eyed virgin, his daughter. Agamemnon and Menelaus, flushed with wine, quarrelled openly in an assembly held at sunset, which broke up in disorder and tumult; the leaders, some of them, staying behind to please Agamemnon, others, drawing down their ships without delay and sailing off with Ulysses, came as far as Tenedos, and then turned again back. But I, says Nestor

But I, with my ships in a body, the whole that obeyed me,

Fled, well perceiving that wrath was rising against us, Tydides also fled with me, his company calling; Later, upon our track followed the yellow Menelaus; In Lesbos found us, debating there of the long voyage, Were we to sail, to wit, by this side of the rocky Chios,

Making far Psyrie-isle, Chios being kept to the larboard,

Or to the far side, Chios along by the windy Mimante.

Will this sort of thing please the modern ear? It is to be feared not. It is too late a day in this nineteenth century to introduce a new principle, however good, into modern European verse. We must be content perhaps, in this, as in other and higher matters, to take things as we find them, and make the best we can of them. You, I dare say, my dear sir, though perhaps no great lover of hexameters at all, will prefer to my labored Homerics the rough and ready Anglo-savage lines that follow. They render the prayer of Achilles when he is sending out Patroclus with the Myrmidons to check the victory of the Trojans.

Dononëan, Pelasgican Zeus, up in heaven above us, King of Dodona, the stormy and cold, where thy Selli attend thee,

Barefoot, that wash not their feet, whose bed is the earth, thy expounders

Once when I prayed thee before, thou gavest me all my petition,

Gavest me honor, and greatly afflicted the host of Achaia;

Even so now too, Zeus, fulfil my prayer and petition; I am myself staying here, alone in the midst of my vessels.

But I am sending my friend, and the Myrmidon people about him

Into the battle: O Zeus, Wide-Seër, accord to him honor,

Strengthen, embolden the heart in his breast; that Hector to-day may

See whether my companion has skill of his own for the battle,

Or is invincible only, when I too enter the onset. And when the might of his hand shall have driven the war from the galleys,

Then let him come back safe to me by the side of my vessels,

Unhurt, bringing me home my arms and all my companions.

So in his prayer he spoke; and the Zeus, the Counsellor, heard him:

Granted him half his desire; but half the Father denied him;

Granted him that his friend should drive the war and

the onset

Back from the galleys; denied him his safe return from the battle.

Here, in a milder mood, the poet for the conclusion of his first book, describes the "easy living" gods.

"So the live-long day they thus were unto the sunset Feasting; neither did heart lack ever a portion of banquet,

Nor lack ever the lyre, sweet-toned, in the hand of

Apollo,

Nor the muses, in turn singing sweetly with beautiful voices.

But as soon as the shining light of the sun had descended,

They, to lay them down, went every one to his chamber,

Where for each one a house the far-famed Worker with both hands,

Even Hephaestus, had made with the skill of his understanding.

Zeus also to his bed, the Olympian flasher of lightning, Where he was wont before, when slumber sweet came upon him

Thither gone-up was sleeping, the white-armed Heera beside him.'

The best translations of Homer into this verse which I am acquainted with are those by Mr. Lockhart and Dr. Hawtrey in the little oblong-quarto collection of English Hexameters. Yet after all

-!

At any rate

My dear sir, here is a chapter, which, be it for better or worse, is

From beginning to end about hexameter verses; Could they but jingle a little, 'twere better, perhaps ; but the trouble

Really is endless, of hunting for rhymes that have all to be double.

Adieu, till the next time, when either in prose or in rhyme I

Haply may find something better to gossip about in a letter.

In the meanwhile, my dear sir, till writing again may beseem us,

I am, your faithful, obliged, and obedient,

PAREPIDEMUS.

FOR

OR some time I had been possessed with a strong desire to visit Nova Scotia. Of this province, less perhaps is known than of any other in British America, so that this of itself was sufficient to awaken curiosity. But the pages of "Evangeline which I had lately perused threw a new interest around Acadie. 66 Ah," thought

I; "Evangeline no longer dwells in her peaceful home; those simple-hearted pea

sants have departed, and every trace of them has, without doubt, been effaced. But yet there remains the land which they reclaimed from the sea, and from the forest; their old haunts may still attract the traveller, and around the beautiful spot which they inhabited, some charms still may linger. I will visit this land," said I, "and see the home of the tender and lovely Evangeline."

Full of these thoughts, I left Boston, and when I arrived at St. John, the blue shores of the other province, just visible above the horizon, drew me on with a stronger attraction. After spending three days in this city, I left for the town of Digby on the other side of the bay. The distance was only forty miles, but the steamer in which it was my luck to embark, was so inconceivably slow, that eight hours were consumed on the passage. How would Americans endure this rate of speed? But after all, I thought, as I looked around on the Provincials who were my fellow-passengers, it seems fast enough for them. They were reclining lazily on the seats of the upper deck, and many had gone below to their berths. Although they were all large and healthy men, yet they seemed listless and dull, displaying none of that unwearied activity which always characterizes a citizen of our republic. The ennui which reigned supreme, presently seized upon me also, and after making desperate attempts to rid myself of it, I was finally compelled to succumb to its power. Sad and miserable I walked forward, and lighting a cigar, gave myself up to gloomy reflections. "Guess you've never been down East afore, mister," said a sharp, cracked voice behind me. It was not a particularly mirthful remark, but my melancholy vanished at once, and a kind fellow-feeling came over me; for, turning round, I recognized a fellow-countryman.

Reader, have you ever seen a Down East captain? If not, let me advise you to go at once in search of one, for he is an original. You will not have to travel far to find him. Go to the wharves at Boston or New-York, go to any seaport town, and you will see one. In fact, go where you will, east or west, north or south, to the wilds of Oregon, or the islands of the Pacific, and you will probably see him everywhere before you. The one before me was a type of his class. He seemed to have dressed himself in his holiday garb. His beaver was of the fashion of the last age. He had a frill shirt, whose collar turned over a glaring red and yellow cotton handkerchief, an extremely tight pair of pantaloons, a blue coat with brass buttons, the collar of which braced his head behind, and to crown all, a calf-skin vest. Having entered into conversation with him, I found that he was born in Eastport, and that his wife lived in Yarmouth, N. S. He had not seen her for three years, was on his way there now, and almost broke his pipe by letting it fall on the deck, while he gave a yell of delight at the thought of soon seeing his Mehitabel.

“Wal, a little.

I lived in Yarmouth three years arter I married, and got tired to death of the place, so I had to go. But it's a beautiful country; why, law bless you, I've seen some of the finest orchards and fields of corn thar that you could think of; and Jerusalem! sich medders! They have fish contine wally swimmin' around them, wantin' so much to be caught, that they go up in millions into the rivers, and what do these people do ? Precious little. They don't desarve the country. They're lazy!"

I let him run on thus for some time, and found much resemblance between his sayings and those of the great Samuel Slick.

"Do you think they will ever be annexed?"

"I don't know. If they wur to be, the country in ten years would be all overrun with Yankees, and before the Provincials knew it their water powers and best lands would be put to some profit. And the villages, which are the thunderinest pooty places you ever see, would soon look a little lively."

"Ah well, Captain, they have not yet had time to develope themselves; wait a few years, and things will be different."

"Wait a few years! I guess we'll have to wait till eternity then. I bet my pipe agin a tenpenny nail, that they'll never become any thin' till they get some Yankees among them. The wust of the business is to see how they look down on us Yankees?"

"Look down on us?"

"Be shoor they do! One Provincial thinks himself as good, and a trifle better, than two Yankees. I swow, Job himself would be riled to hear them. I haint no patience with them, and their talk about their old families, and loyalty, and—but blame it, my pipe's out. Good day, Mister."

The harbor of Digby is formed by the widening of the Annapolis River, which at this place has the appearance of a large lake. Here the river rushes into the bay, having burst its way through cliffs 1000 feet in height. This opening goes by the name of Digby Gut. It is a wild and sublime chasm in a chain of mountains, which seem to have been torn asunder by some convulsion of nature. So deep is the cleft, that in some places no bottom has

ever been reached with the sounding lead. At the base of a hill facing the water, and looking up the river, lies the town of Digby, appearing beautifully from the water, with its houses half hidden among trees. Multitudes of cherry-trees grow here; indeed, it may be said, that in no place in the world do cherries grow with greater profusion, or attain a greater degree of perfection than in Digby. There were also plum and peach trees, and great numbers of apple-trees, covered with their beautiful blossoms. The streets were clean and neat, sheltered in many places by shady trees. From the summit of the hill behind the town, the eye might roam over an enchanting landscape, from where, beneath the gazer, Digby lay embosomed among trees, along a fertile coast broken by the outlets of small rivers, to where, twenty miles away, the spires and church towers of Annapolis rose. The water before is always dotted with vessels, and from the lofty rocky bank on the right, you may occasionally hear a deep roaring sound, as some huge pine-tree thunders down the side of the mountain into the water below. I was delighted with this lovely town. But though I loved the quiet of this little spot, yet there seemed a sad want of energy and busy action. Every one was idle and listless. And there was another circumstance yet more surprising. Numbers of those beautiful ladies, for which Nova Scotia is still famous, might be seen riding and promenading, but no young men were there to attend to them. "Where were they?" I could not help inquiring. "Oh, they're

all

gone off to the States," was the answer, and this was always the reply to such a question. The "States seems to be the only country in which the Nova Scotia youth think themselves able to prosper. But so beautiful was the country around me, so fertile the soil, so pleasing the manners of the people with whom I became acquainted, that I could not imagine what motives could induce one who was born here to leave his lovely home. Why can they not be as successful in this new country as in ours? The government is almost the same. people are of the same race, their manners and customs are precisely the same. resources, whether mineral or vegetable, are unbounded. Myriads of fish inhabit these waters. Forests of ship-timber grow on these hills. Then, good heavens! why should a youth, with energy enough to succeed in another land, abandon his more attractive home, when there are so many ways in which one may with safety invest either capital or industry.

The

The

I left Digby after a stay of about a

week, during which time I had roamed through all those enchanting spots which are scattered around it in such profusion. "Ah," thought I, as I sat beneath the shade of some lofty elms, fanned by the unceasing sea-breeze, "if all Nova Scotia resembles this place, how beautiful a land must it be! If Digby were in the United States, how thronged would be its quiet streets! With its beauties, and advantages for sea-bathing, which cannot be surpassed, in a short time it would be the most frequented watering-place in all America.”

Annapolis is a town of about the same size as Digby. It was founded by the French, and in their time, under the name of Port Royal, was the capital of the province. The town is very beautiful, and the country in its immediate vicinity is in a high state of cultivation, but there is nothing here of so striking a nature as the landscape at Digby. As I was in haste to see the birth-place of Evangeline, I soon left. There were no railroads here, and for this I was not sorry; for to me, a leisurely traveller, it was more pleasant to ride slowly, and see the country, than to be borne onward like the wind amid smoke, dust, and cinders. A coach was my conveyance, and, while riding along, I fancied myself living one hundred years ago, for every thing was this much behind the present age. The country beyond Annapolis is exceedingly rough. Such heaps of stones and rocks, such wildness and desolation, such obstacles in the way of cultivation, I never saw, except in the State of Rhode Island; but there the barrenness is that of the desert, while here it extends for but a few miles, and its ruggedness is that of a mountainous country.

A little old gentleman was sitting beside me. Suddenly he spoke-“Dis mus be a ver strong land to bear de vate of such beg stones, Monsieur; he, he, he!"

I started and turned round in horror. Looking closely at him, I recognized him as a Frenchman, a native of the province. whom I had seen in the hotel at Digby a few days previously. "And have the Acadians, the honest, unsophisticated Acadians, fallen so low? Will the descendant of those oppressed but noble-hearted men make a pun?" "Twas too true. But, after all, I felt an involuntary respect for him, an affection for him and his race. I thought of the gentle Acadienne, Evangeline, and forgave his observation.

Entering into conversation with him, I found him to be well-informed about Nova Scotian politics; a relation of his was a member of the Provincial Parliament. Party strife, he informed me, ran very

high in this province during the time of election; relations often became so embittered toward one another, that they never after became friends. In many parts, one party never would think of speaking to the opposite side. I was much surprised to hear of such virulence and ill-feeling among these unenergetic and quiet people.

My companion informed me, however, that on the question of politics the Nova Scotians were always most excitable.

We stopped for half an hour at the pretty village of Bridgetown, and after leaving it, found that the country became more fertile as we advanced. There were hosts of beautiful places, called by such names as "Eden," " ""Paradise," and they were worthy of them. The road, though long, was not monotonous. Sometimes it went for many miles through a thick forest, then coming to the top of some hill, a beautiful and well-cultivated plain would meet the eye. At other times long rows of willows and poplars lined the road on either side. There were many large orchards, which we continually passed, some of which consisted of several thousand trees.

Toward evening we appproached a beautifully situated and attractive village, called Kentville, which, after changing horses, we at once left, and rattled onward to Horton. This is the present name of the country where Evangeline lived. It is only seven miles from Kentville, so that we speedily arrived there. Here was the end of my journey, and leaping from the tiresome coach, I entered a little inn, not intending to visit any place until the mor

row.

The Rev. Edward Barrell and I had belonged to the same class at Harvard seven or eight years before. He was the only representative of the provinces at the college, and stoutly did he stand up for his native land. To hear him, you would imagine the Lower Provinces, and especially Nova Scotia, to be a second Eden, a land of promise, the garden of the world. Although I believed his statements to be somewhat colored by patriotism, yet I could not help thinking that there must be something uncommon in this country, even if one half of what he said were true. He had been pastor of a church in Horton for three years, and here I expected to find him.

Calling upon him, the next day, I met with a most warm reception. His house stood at a little distance from the road, with large shadowy trees before it, and on the left was an apple-orchard, whose trees were covered with delicious blossoms. Flowers of many kinds grew in a

garden on the right, and behind, the eye wandered down a long extent of dike land, which spread away, intersected with rivers, and glowing in the freshness of its new vegetation. "Wait a little while," said my friend, "and I will take you to some beautiful spots, and I think you will acknowledge that you would find it a difficult task to produce places in New England to equal them in loveliness."

I did not reply, but smiled at the undiminished pride of country which my friend evinced.

We walked out after dinner, and went up the road along which the village is built. Long rows of poplars and willows grew on either side, cooling us by their shade. A hill lay before us, upon which stood a handsome edifice in an unfinished state, a college, I believe. We ascended it, and, after arriving at the top, turned and looked back. I was astonished at the prospect. The village stretched along the foreground beneath us, its houses peeping out from surrounding groves and orchards. Farther in lay the dike lands, extending for a great distance, its level surface broken in one place by an island, which rose up covered with trees. Farther away lay the Basin of Minas, with its blue waters hemmed in by lofty rocky shores, and from out its midst rose boldly upward a towering cliff called Blomidon. This cliff is formed by the abrupt termination of a chain of hills, which extend along nearly the whole western shore of the province.

"How do you like that?" said my companion.

"Surpassingly beautiful! I had never expected so much. But all the dike land-how came it here? Who reclaimed it from the water?"

"It was the work of the early Acadian settlers, and all this part of the province was originally cultivated by them; you may often meet with the ruins of their houses in places now worn out by long cultivation."

"The ruins of their houses?"

"Yes, there is one a little way behind you."

We turned, and after walking about one hundred yards, came to a small hollow in the ground, which looked as if it had once been the cellar of a house. Around it were many bricks and stones. It was at the extremity of a small clearing, which had been made long ago in these woods. In a small gully at a short distance a brook bubbled and gushed forth, tumbling, as it flowed along, over rocks and fallen trees. The woods encircled us on three sides. Apple-trees were there which seemed to have been planted

a hundred years ago. It was a beautiful spot. "Could not this have been your home, Evangeline? Might not this soil have been pressed by your feet, and these trees planted by your hands?" I reclined on the grass. From the surrounding woods a thousand birds were singing, and beneath me the brook uttered no less pleasing music. There was enchantment here!

"Have you such places as this in New England ?" said my friend.

This aroused me. "Like this-it is very beautiful, but-why yes, of course we have."

"Come on a little farther, and we may see some other places. Here, follow this way, we will make a rush through the woods."

A path lay before us, along which we passed. It had been trodden by many feet, and every obstruction had been removed. We came to another brook somewhat larger than the first. Small camps had been reared along its banks by the students of the college below. These woods were delightful: above they were filled with birds, and below grew myriads of wild flowers, such as "linears," and others to me utterly unknown. We came out at length into a road and walked for a half mile or so, but the scenery grew rather tame.

"Where on earth are we going to ?" I at last exclaimed.

"Be patient, you will see in a short time," cried he.

"Something better than New England?"

"You shall judge."

We had been slowly ascending ever since we left the village. The summit at last lay before us; we still walked on, and at last came to where there was a descent. Here a new scene opened upon us, different from that which had before appeared. The hill went abruptly down for a great distance, and opposite arose others more lofty. A lovely valley lay beneath, through which flowed a river in a winding course, whose banks were lined with green willows and poplars. Looking up the valley to the right, the river was lost amid trees and bushes. Looking down, it appeared at times through the branches of elms and willows, until at length, taking a turn, it became lost to view.

"What in the world is the name of this place?" I enthusiastically inquired of my friend, who stood gazing with a confident smile. "What a charming spot! and here it lies hidden completely from the world unknown and unvisited."

"This is the valley of the Gaspereaux.

Once seen, it is not soon forgotten. But it has one fault, which it holds in common with many other beautiful places. The inhabitants are ignorant, and indolent. When you come closer, these houses will appear less romantic, and those irregular fences will appear hideous." We descended, and if from the summit the prospect was charming, nothing was lost as we descended the mountain, until we drew near the village, and then truly the charm was broken. Dirt and filth were every where. Every thing showed carelessness and indolence. Pigs ran rampant through a muddy lane, which I suppose was called a road; and the bridge which crossed the river seemed hourly in danger of falling in. Ignorance and stupidity dwelt upon the expressionless countenances which met my eyes.

We

"We have nothing like this in New England," said I to my now silent companion. My friend's servant had brought his carriage here, and waited our arrival. We jumped in, and rode down along the river. The fields gradually wore a better appearance, and the houses began to appear neater; the road, too, became better, and was lined with trees on either side. Many orchards were here, and gardens filled with peach and plum trees. came at length to the "Gaspereaux's mouth." There was the place where the English ships lay; and here, too, I thought perhaps on this very spot, stood the poor exiles. What a sight must it have been when the poor defenceless Acadians were compelled to leave a home like ths! They were rudely torn away from the paradise where they dwelt in simplicity and innocence. They were snatched from these their green fields, and from the fertile meadows which their own hands had so laboriously cultivated; and while their houses were burnt to the ground, they were scattered all over America.

We turned away from the place, and rode back to the village. The valley of the Gaspereaux seemed yet more beautiful by twilight. Countless fireflies sparkled through the woods, before, behind, and around us. The lowing of cattle returning home, and the tinkling of bells from flocks and herds, the bleating of sheep, and the noise of the rushing river, added to the enchantment of the scene. We looked down again from the top of the hill. Beautiful valley! why should such shiftless and ignorant people inhabit thee?" My American feelings came strongly over me. "If this were the United States," I thought, and I thought aloud,—“If this were the United States, what a glorious place would this valley become! Those dirty houses would soon