for my study.


Acontius's Apple.

ACONTIUS was a youth of the island of Cea (now Zia), who, at the sacrifices in honor of Diana, fell in love with the beautiful virgin, Cydippe. Unfortunately she was so much above him in rank, that he had no hope of obtaining her hand in the usual way; but the wit of a lover helped him to an expedient. There was a law in Cea, that any oath, pronounced in the temple of Diana, was irrevocably binding. Acontius got an apple, and writing some words upon it, pitched it into Cydippe's bosom. The words were these:


By Dian, I will marry Acontius.

Or, as a poet has written them:

Juro tibi sanctæ per mystica sacra Dianæ,
Me tibi venturam comitem, sponsamque futuram.

I swear by holy Dian, I will be

Thy bride betrothed, and bear thee company.

Cydippe read, and married herself. It is said that she was repeatedly on the eve of being married to another person; but her imagination, in the shape of the Goddess, as often threw her into a fever; and the lover, whose ardor and ingenuity had made an impression upon her, was made happy. Aristænetus, in his Epistles, calls the apple vdio pov, a Cretan apple, which is supposed to mean a quince; or as others think, an orange, or a citron. But the apple was, is, and must be, a true, unsophisti

cated apple. Nothing else would have suited. "The apples, methought." says Sir Philip Sydney of his heroine in the Arcadia, "fell down from the trees to do homage to the apples of her breast." The idea seems to have originated with Theocritus (Idyl. 27, v. 50, edit. Valckenaer), from whom it was copied

by the Italian writers.

most famous passages

It makes a lovely figure in one of the of Ariosto, where he describes the beauty

of Alcina (Orlando Furioso, canto 7, st. 14)

Bianca neve è il bel collo, e 'l petto latte;

Il collo è tondo, il petto colmo e largo:
Due pome acerbe, e pur d'avorio fatte,
Vengono e van come onda al primo margo,
Quando piacevole aura il mar combatte.

Her bosom is like milk, her neck like snow;
A rounded neck; a bosom, where you see
Two crisp young ivory apples come and go,
Like waves that on the shore beat tenderly,
When a sweet air is ruffling to and fro.

And after him, Tasso, in his fine ode on the Golden Age:—

Allor tra fiori e linfe

Traean dolci carole

Gli Amoretti senz' archi e senza faci:

Sedean pastori e ninfe

Meschiando a le parole

Vezzi e susurri, ed ai susurri i baci

Strettamente tenaci.

La verginella ignude

Scopria sue fresche rose

Ch' or tien nel velo ascose,

E le pome del seno, acerbe e crude;

E spesso o in fiume o in lago

Scherzar si vide con l' amata il vago.

Then among streams and flowers,

The little Winged Powers

Went singing carols, without torch or bow;

The nymphs and shepherds sat

Mingling with innocent chat

Sports and low whispers, and with whispers low

Kisses that would not go.

The maiden, budding o'er,

Kept not her bloom uneyed,

Which now a veil must hide,

Nor the crisp apples which her bosom bore:

And oftentimes in river or in lake,

The lover and his love their merry bath would take.

Honi soit qui mal y pense.

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