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THE COURANT A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. 191

THE SONG OF THE BACCHANTE.

BY FITZ JAMES O'BRIEN.

I.
Bacchus and I were intimate friends,
When earth was damasked with blooms of youth,
Together we roamed to its utmost ends,
We drank by the shores of the Persian Seas:
We reeled over sun-lighted Indian slopes,
And under the shadows of gum-dropping trees
We pictured a Future of golden hopes,
Singing
Bacchus ! sweet Bacchus !
Let all who hear us follow!
Bacchus ! Io Bacchus !
Echo hill-echo hollow !

II.
Like a rose faint-flushed was his skin so fair,
And round as a rose-bud his perfect shape,
And there lay a light in his tawny hair
Like sun in the heart of a bursting grape,
I loved him madly-he loved me too;
Together we drank of his wondrous wine;
But better, far better, the purple dew
When kissed from his lips as they clung to mine.
Singing
Bacchus! dear Bacchus!
Sweet night to day doth follow!
Bacchus ! Io Bacchus !
Whisper hill-whisper hollow!

III.
I drank from no mouldy flask, not I!
Couched on a tressel of sweet-smelling pines,
All the day long on my back I'd lie
Under a heaven of pendulous vines.
Bacchus leaned lovingly over, and bruised
Bunch after bunch till the grape-blood Blood fell—
that as through his fingers it oozed,
Changed into wine through some mystical spell.
Singing
Bacchus ! great Bacchus.!
Bid us no more to follow.
Bacchus! Io Bacchus!
Slumber hill—slumber hollow.

IV.
Thus we trooped into god-loving Greece,
Dancing down by Achaian rills,
Swinging our magical goblet of Peace,
Shaped in the heart of the Lydian hills.
Our altars smoked on a thousand isles,
Our praise was hymned on the Tuscan shore,
And lapped in welcome, and sunned in smiles,
Our days were golden for evermore !
Singing
Bacchus ! god Bacchus!
The eager nations follow!
Bacchus! Io Bacchus!
Thunder hill-thunder hollow !

INTERESTING ITEMS.

ART OF LEISURE NEARLY LOST —Adam Bede says: "Surely
all other leisure is hurry compared with a sunny walk through
the fields from 'afternoon church'—as such walks used to be
in those old leisure times, when the boat, gliding sleepily along
the canal, was the newest locomotive wonder; when Sunday-books
had most of them old brown leather covers, and opened
with remarkable precision always in one place. Leisure is
gone—gone where the spinning-wheels are gone, and the pack-horses,
and the slow wagons, and the peddlers who brought
bargains to the door on sunny afternoons. Ingenious philosophers
tell you, perhaps, that the great work of the steam-engine
is to create leisure for mankind. Do not believe them ;
it only creates a vacuum for eager thought to rush in. Even
idleness is eager now—eager for amusement: prone to excursion-trains,
art museums, periodical literature, and exciting
novels: prone even to scientific theorizing, and cursory peeps
though microscopes. Old Leisure was quite a different personage;
he only read old newspapers innocent of leaders, and
was free from that periodicity of sensations which we call
post-time. He was a contemplative, rather stout gentleman, of
excellent digestion—of quiet perceptions, undiseased by hypotheses;
happy in his inability to know the cause of things,
preferring the things themselves. He lived chiefly in the
country, among pleasant seats and homesteads, and was fond
of sauntering by the fruit-tree wall, and scenting the apricots
when they were warmed by the morning sunshine, or of sheltering
himself under the orchard boughs at noon, when the
summer pears were falling. He knew nothing of week-day
services, and thought none the worse of the Sunday sermon, if
it allowed him to sleep from the text to the blessing—liking the
afternoon service best, because the prayers were the shortest,
and not ashamed to say so ; for he had an easy, jolly conscience,
broad-backed like himself, and able to carry a great deal of
beer or port-wine---not being made squeamish by doubts and
qualms and lofty aspirations. Life was not a task to him, but
a sinecure ; he fingered the guineas in his pocket, and ate his
dinners, and slept the sleep of the irresponsible ; for had he
not kept up his character by going to church on the Sunday afternoons?
Fine old Leisure! Do not be severe upon him,
and judge him by our modern standard; he never went to
Exeter Hall, or heard a popular preacher read ' Tracts for the
Times,' or 'Sartor Resartus.' "

BOY-LOVE.—The passion of love in boys bears about the
same relation to genuine love that green fruit does to ripe.
Women of a little experience soon learn that it is not quite
safe to trust boys with the secrets of their hearts, as they are
apt both to misinterpret and misrepresent any little freedom of
manners. At this period, the imagination is morbid from
weakness and inexperience ; and a proneness to boast of what
their vanity construes into advances on the part of ladies is
among the least ill consequences of flirting with boys.

THE world caresses the rich, however deficient in intellect or
morals, and avoids the poor man of merit, in the threadbare
coat.

ART OF LOVE-LETTERS ON THE DECLINE.—A London journal,
crticising a new volume entitled "Love-Letters of Eminent
Persons," says:

"Love-letters will soon be reckoned as belonging to the curiosities.
of literature, and classed with the productions of bygone
times, like chivalry and the troubadours, and with them
disappear for ever. It, therefore, behooves us to cherish these
real gems of epistolary literature, and place them in a casket
by themselves. Of all the varieties into which epistolary correspondence
may be divided, the greatest and widest interest
attaches to what are termed love-letters. From the perusal of
letters written in the intimate confidence a tender passion
excites—where truth is, or ought to be, the basis of all that is
penned—we get a better insight into the character of a person
than we can possibly obtain from letters written in the course
of duty or friendship. In the seven bulky volumes which constitute
the correspondence of Lord Nelson, the letters addressed
to Lady Hamilton, the hero's 'Guardian Angel,' are, beyond all
comparison, the most attractive and interesting. Napoleon,
amid scenes of carnage, could abstract himself from the horrors
around him, and sit down and pen those tender, playful
epistles to Josephine, which excite our smiles, and make us
forget the soldier in the husband. No sooner is the battle lost
and won, and the shout of victory raised, than a missive of
congratulation, void of all the pomp and circumstance of war,
is dispatched to the dear ones at home, without whose sympathy
the hardest won victory would be barren. Napoleon greets
Josephine from Marmirolo, and sends a kiss to his wife's lapdog.
Nelson batters Copenhagen, and—composes verses to
Emma, his 'Guardian Angel.' Herein love, the great leveller,
places the drummer-boy on a par with his general, and forecastle-
Jack on a footing with his admiral."

THE SECRET OF lNCOMBUSTIBILITY.—ln February, 1677, an
Englishman, of the name of Richardson, came to Paris, and
gave some very curious performances, which proved, according
his statement, his incombustibility. He was seen to roast a
piece of meat on his tongue, light a piece of charcoal in his
mouth by means of a pair of bellows, seize a bar of red-hot
iron in his hand, or hold it between his teeth. This Englishman's
servant published his master's secret, which may be
found in the Journal des Sciences. In 1809, a Spaniard, of the
name of Leonetto, gave performances at Paris. He also handled
a bar of red-hot iron with impunity, passed it through
his hair, or stepped upon it ; drank boiling oil, plunged his
finger into melted lead, put some on his tongue, and ended his
performances by licking a piece of red-hot iron. This extraordinary
man attracted the attention of Professor Sementrici,
who began carefully watching him. The professor remarked
the tongue of the incombustible was covered ; with a grey layer,
and this discovery led him to try some experiments on himself.
He discovered that rubbing in a solution of alum, evaporated
to a spongy state, rendered the skin insensible to the action of
red-hot iron. He also rubbed himself with soap, and found
that even the hair did not burn when in that state. Satisfied
with these investigations, the physician rubbed hill tongue with
soap and a solution of alum, and the red-hot iron produced no
sensation on him. The tongue, thus prepared, could also receive
boiling oil, which grew cold, and could then be swallowed.
M. Sementrici also detected that the melted lead
Leonetto employed was only Arcet's metal, fusible at the temperature
of boiling water.—Memoirs of Robert Houdin.

THE MOUSTACHE.—In the reign of Louis the Thirteenth, of
France, whiskers (moustaches) attained the highest degree of
favour at the expense of the expiring beards. In those days
of gallantry, not yet empoisoned by wit, they became the
lover's favourite occupation. A fine black moustache, elegantly
dyed and turned up, was a powerful recommendation to the
favour of the fair sex. They were still in the fashion in the
beginning of Louis XIV.'s reign : and this king, with all the
great men of his time, took a pride in wearing them. They
were consequently the ornament of Turenne, Conde, Colbert,
Corneille, Moliere, etc. It was then no uncommon thing for a
favourite lover to have his moustaches died, turned up, combed,
and dressed by his mistress; and hence a man of fashion took
care to be always provided with every little necessary article,
especially whisker wax. It was highly flattering to a lady to
have it in her power to praise the beauty of her lover's moustache,
which, far from being disagreeable, gave his person an
air of vivacity ; and several even thought them an incitement
to love. But the levity of the French caused several changes
both. in their form and name ; there were Spanish, Turkish,
guard-dagger whiskers, nay, even royal ones, which were the
last worn, the smallness of these proclaiming their approaching
fall—Encyclopedia Britannica.

LITERARY MEN AND THEIR WIVES,—do maintain that a wife,
whether young or old, may pass her evenings most happily in
the presence of her husband, occupied herself, and conscious
that he is still better occupied, though he may but speak with
her and cast his eyes upon her from time to time; that such
evenings may be looked forward to with great desire, and
deeply regretted when they are passed away for ever. Wieland,
whose conjugal felicity has been almost as celebrated as himself,
says in a letter written after his wife's death, that if he
but knew that she was in the room, or if at times she stepped
in and said a word or two, that was enough to gladden him.
Some of the happiest and most loving couples are those who,
like Wieland and his wife, are both too fully employed to spend
the whole of every evening in conversation.—Sara Coleridge.

OLD MAIDS.—Old maids are, if possible, more laughed at
than old bachelors, though I know not with what reason. It is
generally supposed that old bachelors are such from choice,
while old maids are so from necessity. Public impression is
here again at fault, at least in some cases, where women remain
single from their own desire. But those who are looked remain
single from their own desire. But those who are looked upon
as the real old maid, are a class of females who by now means of
their own free choice, array themselves in virgin white; but
like certain desolate countries in the middle ages, they continue
free because no one ever thought them worth the trouble of
conquest. They have outlived their time, and, like certain unskilful
archers, bent their bow till it broke.

WHEN Dr. Lucas, a very unpopular man, ventured on a
speech in the Irish Parliament, and failed altogether, Grattan
said: "He rose without a friend, and sat down without an enemy."

THE HON JEREMIAH CLEMENS, of Memphis, Tennessee, and
the author of "Bernard Lile," etc., has a new volume in the press
of Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, entitled the "The Rivals"—
an historical novel relating to the life and times of Aaron Burr.
Mr. Clemens was formerly United States Senator from Alabama;
but, in connexion with the Hon. Solan Borland, is now
editing the Memphis Enquirer.

LADY MORGAN's effects, from carpets and enamels to little
legacies given to Lady Caroline Lamb by Lord Byron, and bequeathed
or given to the "painted Sydney" by "Lady Caroline"
herself, are about to come to the hammer. The sales
take place on "Sydney Lady Morgan's premises in London."

THE readers and admirers of that vulgar book "Guy Livingstone,"
may be interested to learn that the author is engaged
in publishing a story in Fraser's Magazine.—Sat. Press.

POWELL, whose picture of the "Discovery of the Mississippi
by De Soto," is in the rotunda of the Capitol at Washington
has been commissioned by the State of Ohio to paint "The
Battle of Lake Erie," for the Capitol of that State.

THE SONG OF "OLD ARM CHAIR."—It is estimated this
song, set to music, has cleared the publisher over $200,000.
The following receipt shews its original cost:
"Received, May 14, 1841, of Mr. Charles Jeffreys, the sum
of two pounds two shillings, for copy-wright of words of song
written by me, entitled ''l'he Old Arm Chair,' music by Mr.
Hine. ELIZA COOK."

The song has since cost a Mr. Kyle, of London, about
$10,000, (costs of suit,) in contesting an injunction restraining
him from printing and selling it.

AUSTRALIAN FORESTS.—In no part of the world did I ever
see such absolute mid-day darkness as occurred in many spots
of this forest. Not a ray pierced the dense shade, and the eye
ranged through the melancholly colonnades of tall black stems,
and along the roof of gloomy foliage, till it was lost in the
night of woods—midnight, with the Australian sun at its meridian!
We were perhaps the more struck with its peculiarity,
because the reverse is the character of the Australian bush:
for the foliage of the gum-tree is so thin and so pendulous that
when the sun is overhead, one rides almost as though there
were no trees. If there is such a thing as a sinumbral tree—a
Peter Schlemil of the woods—it is the gum-tree. It was a
singular and pretty sight to see, as, we did this day, during one
or two momentary bursts of sunshine, large flocks of parrots
dart across our path, like a shower of rubies emeralds and
sapphires, glittering for an instant in the watery beam, and
vanishing as quickly in the gloom of the wilderness.—Travels Abroad.

SOLD.—"A young man from the country" writes to complain
that having seen Fowler & Wells' advertisement to the effect
that they had on exhibition "the skulls of the most noted men
in the world," he went there, and was disappointed in not finding
the skulls of Napoleon III., Garibaldi, James Buchanan
Edward Everett, Henry A. Wise, E. Meriam, and Horace Greeley.—N. Y. Saturday Press.

THE STOMACH.—I firmly believe that almost every malady of
the human framers, either high-ways or by-ways, connected
with the stomach. The woes of every other member are
founded on your belly-timber ; and I must own I never see a
fashionable physician mysteriously consulting the pulse of his
patient, but I feel a desire to exclaim, " Why not tell the poor
gentleman at once, 'Sir, you have eaten too much ; and you
have not taken exercise enough ! ' "The human frame was not
created imperfect. It is we ourselves who have made it so. There
exists no donkey in creation so overloaded as our stomachs.
Head's Bubbles from the Brunnens.

A WRITER in the Atlantic Monthly says:
Richard Greenough once told me, that, in studying for the
statue of Franklin, he found that the left side of the great
man's face was philosophic and reflective, and the right side
funny and smiling. lf you will go and look at the bronze
statue, you will find he has repeated this observation there for
posterity. The Eastern profile is the pourtrait of the statesman
Franklin, the Western, of poor Richard.

BEAUTY.—Beauty has been called "the power and arms of
woman.'' Diogenes called it "woman's most forcible letter of
recommendation." Carneades represented it as "a queen
without soldiers," and Theocritus says it is "a serpent covered
with flowers ; while a more modern author humorously
defines it ''a bait that as often catches the fisher as the fish."
Nearly all the old philosophers denounced and ridiculed beauty
as evanescent, worthless and mischievous. But, alas! while
they preached against it, they were none the less its slaves.
None of them were able to withstand "the sly smooth witchcraft
of a fair young face.''

"Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare,
And beauty draws us by a single hair."

A really beautiful woman is a natural queen in the universe of
love, where all hearts pay a glad tribute to her reign. But, it
is nevertheless true, that the geographical standard of beauty is
various and unstable. As Cowley sings:

"Beauty, thou wild fantastic ape,
Who dost in every country change thy shape,
Here black, there brown, here tawny, and there white."

JUDGE DALY, of New York, in the course of his decision
"in the matter of John Snook for a change of name," remarked
that the name of Washington was originally "Wessyngton,''
which signifies "a person dwelling on the meadow-land
where a creek runs in from the sea."

COQUETTE.—A coquette has been defined a woman who wants
to engage the men without engaging herself. She is a composition
of levity and vanity, whose chief aim is to be thought
agreeable, handsome, and amiable, whether she really is so or
not. A witty author compared such a woman to a fire-eater,
who makes a shew of handing, and even chewing live coals,
without receivmg any danger. She 1s always playing the part
of love, without realizing its passion.

THE last words of the Old Testament are a fearful threatening:
"Lest I come and smite the earth with a curse." The
last words of the New Testament are a benediction: "The
grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.''
coat.