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PARODIES ON ROMEO'S DESCRIPTION OF AN APOTHECARY.

BY SAMUEL EWING.

I Do remember an old bachelor

And hereabouts he dwells-whom late I noted
In suit of sables with a care-worn brow

Conning his books; and meagre were his looks.—
Celibacy had worn him to the bones ;—

And in his silent parlour hung a cloak

The which the moths had used not less than he !
Four chairs, one table, and an old hair-trunk
Made up the furniture, and on his shelves
A grease-clad candlestick, a broken mug,
Two tumblers, and a box of strong cigars,
Remnants of volumes, once in some repute,
Were thinly scattered round to tell the eye
Of prying stranger—this man had no wife.—
His tattered elbow gaped most piteously,
And ever as he turned him round, his skin
Did through his stockings peep upon the day.
Noting his gloom, unto myself I said,
An if a man did covet single life,
Reckless of joys which Matrimony gives,
Here lives a lonely wretch would show it him
In such most dismal colours, that the shrew,
Or slut, or idiot, or the gossip spouse,

Were each a Heaven, compared with such a life.-
But this same thought does not forerun my need,
Nor shall this bachelor tempt me to wed.

As I remember this should be the house;
Being Sabbath noon, the outer door is shut..

I Do remember a precise old maid—
And hereabout she dwells-whom late I noted
In rustling gown, with wan and withered lips,
Demure and formal, dusting-cloth in hand,
Rubbing her chairs, and meagre were her looks.
Envy had worn her to the very bones!
And in her shining parlour flower pots stood,
Decked with geranium, and jessamine,
And orange trees, and roses, pinks and lilies,
"Bachelor's buttons," crisp as she herself,
And lowly passion-flower, the type of love!
Six chairs, two tables, and a looking glass,
Were burnished bright and oft; and round the room,
On wall, in closet, or on mantel-piece,

An old work-basket, sal-volatile,

Portraits of maiden aunts, in ball-room suit,

With lamb or lap dog hanging on their arms,
Novels from Circulating Library,

"Law's Serious Call to unconverted folks,"

Love elegies, a Bible, and a cat,

Were duly ranged, for ornament or use,

As spleen prevailed or visiters came in.

List'ning, as through the house her shrill voice screamed,

Scolding the servants, to myself I said,

An if a man did wish to gain a wife,

With show of courtship, here's an ancient maid,
Whose lips have practised long before the glass,
The faint refusal, and the eager yes

Following as quick as echo to the sound!

And this same thought does but forerun my need.
I'll instant seek-some younger maid to wed!
As I remember this should be the house.
Being twilight-hour, she's out upon the trot
To barter scandal for a dish of tea.

DEATH OF ANACREON.

ANONYMOUS.

REMOTE from the intrigues of the court, and unruffled by the din of contention, our days were joyful and serene, like those which nurture the beautiful Halcyon. Enjoying the uninterrupted society of a friend whom I esteemed, and a wife whom I loved, the gods had left me nothing to wish. When I reflected upon the happiness which this intercourse produced, I could not but acknowledge the source of it. "How sweet to the soul of man," would I exclaim, "is the society of a beloved wife! when, wearied and broken down by the labours of the day, her endearments soothe, her tender cares restore him. The solicitudes and anxieties, and heavier misfortunes of life, are hardly to be borne by him who has the weight of business and domestic vexations to contend with. But how much lighter do they seem, when, after his necessary avocations are over, he returns to his home and finds there a partner of all his griefs and troubles, who takes, for his sake, her share of domestic labour upon her, and soothes the anguish of his soul by her comfort and participation. By the immortal gods! a wife is not, as she is falsely represented by some, a burthen or a sorrow to man. No, she shares his burthens and alleviates his sorrows. For there is no toil nor difficulty so insupportable in life, but it may be surmounted by the mutual efforts and the affectionate concord of that holy partnership."

After we had been settled a short time in our new abode, Anacreon resolved to send an invitation to Lesbos for Sappho. Among others the following ode, in which he described the simplicity of our fare and the warmth of his affection, was composed upon this occasion:

TO SAPPHO.

A BROKEN cake, with honey sweet,
Is all my spare and simple treat;
And while a generous bowl I crown
To float my little banquet down,
I take the soft, the amorous lyre,
And sing of love's delicious fire!
In mirthful measures, warm and free,
I sing, dear maid, and sing for thee!

But it was not reserved for him again to enjoy the society of this lovely woman, whose genius was only equalled by her misfortunes. Before the courier had departed, I received information from one of my friends at Mytilene, that Sappho had terminated her life and her sufferings by precipitating herself into the sea from the summit of a mountain in Leucadia. The following fragment of an ode was found on the shore:

From dread Leucadia's frowning steep,
I'll plunge into the whitening deep;
And there I'll float, to waves resign'd,
For love intoxicates my mind!

The mournful intelligence was unfortunately communicated to Anacreon, while he was engaged at a banquet with a few of his former friends. The sudden dismay which this unexpected information occasioned was such that he did not observe a grape-stone which was floating in his wine. He was choked by the contents of the cup, and the melancholy consequences were soon too visible in his countenance. I ran to succour him; but with a

smile that bespoke the feeble exertions of nature, he signified that it was too late. I gave him a cup of wine in hopes of relieving him. He took it from me, and, as he held it in his hand, he gave me this ode, in which he announced his departure from us in a strain of prophetic inspiration which resembles the plaintive notes of the expiring swan :

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He then poured out a libation to the Eumenides, the inexorable ministers of the vengeance of Pluto, and having thus endeavoured to appease their fury, he sunk upon his couch. It was in vain that we prayed to Apollo, to whom sudden deaths are imputed. Anacreon likewise would have prayed to Mercury, to whom is confided the mournful office of conducting ghosts to the shades below; but the pangs of death were upon him and the power of utterance was denied. We sounded brazen kettles, to expel those furies which are ever on the alert to carry the unfortunate to places of torment. We crowded around his couch, that we might hear his dying words; we kissed him and endeavoured to imbibe his latest breath into our mouths.

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