He trusted the progress of truth would not, however, stop at the point to which it has arrived with the Senator, and that it will make some progress in regard to what is called the right of petition. Never was a right so much mystified and magnified. To listen to the discussion, here and elsewhere, you would suppose it to be the most essential and important right: so far from it, he undertook to aver that under our free and popular system it was among the least of all our political rights. It had been superseded in a great degree by the far higher right of general suffrage, and by the practice, now so common, of instruction. There could be no local grievance but what could be reached by these, except it might be the grievance affecting a minority, which could be no more redressed by petition than by them. The truth is, that the right of petition could scarcely be said to be the right of a freeman. It belongs to despotic governments more properly, and might be said to be the last right of slaves. Who ever heard of petition in the free States of antiquity? We had borrowed our notions in regard to it from our British ancestors, with whom it had a value for their imperfect representation far greater than it has with us; and it is owing to that that it has a place at all in our Constitution. The truth is, that the right has been so far superseded in a political point of view, that it has ceased to be what the Constitution contemplated it to be,—a shield to protect against wrongs; and has been perverted into a sword to attack the rights of others—to cause a grievance instead of the means of redressing grievances, as in the case of abolition petitions. The Senator from Ohio [Mr. Tappan] has viewed this subject in its proper light, and has taken a truly patriotic and constitutional stand in refusing to present these firebrands, for which I heartily thank him in the name of my State. Had the Senator from Kentucky followed the example, he would have rendered inestimable service to the country....

It is useless to attempt concealment. The presentation of these incendiary petitions is itself an infraction of the Constitution. All acknowledge—the Senator himself—that the property which they are presented to destroy is guaranteed by the Constitution. Now I ask: If we have the right under the Constitution to hold the property (which none question), have we not also the right to hold it under the same sacred instrument in peace and quiet? Is it not a direct infraction then of the Constitution, to present petitions here in the common council of the Union, and to us, the agents appointed to carry its provisions into effect and to guard the rights it secures, the professed aim of which is to destroy the property guaranteed by the instrument? There can be but one answer to these questions on the part of those who present such petitions: that the right of such petition is higher and more sacred than the Constitution and our oaths to preserve and to defend it. To such monstrous results does the doctrine lead.

Sir, I understand this whole question. The great mass of both parties to the North are opposed to abolition: the Democrats almost exclusively; the Whigs less so. Very few are to be found in the ranks of the former; but many in those of the latter. The only importance that the abolitionists have is to be found in the fact that their weight may be felt in elections; and this is no small advantage. The one party is unwilling to lose their weight, but at the same time unwilling to be blended with them on the main question; and hence is made this false, absurd, unconstitutional, and dangerous collateral issue on the right of petition. Here is the whole secret. They are willing to play the political game at our hazard, and that of the Constitution and the Union, for the sake of victory at the elections. But to show still more clearly how little foundation there is in the character of our government for the extravagant importance attached to this right, I ask the Senator what is the true relation between the government and the people, according to our American conception? Which is principal and which agent? which the master and which the servant? which the sovereign and which the subject? There can be no answer. We are but the agents—the servants. We are not the sovereign. The sovereignty resides in the people of the States. How little applicable, then, is this boasted right of petition, under our system, to political questions? Who ever heard of the principal petitioning his agent—of the master, his servant—or of the sovereign, his subject? The very essence of a petition implies a request from an inferior to a superior. It is not in fact a natural growth of our system. It was copied from the British Bill of Rights, and grew up among a people whose representation was very imperfect, and where the sovereignty of the people was not recognized at all. And yet even there, this right so much insisted on here as being boundless as space, was restricted from the beginning by the very men who adopted it in the British system, in the very manner which has been done in the other branch, this session; and to an extent far beyond. The two Houses of Parliament have again and again passed resolutions against receiving petitions even to repeal taxes; and this, those who formed our Constitution well knew, and yet adopted the provision almost identically contained in the British Bill of Rights, without guarding against the practice under it. Is not the conclusion irresistible, that they did not deem it inconsistent with the right of "the citizens peaceably to assemble and petition for a redress of grievance," as secured in the Constitution? The thing is clear. It is time that the truth should be known, and this cant about petition, not to redress the grievances of the petitioners, but to create a grievance elsewhere, be put down....

I know this question to the bottom. I have viewed it under every possible aspect. There is no safety but in prompt, determined, and uncompromising defense of our rights—to meet the danger on the frontier. There all rights are strongest, and more especially this. The moral is like the physical world. Nature has incrusted the exterior of all organic life, for its safety. Let that be broken through, and it is all weakness within. So in the moral and political world. It is on the extreme limits of right that all wrong and encroachments are the most sensibly felt and easily resisted. I have acted on this principle throughout in this great contest. I took my lessons from the patriots of the Revolution. They met wrong promptly, and defended right against the first encroachment. To sit here and hear ourselves and constituents, and their rights and institutions (essential to their safety), assailed from day to day—denounced by every epithet calculated to degrade and render us odious; and to meet all this in silence,—or still worse, to reason with the foul slanderers,—would eventually destroy every feeling of pride and dignity, and sink us in feelings to the condition of the slaves they would emancipate. And this the Senator advises us to do. Adopt it, and the two houses would be converted into halls to debate our rights to our property, and whether, in holding it, we were not thieves, robbers, and kidnappers; and we are to submit to this in order to quiet the North! I tell the Senator that our Union, and our high moral tone of feeling on this subject at the South, are infinitely more important to us than any possible effect that his course could have at the North; and that if we could have the weakness to adopt his advice, it would even fail to effect the object intended.

It is proper to speak out. If this question is left to itself, unresisted by us, it cannot but terminate fatally to us. Our safety and honor are in the opposite direction—to take the highest ground, and maintain it resolutely. The North will always take position below us, be ours high or low. They will yield all that we will and something more. If we go for rejection, they will at first insist on receiving, on the ground of respect for petition. If we yield that point and receive petitions, they will go for reference, on the ground that it is absurd to receive and not to act—as it truly is. If we go for that, they will insist on reporting and discussing; and if that, the next step will be to make concession—to yield the point of abolition in this District; and so on till the whole process is consummated, each succeeding step proving more easy than its predecessor. The reason is obvious. The abolitionists understand their game. They throw their votes to the party most disposed to favor them. Now, sir, in the hot contest of party in the Northern section, on which the ascendency in their several States and the general government may depend, all the passions are roused to the greatest height in the violent struggle, and aid sought in every quarter. They would forget us in the heat of battle; yes, the success of the election, for the time, would be more important than our safety; unless we by our determined stand on our rights cause our weight to be felt, and satisfy both parties that they have nothing to gain by courting those who aim at our destruction. As far as this government is concerned, that is our only remedy. If we yield that, if we lower our stand to permit partisans to woo the aid of those who are striking at our interests, we shall commence a descent in which there is no stopping-place short of total abolition, and with it our destruction.

A word in answer to the Senator from Massachusetts [Mr. Webster]. He attempted to show that the right of petition was peculiar to free governments. So far is the assertion from being true, that it is more appropriately the right of despotic governments; and the more so, the more absolute and austere. So far from being peculiar or congenial to free popular States, it degenerates under them, necessarily, into an instrument, not of redress for the grievances of the petitioners, but as has been remarked, of assault on the rights of others, as in this case. That I am right in making the assertion, I put it to the Senator—Have we not a right under the Constitution to our property in our slaves? Would it not be a violation of the Constitution to divest us of that right? Have we not a right to enjoy, under the Constitution, peaceably and quietly, our acknowledged rights guaranteed by it, without annoyance? The Senator assents. He does but justice to his candor and intelligence. Now I ask him, how can he assent to receive petitions whose object is to annoy and disturb our right, and of course in direct infraction of the Constitution?

The Senator from Ohio [Mr. Tappan], in refusing to present these incendiary and unconstitutional petitions, has adopted a course truly constitutional and patriotic, and in my opinion, the only one that is so. I deeply regret that it has not been followed by the Senator from Kentucky in the present instance. Nothing short of it can put a stop to the mischief, and do justice to one-half of the States of the Union. If adopted by others, we shall soon hear no more of abolition. The responsibility of keeping alive this agitation must rest on those who may refuse to follow so noble an example.

STATE RIGHTS

From the 'Speech on the Admission of Michigan,' 1837

It has perhaps been too much my habit to look more to the future and less to the present than is wise; but such is the constitution of my mind that when I see before me the indications of causes calculated to effect important changes in our political condition, I am led irresistibly to trace them to their sources and follow them out in their consequences. Language has been held in this discussion which is clearly revolutionary in its character and tendency, and which warns us of the approach of the period when the struggle will be between the conservatives and the destructives. I understood the Senator from Pennsylvania [Mr. Buchanan] as holding language countenancing the principle that the will of a mere numerical majority is paramount to the authority of law and constitution. He did not indeed announce distinctly this principle, but it might fairly be inferred from what he said; for he told us the people of a State where the constitution gives the same weight to a smaller as to a greater number, might take the remedy into their own hands; meaning, as I understood him, that a mere majority might at their pleasure subvert the constitution and government of a State,—which he seemed to think was the essence of democracy. Our little State has a constitution that could not stand a day against such doctrines, and yet we glory in it as the best in the Union. It is a constitution which respects all the great interests of the State, giving to each a separate and distinct voice in the management of its political affairs, by means of which the feebler interests are protected against the preponderance of the stronger. We call our State a Republic—a Commonwealth, not a Democracy; and let me tell the Senator, it is a far more popular government than if it had been based on the simple principle of the numerical majority. It takes more voices to put the machine of government in motion than in those that the Senator would consider more popular. It represents all the interests of the State,—and is in fact the government of the people in the true sense of the term, and not that of the mere majority, or the dominant interests.

I am not familiar with the constitution of Maryland, to which the Senator alluded, and cannot therefore speak of its structure with confidence; but I believe it to be somewhat similar in its character to our own. That it is a government not without its excellence, we need no better proof than the fact that though within the shadow of Executive influence, it has nobly and successfully resisted all the seductions by which a corrupt and artful Administration, with almost boundless patronage, has attempted to seduce her into its ranks.

Looking then to the approaching struggle, I take my stand immovably. I am a conservative in its broadest and fullest sense, and such I shall ever remain, unless indeed the government shall become so corrupt and disordered that nothing short of revolution can reform it. I solemnly believe that our political system is, in its purity, not only the best that ever was formed, but the best possible that can be devised for us. It is the only one by which free States, so populous and wealthy, and occupying so vast an extent of territory, can preserve their liberty. Thus thinking, I cannot hope for a better. Having no hope of a better, I am a conservative; and because I am a conservative, I am a State Rights man. I believe that in the rights of the States are to be found the only effectual means of checking the overaction of this government; to resist its tendency to concentrate all power here, and to prevent a departure from the Constitution; or in case of one, to restore the government to its original simplicity and purity. State interposition, or to express it more fully, the right of a State to interpose her sovereign voice, as one of the parties to our constitutional compact, against the encroachments of this government, is the only means of sufficient potency to effect all this; and I am therefore its advocate. I rejoiced to hear the Senators from North Carolina [Mr. Brown], and from Pennsylvania [Mr. Buchanan], do us the justice to distinguish between nullification and the anarchical and revolutionary movements in Maryland and Pennsylvania. I know they did not intend it as a compliment; but I regard it as the highest. They are right. Day and night are not more different—more unlike in everything. They are unlike in their principles, their objects, and their consequences.

I shall not stop to make good this assertion, as I might easily do. The occasion does not call for it. As a conservative and a State Rights man, or if you will have it, a nullifier, I have resisted and shall resist all encroachments on the Constitution—whether of this Government on the rights of the States, or the opposite:—whether of the Executive on Congress, or Congress on the Executive. My creed is to hold both governments, and all the departments of each, to their proper sphere, and to maintain the authority of the laws and the Constitution against all revolutionary movements. I believe the means which our system furnishes to preserve itself are ample, if fairly understood and applied; and I shall resort to them, however corrupt and disordered the times, so long as there is hope of reforming the government. The result is in the hands of the Disposer of events. It is my part to do my duty. Yet while I thus openly avow myself a conservative, God forbid I should ever deny the glorious right of rebellion and revolution. Should corruption and oppression become intolerable, and not otherwise be thrown off—if liberty must perish or the government be overthrown, I would not hesitate, at the hazard of life, to resort to revolution, and to tear down a corrupt government that could neither be reformed nor borne by freemen. But I trust in God things will never come to that pass. I trust never to see such fearful times; for fearful indeed they would be, if they should ever befall us. It is the last remedy, and not to be thought of till common-sense and the voice of mankind would justify the resort.

Before I resume my seat, I feel called on to make a few brief remarks on a doctrine of fearful import which has been broached in the course of this debate: the right to repeal laws granting bank charters, and of course of railroads, turnpikes, and joint-stock companies. It is a doctrine of fearful import, and calculated to do infinite mischief. There are countless millions vested in such stocks, and it is a description of property of the most delicate character. To touch it is almost to destroy it. But while I enter my protest against all such doctrines, I have been greatly alarmed with the thoughtless precipitancy (not to use a stronger phrase) with which the most extensive and dangerous privileges have been granted of late. It can end in no good, and I fear may be the cause of convulsions hereafter. We already feel the effects on the currency, which no one competent of judging can fail to see is in an unsound condition. I must say (for truth compels me) I have ever distrusted the banking system, at least in its present form, both in this country and Great Britain. It will not stand the test of time; but I trust that all shocks or sudden revolutions may be avoided, and that it may gradually give way before some sounder and better regulated system of credit which the growing intelligence of the age may devise. That a better may be substituted I cannot doubt; but of what it shall consist, and how it shall finally supersede the present uncertain and fluctuating currency, time alone can determine. All that I can see is, that the present must, one day or another, come to an end or be greatly modified—if that indeed can save it from an entire overthrow. It has within itself the seeds of its own destruction.

ON THE GOVERNMENT OF POLAND

From 'A Disquisition on Government'

It is then a great error to suppose that the government of the concurrent majority is impracticable; or that it rests on a feeble foundation. History furnishes many examples of such governments; and among them one in which the principle was carried to an extreme that would be thought impracticable, had it never existed. I refer to that of Poland. In this it was carried to such an extreme that in the election of her kings, the concurrence or acquiescence of every individual of the nobles and gentry present, in an assembly numbering usually from one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand, was required to make a choice; thus giving to each individual a veto on his election. So likewise every member of her Diet (the supreme legislative body), consisting of the King, the Senate, bishops and deputies of the nobility and gentry of the palatinates, possessed a veto on all its proceedings; thus making a unanimous vote necessary to enact a law or to adopt any measure whatever. And as if to carry the principle to the utmost extent, the veto of a single member not only defeated the particular bill or measure in question, but prevented all others passed during the session from taking effect. Further the principle could not be carried. It in fact made every individual of the nobility and gentry a distinct element in the organism; or to vary the expression, made him an estate of the kingdom. And yet this government lasted in this form more than two centuries, embracing the period of Poland's greatest power and renown. Twice during its existence she protected Christendom, when in great danger, by defeating the Turks under the walls of Vienna, and permanently arresting thereby the tide of their conquests westward.

It is true her government was finally subverted, and the people subjugated, in consequence of the extreme to which the principle was carried; not however because of its tendency to dissolution from weakness, but from the facility it afforded to powerful and unscrupulous neighbors to control by their intrigues the election of her kings. But the fact that a government in which the principle was carried to the utmost extreme not only existed, but existed for so long a period in great power and splendor, is proof conclusive both of its practicability and its compatibility with the power and permanency of government.

URGING REPEAL OF THE MISSOURI COMPROMISE

From Speech in the Senate, March 4th, 1850

Having now shown what cannot save the Union, I return to the question with which I commenced, How can the Union be saved? There is but one way by which it can with any certainty; and that is by a full and final settlement, on the principle of justice, of all the questions at issue between the two sections. The South asks for justice, simple justice, and less she ought not to take. She has no compromise to offer but the Constitution; and no concession or surrender to make. She has already surrendered so much that she has little left to surrender. Such a settlement would go to the root of the evil and remove all cause of discontent; by satisfying the South, she could remain honorably and safely in the Union, and thereby restore the harmony and fraternal feelings between the sections which existed anterior to the Missouri agitation. Nothing else can with any certainty finally and forever settle the questions at issue, terminate agitation, and save the Union.

But can this be done? Yes, easily; not by the weaker party—for it can of itself do nothing, not even protect itself—but by the stronger. The North has only to will it to accomplish it; to do justice by conceding to the South an equal right in the acquired territory, and to do her duty by causing the stipulations relative to fugitive slaves to be faithfully fulfilled; to cease the agitation of the slave question, and to provide for the insertion of a provision in the Constitution by an amendment which will restore to the South in substance the power she possessed of protecting herself, before the equilibrium between the sections was destroyed by the action of this government. There will be no difficulty in devising such a provision,—one that will protect the South, and which at the same time will improve and strengthen the government instead of impairing and weakening it.

But will the North agree to this? It is for her to answer the question. But I will say she cannot refuse, if she has half the love of the Union which she professes to have; or without justly exposing herself to the charge that her love of power and aggrandizement is far greater than her love of the Union. At all events, the responsibility of saving the Union rests on the North, and not on the South. The South cannot save it by any act of hers, and the North may save it without any sacrifice whatever; unless to do justice, and to perform her duties under the Constitution, should be regarded by her as a sacrifice.

It is time, Senators, that there should be an open and manly avowal on all sides as to what is intended to be done. If the question is not now settled, it is uncertain whether it ever can hereafter be; and we as the representatives of the States of this Union, regarded as governments, should come to a distinct understanding as to our respective views in order to ascertain whether the great questions at issue can be settled or not. If you who represent the stronger portion cannot agree to settle them on the broad principle of justice and duty, say so; and let the States we both represent agree to separate and part in peace. If you are unwilling we should part in peace, tell us so, and we shall know what to do when you reduce the question to submission or resistance. If you remain silent you will compel us to infer by your acts what you intend. In that case California will become the test question. If you admit her, under all the difficulties that oppose her admission, you compel us to infer that you intend to exclude us from the whole of the acquired territories, with the intention of destroying irretrievably the equilibrium between the two sections. We would be blind not to perceive in that case that your real objects are power and aggrandizement; and infatuated not to act accordingly.

I have now, Senators, done my duty in expressing my opinions fully, freely, and candidly, on this solemn occasion. In doing so I have been governed by the motives which have governed me in all the stages of the agitation of the slavery question since its commencement. I have exerted myself during the whole period to arrest it, with the intention of saving the Union if it could be done; and if it could not, to save the section where it has pleased Providence to cast my lot, and which I sincerely believe has justice and the Constitution on its side. Having faithfully done my duty to the best of my ability, both to the Union and my section, throughout this agitation, I shall have the consolation, let what will come, that I am free from all responsibility.



CALLIMACHUS

(Third Century B.C.)

Callimachus, the most learned of poets, was the son of Battus and Mesatme of Cyrene, and a disciple of Hermocrates, who like his more celebrated pupil was a grammarian, or a follower of belles-lettres, says Suidas. It is in this calling that we first hear of Callimachus, when he was a teacher at Alexandria. Here he counted among his pupils Apollonius Rhodius, author of the 'Argonautica,' and Eratosthenes, famous for his wisdom in science, who knew geography and geometry so well that he measured the circumference of the earth. Callimachus was in fact one of those erudite poets and wise men of letters whom the gay Alexandrians who thronged the court of Ptolemy Philadelphus called "The Pleiades." Apollonius Rhodius, Aratus, Theocritus, Lycophron, Nicander, and Homer son of Macro, were the other six. From his circle of clever people, the king, with whom he had become a prime favorite, called him to be chief custodian over the stores of precious books at Alexandria. These libraries, we may recall, were the ones Julius Caesar partially burned by accident a century later, and Bishop Theophilus and his mob of Christian zealots finished destroying as repositories of paganism some three centuries later still. The collections said to have been destroyed by Caliph Omar when Amru took Alexandria in 640 A.D., on the ground that if they agreed with the Koran they were superfluous and if they contradicted it they were blasphemous, were later ones; but the whole story is discredited by modern scholarship. The world has not ceased mourning for this untold and irreparable loss of the choicest fruits of the human spirit.

Of all these precious manuscripts and parchments, then, Callimachus was made curator about the year B.C. 260. Aulus Gellius computes the time in this wise:—"Four-hundred-ninety years after the founding of Rome, the first Punic war was begun, and not long after, Callimachus, the poet of Cyrene in Alexandria, flourished at the court of King Ptolemy." At this time he must have been already married to the wife of whom Suidas speaks in his 'Lexicon,' a daughter of a Syracusan gentleman.

The number of Callimachus's works, which are reported to have reached eight hundred, testifies to his popularity in the Alexandrian period of Greek literature. It contradicts also the maxim ascribed to him, that "a great book is a great evil." Among the prose works which would have enriched our knowledge of literature and history was his history of Greek literature in one hundred and twenty books, classifying the Greek writers and naming them chronologically. These were the results of his long labors in the libraries. Among them was a book on the Museum and the schools connected with it, with records of illustrious educators and of the books they had written.

It is his poetry that has in the main survived, and yet as Ovid says—calling him Battiades, either from his father's name or from the illustrious founder of his native Cyrene—

"Battiades semper toto cantabitur orbe: Quamvis ingenio non valet, arte valet."

(Even throughout all lands Battiades's name will be famous; Though not in genius supreme, yet by his art he excels.)

Quintilian, however, says he was the prince of Greek elegiac poets. Of his elegies we have a few fragments, and also the Latin translation by Catullus of the 'Lock of Berenice.' Berenice, the sister and wife of Ptolemy Euergetes, who succeeded his father Philadelphus in B.C. 245, had sacrificed some of her hair, laying it on the altar of a temple, from which it was subsequently stolen. In his poem, Callimachus as the court poet sang how the gods had taken the tresses and placed them among the stars. The delicate and humorous 'Rape of the Lock' of Alexander Pope is a rather remote repetition of the same fancy.

We have also from Callimachus's hand six hymns to the gods and many epigrams, the latter of which, as will be seen by the quotations given below, are models of their kind. His lyric hymns are, in reality, rather epics in little. They are full of recondite information, overloaded indeed with learning; elegant, nervous, and elaborate, rather than easy-flowing, simple, and warm, like a genuine product of the muse. Many of his epigrams grace the 'Greek Anthology.'

Among the best editions of Callimachus is that of Ernesti (1761). The extant poems and fragments have been in part translated by William Dodd (1755) and H. W. Tytler (1856). His scattered epigrams have incited many to attempt their perfect phrasing.

HYMN TO JUPITER

At Jove's high festival, what song of praise Shall we his suppliant adorers sing? To whom may we our paeans rather raise Than to himself, the great Eternal King, Who by his nod subdues each earth-born thing; Whose mighty laws the gods themselves obey? But whether Crete first saw the Father spring, Or on Lycaeus's mount he burst on day, My soul is much in doubt, for both that praise essay.

Some say that thou, O Jove, first saw the morn On Cretan Ida's sacred mountain-side; Others that thou in Arcady wert born: Declare, Almighty Father—which have lied? Cretans were liars ever: in their pride Have they built up a sepulchre for thee; As if the King of Gods and men had died, And borne the lot of frail mortality. No! thou hast ever been, and art, and aye shalt be.

Thy mother bore thee on Arcadian ground, Old Goddess Rhea, on a mountain's height; With bristling bramble-thickets all around The hallowed spot was curiously dight; And now no creature under heaven's light, From lovely woman down to things that creep, In need of Ilithyia's holy rite, May dare approach that consecrated steep, Whose name of Rhea's birth-bed still Arcadians keep.

Fair was the promise of thy childhood's prime, Almighty Jove! and fairly wert thou reared: Swift was thy march to manhood: ere thy time Thy chin was covered by the manly beard; Though young in age, yet wert thou so revered For deeds of prowess prematurely done, That of thy peers or elders none appeared To claim his birthright;—heaven was all thine own, Nor dared fell Envy point her arrows at thy throne.

Poets of old do sometimes lack of truth; For Saturn's ancient kingdom, as they tell, Into three parts was split, as if forsooth There were a doubtful choice 'twixt Heaven and Hell To one not fairly mad;—we know right well That lots are cast for more equality; But these against proportion so rebel That naught can equal her discrepancy; If one must lie at all—a lie like truth for me!

No chance gave thee the sovranty of heaven; But to the deeds thy good right hand had done, And thine own strength and courage, was it given; These placed thee first, still keep thee on thy throne. Thou took'st the goodly eagle for thine own, Through whom to men thy wonders are declared; To me and mine propitious be they shown! Through thee by youth's best flower is heaven shared— Seamen and warriors heed'st thou not, nor e'en the bard:

These be the lesser gods' divided care— But kings, great Jove, are thine especial dow'r; They rule the land and sea; they guide the war— What is too mighty for a monarch's pow'r? By Vulcan's aid the stalwart armorers show'r Their sturdy blows—warriors to Mars belong— And gentle Dian ever loves to pour New blessings on her favored hunter throng— While Phoebus aye directs the true-born poet's song.

But monarchs spring from Jove—nor is there aught So near approaching Jove's celestial height, As deeds by heav'n-elected monarchs wrought. Therefore, O Father, kings are thine of right, And thou hast set them on a noble height Above their subject cities; and thine eye Is ever on them, whether they delight To rule their people in iniquity, Or by sound government to raise their name on high.

Thou hast bestowed on all kings wealth and power, But not in equal measure—this we know, From knowledge of our own great Governor, Who stands supreme of kings on earth below. His morning thoughts his nights in actions show; His less achievements when designed are done While others squander years in counsels slow; Not rarely when the mighty seeds are sown, Are all their air-built hopes by thee, great Jove, o'erthrown.

All hail, Almighty Jove! who givest to men All good, and wardest off each evil thing. Oh, who can hymn thy praise? he hath not been, Nor shall he be, that poet who may sing In fitting strain thy praises—Father, King, All hail! thrice hail! we pray to thee, dispense Virtue and wealth to us, wealth varying— For virtue's naught, mere virtue's no defense; Then send us virtue hand in hand with competence.

Translation of Fitzjames T. Price.

EPITAPH

His little son of twelve years old Philippus here has laid, Nicoteles, on whom so much his father's hopes were stayed

EPIGRAM

(Admired and Paraphrased by Horace)

The hunter in the mountains every roe And every hare pursues through frost and snow, Tracking their footsteps. But if some one say, "See, here's a beast struck down," he turns away. Such is my love: I chase the flying game, And pass with coldness the self-offering dame.

EPITAPH ON HERACLEITUS

They told me, Heracleitus, they told me you were dead; They brought me bitter news to hear, and bitter tears I shed. I wept, as I remembered how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.

And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of gray ashes, long, long ago at rest, Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake; For Death he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.

Translation of William Johnson.

EPITAPH

Would that swift ships had never been; for so We ne'er had wept for Sopolis: but he Dead on the waves now drifts; whilst we must go Past a void tomb, a mere name's mockery.

Translation of J. A. Symonds.

THE MISANTHROPE

Say, honest Timon, now escaped from light, Which do you most abhor, or that or night? "Man, I most hate the gloomy shades below, And that because in them are more of you."

EPITAPH UPON HIMSELF

Callimachus takes up this part of earth, A man much famed for poesy and mirth.

Translation of William Dodd.

EPITAPH UPON CLEOMBROTUS

Loud cried Cleombrotus, "Farewell, O Sun!" Ere, leaping from a wall, he joined the dead. No act death-meriting had th' Ambraciote done, But Plato's volume on the soul had read.



CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY

(1831-1884)

No one ever attained greater fame with few, slight, and unserious books than this English author. His name rests upon four volumes only:—'Verses and Translations' (1862); 'Translations into English and Latin' (1866); 'Theocritus Translated into English Verse' (1869); and 'Fly-Leaves' (1872). 'Fly-Leaves' holds a unique place in English literature. It is made up chiefly of parodies, which combine the mocking spirit with clever imitations of the style and affectations of familiar poets. They are witty; they are humorous; they are good-natured; and they are artistic and extraordinarily clever. His satirical banter shown in these verses—most of which are real poems as well as parodies—has been classed as "refined common-sense," and "the exuberant playfulness of a powerful mind and tender and manly nature." It contains also independent literary skits and comiques which are quite equal in merit to the parodies.

Calverley was born at Martley, Worcestershire, December 22d, 1831, the son of the Rev. Henry Blayds, a descendant of an old Yorkshire family named Calverley. In 1852 Mr. Blayds resumed the name of Calverley, which had been dropped at the beginning of the century. Calverley was more famous at Harrow for his marvelous jumping and other athletic feats than for his studies, but even at this period he showed great talent for translating from the classics, and astonished every one by his gifts of memory. A few Latin verses won for him the Balliol scholarship in 1850, and in the next year he received at Oxford the Chancellor's prize for a Latin poem.

In 1852 he went to Cambridge, and shortly after won the Craven scholarship, as well as numerous medals and prizes for his attainments in Greek and Latin. This was the more remarkable inasmuch as he was extremely indolent and very fond of society, preferring to entertain his friends by his witty songs, his charming voice, his clever caricatures—for he had talent with his pencil—and his brilliant conversation, rather than to apply himself to routine work. His comrades used to lock him into a room to make him work, and even then he would outwit them by dashing off a witty parody or a bit of impromptu verse. Among his literary jeux d'esprit was an examination paper on 'Pickwick,' prepared as a Christmas joke in exact imitation of a genuine "exam." The prizes, two first editions of Pickwick, were won by W. W. Skeat, now famous as a philologist, and Walter Besant, known to the public as a novelist.

Calverley remained in Cambridge as tutor and lecturer, and was presently called to the bar. It seemed the irony of fate that the famous athlete should receive an injury while skating which compelled him to abandon his profession, and for seventeen years practically abandon work. He died at Folkestone, on February 17th, 1884.

That he was adored by his friends, and possessed unusual qualities of character as well as mind, may be seen in the memoir published by Walter T. Sendall with the 'Literary Remains' (1885). Apart from his wit, Calverley has a distinct claim to remembrance on account of his remarkable scholarship. His translations from Greek and Latin have won the enthusiastic admiration of specialists and students of the classics. Dr. Gunson, tutor of his college, an accomplished Latinist, declared that he thought Calverley's Horatian verse better than Horace's, being equally poetical, and more distinguished in style. These works not only attest his mastery of ancient languages, but also his acquaintance with the beauty and capacity of English verse, into which he has put a grace of his own. His numerous renderings of Latin into English and English into Latin show his ease and dexterity of both thought and touch, and his translation of Theocritus is considered by authorities to be a masterpiece of literary workmanship.

FROM 'AN EXAMINATION PAPER'

'The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club'

From James Payn's 'Some Literary Recollections' and 'Temple Bar,' 1887

1. Mention any occasion on which it is specified that the Fat Boy was not asleep; and that (1) Mr. Pickwick and (2) Mr. Weller, senr., ran. Deduce from expressions used on one occasion Mr. Pickwick's maximum of speed.

3. Who were Mr. Staple, Goodwin, Mr. Brooks, Villam, Mrs. Bunkin, "old Nobs," "cast-iron head," young Bantam?

4. What operation was performed on Tom Smart's chair? Who little thinks that in which pocket, of what garment, in where, he has left what, entreating him to return to whom, with how many what, and all how big?

6. "Mr. Weller's knowledge of London was extensive and peculiar." Illustrate this by a reference to facts.

8. Give in full Samuel Weller's first compliment to Mary, and his father's critique upon the same young lady. What church was on the valentine that first attracted Mr. Samuel's eye in the shop?

9. Describe the common Profeel-machine.

10. State the component parts of dog's-nose; and simplify the expression "taking a grinder."

11. On finding his principal in the Pound, Mr. Weller and the town-beadle varied directly. Show that the latter was ultimately eliminated, and state the number of rounds in the square which is not described.

12. "Anythink for air and exercise, as the werry old donkey observed ven they voke him up from his death-bed to carry ten gen'lmen to Greenwich in a tax-cart!" Illustrate this by stating any remark recorded in the 'Pickwick Papers' to have been made by a (previously) dumb animal, with the circumstances under which he made it.

18. How did the old lady make a memorandum, and of what, at whist? Show that there were at least three times as many fiddles as harps in Muggleton at the time of the ball at Manor Farm.

20. Write down the chorus to each line of Mr. S. Weller's song, and a sketch of the mottled-faced man's excursus on it. Is there any ground for conjecturing that he (Sam) had more brothers than one?

21. How many lumps of sugar went into the Shepherd's liquor as a rule? and is any exception recorded?

23. "She's a-swelling wisibly." When did this same phenomenon occur again, and what fluid caused the pressure on the body in the latter case?

24. How did Mr. Weller, senr., define the Funds; and what view did he take of Reduced Consols? In what terms is his elastic force described when he assaulted Mr. Stiggins at the meeting? Write down the name of the meeting.

25. probatognomon: a good judge of cattle; hence, a good judge of character! Note on AEsch. Ag.—Illustrate the theory involved by a remark of the parent Weller.

28. Deduce from a remark of Mr. Weller, junr., the price per mile of cabs at the period.

29. What do you know of the hotel next the Ball at Rochester?

30. Who beside Mr. Pickwick is recorded to have worn gaiters?

BALLAD

Imitation of Jean Ingelow

The auld wife sat at her ivied door, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) A thing she had frequently done before; And her spectacles lay on her aproned knees.

The piper he piped on the hill-top high, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) Till the cow said "I die," and the goose asked "Why?" And the dog said nothing, but searched for fleas.

The farmer he strode through the square farmyard; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) His last brew of ale was a trifle hard— The connection of which with the plot one sees.

The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies, As she sits at her lattice and shells her peas.

The farmer's daughter hath ripe red lips; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) If you try to approach her, away she skips Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.

The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And I've met with a ballad, I can't say where, Which wholly consisted of lines like these.

She sat with her hands 'neath her dimpled cheeks, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And spake not a word. While a lady speaks There is hope, but she didn't even sneeze.

She sat with her hands 'neath her crimson cheeks; (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) She gave up mending her father's breeks, And let the cat roll on her best chemise.

She sat with her hands 'neath her burning cheeks, (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And gazed at the piper for thirteen weeks; Then she followed him out o'er the misty leas.

Her sheep followed her, as their tails did them. (Butter and eggs and a pound of cheese) And this song is considered a perfect gem, And as to the meaning, it's what you please.

LOVERS, AND A REFLECTION

Imitation of Jean Ingelow

In moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter, (And heaven it knoweth what that may mean; Meaning, however, is no great matter) When woods are a-tremble, with rifts atween;

Thro' God's own heather we wonned together, I and my Willie (O love my love): I need hardly remark it was glorious weather, And flitterbats wavered alow, above;

Boats were curtseying, rising, bowing, (Boats in that climate are so polite,) And sands were a ribbon of green endowing, And O the sun-dazzle on bark and bight!

Thro' the rare red heather we danced together, (O love my Willie!) and smelt for flowers: I must mention again it was gorgeous weather, Rhymes are so scarce in this world of ours:—

By rises that flushed with their purple favors, Thro' becks that brattled o'er grasses sheen, We walked or waded, we two young shavers, Thanking our stars we were both so green.

We journeyed in parallels, I and Willie, In fortunate parallels! Butterflies, Hid in weltering shadows of daffodilly Or marjoram, kept making peacock eyes:

Song-birds darted about, some inky As coal, some snowy, I ween, as curds; (Or rosy as pinks, or as roses pinky—) They reek of no eerie To-come, those birds!

But they skim over bents which the mill-stream washes, Or hang in the lift 'neath a white cloud's hem; They need no parasols, no goloshes; And good Mrs. Trimmer she feedeth them.

Then we thrid God's cowslips (as erst his heather) That endowed the wan grass with their golden blooms; And snapt (it was perfectly charming weather)— Our fingers at Fate and her goddess-glooms:

And Willie 'gan sing (O his notes were fluty; Wafts fluttered them out to the white-winged sea)— Something made up of rhymes that have done much duty, Rhymes (better to put it) of "ancientry":

Bowers of flowers encountered showers In William's carol—(O love my Willie!) When he bade sorrow borrow from blithe to-morrow I quite forget what—say a daffodilly.

A nest in a hollow, "with buds to follow," I think occurred next in his nimble strain; And clay that was "kneaden," of course in Eden,— A rhyme most novel, I do maintain:

Mists, bones, the singer himself, love-stories, And all at least furlable things got "furled"; Not with any design to conceal their glories, But simply and solely to rhyme with "world."

* * * * *

Oh, if billows and pillows and hours and flowers, And all the brave rhymes of an elder day, Could be furled together, this genial weather, And carted or carried in wafts away, Nor ever again trotted out—ay me! How much fewer volumes of verse there'd be!

VISIONS

From 'Fly-Leaves'

"She was a phantom—" etc.

In lone Glenartney's thickets lies couched the lordly stag, The dreaming terrier's tail forgets its customary wag; And plodding plowmen's weary steps insensibly grow quicker, As broadening casements light them on toward home, or home-brewed liquor.

It is—in brief—the evening: that pure and pleasant time, When stars break into splendor, and poets into rhyme; When in the glass of Memory the forms of loved ones shine— And when, of course, Miss Goodchild is prominent in mine.

Miss Goodchild—Julia Goodchild!—how graciously you smiled Upon my childish passion once, yourself a fair-haired child: When I was (no doubt) profiting by Dr. Crabb's instruction, And sent those streaky lollipops home for your fairy suction.

"She wore" her natural "roses, the night when first we met,"— Her golden hair was gleaming neath the coercive net: "Her brow was like the snawdrift," her step was like Queen Mab's, And gone was instantly the heart of every boy at Crabb's.

The parlor-boarder chasseed tow'rds her on graceful limb; The onyx decked his bosom—but her smiles were not for him: With me she danced—till drowsily her eyes "began to blink," And I brought raisin wine, and said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"

And evermore, when winter comes in his garb of snows, And the returning schoolboy is told how fast he grows; Shall I—with that soft hand in mine—enact ideal Lancers, And dream I hear demure remarks, and make impassioned answers.

I know that never, never may her love for me return— At night I muse upon the fact with undisguised concern— But ever shall I bless that day!—I don't bless, as a rule, The days I spent at "Dr. Crabb's Preparatory School."

And yet we two may meet again,—(Be still, my throbbing heart!) Now rolling years have weaned us from jam and raspberry-tart. One night I saw a vision—'twas when musk-roses bloom, I stood—we stood—upon a rug, in a sumptuous dining-room:

One hand clasped hers—one easily reposed upon my hip— And "Bless ye!" burst abruptly from Mr. Goodchild's lip: I raised my brimming eye, and saw in hers an answering gleam— My heart beat wildly—and I woke, and lo! it was a dream.

CHANGED

I know not why my soul is racked; Why I ne'er smile, as was my wont I only know that, as a fact, I don't.

I used to roam o'er glen and glade, Buoyant and blithe as other folk, And not unfrequently I made A joke.

A minstrel's fire within me burned; I'd sing, as one whose heart must break, Lay upon lay—I nearly learned To shake.

All day I sang; of love and fame, Of fights our fathers fought of yore, Until the thing almost became A bore.

I cannot sing the old songs now! It is not that I deem them low; 'Tis that I can't remember how They go.

I could not range the hills till high Above me stood the summer moon: And as to dancing, I could fly As soon.

The sports, to which with boyish glee I sprang erewhile, attract no more: Although I am but sixty-three Or four.

Nay, worse than that, I've seemed of late To shrink from happy boyhood—boys Have grown so noisy, and I hate A noise.

They fright me when the beech is green, By swarming up its stem for eggs; They drive their horrid hoops between My legs.

It's idle to repine, I know; I'll tell you what I'll do instead: I'll drink my arrowroot, and go To bed.

THOUGHTS AT A RAILWAY STATION

'Tis but a box, of modest deal; Directed to no matter where: Yet down my cheek the teardrops steal— Yes, I am blubbering like a seal; For on it is this mute appeal, "With care."

I am a stern cold man, and range Apart: but those vague words "With care" Wake yearnings in me sweet as strange: Drawn from my moral Moated Grange, I feel I rather like the change Of air.

Hast thou ne'er seen rough pointsmen spy Some simple English phrase—"With care" Or "This side uppermost"—and cry Like children? No? No more have I. Yet deem not him whose eyes are dry A bear.

But ah! what treasure hides beneath That lid so much the worse for wear? A ring perhaps—a rosy wreath— A photograph by Vernon Heath— Some matron's temporary teeth Or hair!

Perhaps some seaman, in Peru Or Ind, hath stowed herein a rare Cargo of birds'-eggs for his Sue; With many a vow that he'll be true, And many a hint that she is too— Too fair.

Perhaps—but wherefore vainly pry Into the page that's folded there? I shall be better by-and-by: The porters, as I sit and sigh, Pass and repass—I wonder why They stare!

"FOREVER"

Forever! 'Tis a single word! Our rude forefathers deemed it two; Can you imagine so absurd A view?

Forever! What abysms of woe The word reveals, what frenzy, what Despair! For ever (printed so) Did not.

It looks, ah me! how trite and tame; It fails to sadden or appall Or solace—it is not the same At all.

O thou to whom it first occurred To solder the disjoined, and dower Thy native language with a word Of power:

We bless thee! Whether far or near Thy dwelling, whether dark or fair Thy kingly brow, is neither here Nor there.

But in men's hearts shall be thy throne, While the great pulse of England beats: Thou coiner of a word unknown To Keats!

And nevermore must printer do As men did long ago; but run "For" into "ever," bidding two Be one.

Forever! passion-fraught, it throws O'er the dim page a gloom, a glamour: It's sweet, it's strange; and I suppose It's grammar.

Forever! 'Tis a single word! And yet our fathers deemed it two: Nor am I confident they erred;— Are you?

THE END