death does not find me on a lair of straw, that kind eyes are weeping round me, kind hands alleviating my pain-for this I have to thank thee. Ah! if to such countless benefits thou wouldst add one more! Alc. 1 never refused the living Thrasyllus a favour. To the dying Thrasyllus I pledge myself beforehand, What dost thou require of me? Thras. A funeral oration at my pile. Were it but twenty words. Alc. Why, even these? Thras. Because I then might be certain that my name would survive me. Alcibiades promised. Thrasyllus expended his last strength on a grateful pressure of the hand; turned his face to the wall, and expired. All Athens assembled round the dead man's pile. Never yet had Alcibiades spoken at length in public. Wonders were looked for. Now mark us, Mr Walter Savage Landor! In your two volumes of Pericles and Aspasia, which we hope to review with our first leisure in a manner worthy of you and us, you boast-and a curious boast it is-to have avoided "every expression and every thought attributed to Pericles by the ancients." What you boast-and have not always done-for your Pericles, is here effected-in this instance more excusably-for our Alcibiades. With any one of your really imaginary speeches you are at liberty to compare the following FUNERAL ORATION. "In a vast multitude ye have met together, O Athenians. If this be on account of my departed friend, I thank you: if on my account, I pity you; since, in that event, ye have forgotten, that true grief says little, and that he himself whose lips, already white, imposed this task upon me, requested only a few words. He sought my friendship, because he felt himself worthy of it. He obtained it, because I read nobility in his aspect. He kept it, because his soul answered to his countenance. The first look of his that ever pained me, was the look of death. He gave me every thing; something I gave him; and he was grateful to me, as if I had given him all. An oversight of Nature allowed him to be born in the dust; she offered amends for this neglect, when she made him known to me; and he so bore himself, that thenceforth no one saw traces of that dust about him. I am unable to decide whether you or I have lost more by his decease; I, in that I knew him thoroughly; you, in that ye had not yet thoroughly known him. All that he had yet done was merely in the way of preparation. But believe me on my word: it would not have stopped at preparation. Mourn! mourn over his early death for your own sakes! The hail-storm, which dashes in pieces the sprouting seed, and that which beats down the standing grain-both inflict upon the husbandman an equal injury. Or wish ye for an overwhelming attestation of his worth? Since my tenth year, since my father fell, I have wept upon no bier. My tears are flowing now. Yet even these, methinks, must force me to silence. The eye of a man may shed tears; but, shed in the sight of others, they disgrace it. Lament with me, whoe'er has lost a friend; lament, whoe'er has none to lose. And let him despise me as a braggart, him who in all Athens can still vaunt of possessing a Thrasyllus! Peace be with his ashes! And may the latest wanderer that shall ever linger by his tomb, exclaim no more than this: HE WAS BELOVED OF ALCIBIADES." And now to work round again to our Glycerium! One glimpse more of her destiny-and then you shall have a month to digest it. On the very evening of Thrasyllus's funeral, Alcibiades was surrounded by companions. The goblet and the song went round. A scholium that touched upon the frail tenure of life and its enjoyments occasioned a momentary pause of sad reflection, "Twelve days ago," said Anytus, "HE was still one of us. 'Tis possible that twelve days hence, our circle may be farther thinned." All echoed, with a sigh, "Very possible." Anyt. Son of Clinias, thou surpassest us in every thing: in health too thou wilt surpass us; and we are all, we trust, as dear to thee as Thrasyllus was. Should his lot be ours, thou wilt do us the same honour? All. O yes! O yes! thou wilt! Alc. (Laughing.) Have ye lost your senses? Or has death announced a visit to one and all of you, that ye are so greedy for funeral orations? Such a petition over the cup of joy! Anyt. Do thou grant it the more readily! A melancholy office it is -but still an office of friendship. We desist not till thou shalt promise us. All. We desist not! We desist not! Thy promise! Alc. Rather will I promise you another and a better service. I am an abler physician than Hippocrates. Ye shall live. You know that the largest of my properties, from lying on the other side of Athens, has escaped the Spartan inroads. For days-perhaps for months-let us hasten thither. There let us accumulate all that can make life delicious, care unknown, and danger forgotten. Our slaves, our girls, our very parasites shall follow us. Fear kills more than pestilence. It shall stay behind -with death and sickness-in the city. Landor sends Aspasia as far as a Thessalian farm. We are content to keep Alcibiades amid his Attic fields. He did not get even this length without some murmurs. "Does it become a patriot," cried Nicias, "to deprive the state, at such a moment, of so many valuable citizens?" "Truly that would not! But to preserve them for her-to take care that some admirers shall be left for the future exploits of a Nicias! The enviers of Alcibiades spread themselves among the people, striving to exasperate their anger. "Any other we should not have left unpunished for such wantonness. But, after all, it is Alcibiades !" He has been ruralizing for eight-and-twenty days. SCENE IV. The Banquet-room of a house in the country. ALCIBIADES. ANTIOCHUS. ANYTUS. GLAUCIAS. Mel. And though Timandra should look ten times as jealous-I will hand thee the cup, Alcibiades! Tim. (Mockingly.) How well they know me, who twit me with jealousy! especially jealousy of Alcibiades. By Juno, I should have enough to do. Had he no other love affair on hand, the rogue would flirt with his own shadow, Alc. Good! The cup here, Melissa, for a forfeit! Trust me, I'll mark the part of it your lips shall touch! TIMANDRA. MELISSA. Courage, my girl! down with itand then throw in one of the roses from thy bosom! Mel. Already in want of flowers?* Ale. Not yet exactly. But soon perhaps. Ant. A strange confession! That you should proclaim yourself a craven! Timandra, pay off Melissa for her malice! Tim. I only wish that I had more to pay. (Seizing the cup.) Call for a match to this, Antiochus. * As an antidote to drunkeness. All. Away with him! away with him! Slave. He affirms his news to be of the last importance. Alc. For that very reason let me hear no more of it to-day!-to-morrow, at the soonest! All. To-morrow! to-morrow! (Slave goes out, but speedily returns.) Slave. He entreats, in the most urgent manner, you will honour his letters with a single glance. Alc. His letters! how many has he of 'em? Slave. Three. Alc. Ho, ho! Three letters-and a single glance get through them! This must be a rare fellow. Glauc. I should have thought, for the sake of his rarity Alc. Thou'rt right! (To the Slave.) Let him come in, if he insists upon it. Messenger. (Entering.) Your pardon, sir, for breaking up your entertainment. Alc. That thou most assuredly shalt not. Thy letters, friend. (Takes them, and tears open the firstrunning over it with a hasty glance.) Poor girl!-Is it possible?-She makes my heart bleed. Tim. Who? Alc. One who will not make thine -Glycerium. She is at the point of death; wishes once more to see me, and to commend to me her son -and mine. Mel. Thou wilt not, surelyAlc. I will keep our covenant. Can I prolong her life? Is he she would commend to me, not sufficiently commended to me already, by the voice of nature? (He opens the second letter, and seems moved.) Xanthias-Cario-whichever of you can be spared, away with you-away to Phormio, my physician; he must instantly hasten to Dinomache; if he distrusts his own skill, let him call in Hippocrates-let him do every thing-double the attention he would show myself, were I his patient. Ant. Dinomache-thy mother-is she ill? Alc. Not dangerously; yet a son must be anxious where a stranger might remain indifferent. (To the Messenger.) Thou wast right; thy news is weighty, yet not enough to sever the bands of friendship. Athens shall not again behold me till-(while speaking he has opened the third letter; at once changes colour, and stops)—Great gods! Anyt. What ails thee? Alc. (In a tone of agony.) That a mortal should dream he has a will! Ant. How meanst thou? Alc. So, then, severed it is-our joyous circle! I must away from this retreat to pestilential Athensaway before I wished it! (He dashes the wine cup, that stands full before him, on the floor, and starts up.) Run out on earth, and be a welcome libation to the Furies; I drink thee not. Slaves, saddle my horses as nimbly as ye can; and the swiftest for me! Within five minutes I must mount. Anyt. What has happened, then, so sudden-so momentous? Alc. He too is sick. Alc. That you should need to ask! HE-the only man that could draw me to Athens-whose danger dissipates my fumes of drunken joy.— Pericles! All. (Shocked, with the exception of Anytus.) Pericles! He ill! Anyt. (Coldly.) As if Pericles were immortal, or exalted above accident and sickness! 'Tis bad, no doubt, for Athens, should he die; but yet I cannot comprehend why you, Alcibiades-you, whom the tidings of your mother's illness left composed, at the first hint of this Alc. (Hastily interrupting him.) 0, ten mothers, although I loved them ten times as much, weigh not a single Pericles. Whom should I love like him, my second father? Not father by the chance of blood!-O no! by choice and worth-by culture and instruction! (To one of the slaves.) Quick, there, with the horses! Never, never was my presence more needful in Athens. Anyt. (With a cunning look.) Ha, ha! Now I understand. No doubt, if Pericles should die, many good reasons of state might make your being on the spot, and profiting by the opportunity Alc. (With a disdainful air.) Speak not aloud what thou shouldst not even image in thy brain. Nothing but thy frivolity and insignificance could induce me to forgive such a suspicion. To measure another by oneself is always foolish-never so foolish as for thee, whose petty soul can form no standard for humanity. (To one of the slaves, coming in.) Are the horses ready? Slave. Yes, sir. Alc. Adieu, then, my friends! finish your repast in joy! Be masters in my house! I will fly to the sickbed of my father, as if I rode the wings of thought. (Rushes out.) The sick-bed of Pericles !-'tis a tempting subject; but we leave it to the pencil of Landor. Our eyes must revert to the scene just closed. Glycerium at the point of death! Maid-mistress-mother-desertedplague-struck-breathing her last sigh! and all within so brief an interval! Young beauty, lay the lesson to thy heart! For thy sake our homily was written-we will match it with any first, second, third, and to conclude that ever was delivered. Nothing, we think, could surpass it in unction and impressiveness, except -an annular eclipse. With that we would beg to decline comparison. Heaven forbid, that the issue of mortal pen or mouth should seek to stand against the writing of God's finger on the skies! We rejoice, with a chastened joy, to have beheld that great phenomenon. What a deep, expectant hush-what a soul-felt chill, came over the creation! How mutely, yet how audibly, did that darkened firmament-did Nature, with that solemn brow, proclaim a present Deity! Here and there a planetary witness peeped sparkling through the grey obscure. Then did the startled Tatar, on his boundless wastes, gaze wildly at the justling luminaries, and fancy a sign of fated woes-then did the proud sceptic, rich in all knowledge but the best, admire the prescient energies of human intellect-then did the Christian philosopher, with glad humility, adore the steadfast order of government divine-and then, too, did certain be-gowned and be-banded individuals anathematize as the servants of Satan all who should prefer, for once in a century, the text of the MAKER to the annotation of his creatures! Now, for our part, seeing that the eclipse could scarcely be postponed-having been appointed for a particular hour six thousand years ago-we think the better course, in all places, would have been to postpone the sermon. But if there were assemblages of reasonable beings who made a different choice, much good may it have done them!-that's all. ISAAC CHEEK; THE MAN OF WAX." "BRIGHT was the sun, and clear that morning," when Isaac Cheek for the first time stood in the parlour of Mr Cox. In one hand he held a letter of introduction-in the other, a white hat, or, as we incline to be lieve, originally a black one, become white with reverend old age. Isaac stood in a most advantageous posture, his legs being adroitly disposed to hide an ignominious patch in trowsers evidently made for the wearer ere he had attained his full growth. His coat was not so much buttoned, as hauled, up to the chin, with no relief of linen, no manipulated flax to turn forth "its silver lining" on the beholder. "Mr Cox will be with you directly," said Sarah. "Sir" was at the tip of her tongue, but a sudden glance at the visitor from head to heel made her withhold the superfluity. Mr Cox entered the room, and seeing a biped standing reverently on the carpet, benevolently coughed to give the poor man courage, and then held forth his hand to receive the missive. Isaac, essaying a smile, trod as though he walked upon lamb's wool, and then timidly placed the letter in the hand of Cox, who, as he took it, twitched his face as though he had received a stingingnettle. He opened the paper with the tips of his fingers,-and, his nose slightly curled as if he feared the plague from the contents, declined his rigid lids upon the writing. He read aloud: My dear Cox,-The bearer of this is really a very clever fellow. Don't judge him by his husk, which you will at once perceive to be not very promising. If you can employ him in any way, do; for I can assure you, though outwardly a shabby dog, he is, take him altogether, a thorough going chap-in truth, a man of wax. Yours truly. "JOHN ROBINSON." As Cox delivered these contentsand he trolled them over the tongue very sonorously-Isaac Cheek, with VOL. XL. NO. CCXLIX. the air of conscious worth, passed his hand around his hat, in an ostentatious but vain attempt to smooth the beaver-and when Cox repeated,-which with fine sensibility he thrice did-" a shabby dog,” Isaac pulled up the collar of his coat to repel the insinuation. "And pray, sir, what can you do?" Isaac had not dined for the last three days; he was therefore fully justified in saying-"Any thing, sir." -No-never since the invention of speech, did man put more bowels into an answer. "Umph!-ha!-well-just now, I happen to want a-a secretary," observed Cox, dropping himself into an easy chair. Isaac smiled from ear to ear; and, forgetting the patch, drew himself erect, and placed his hand upon his breast. "Were you ever in Persia ?" asked Cox. Isaac paused to recollect whether he ever had been at Ispahan. "Not yet," he at length modestly replied. "Do you know any thing of chemistry?" Again Isaac smiled a terrible gash in his face; and hoping that the gesture might be translated to his advantage, was silent. "Very well: and, of course, you keep accounts?" Isaac smiled for the third time. "And you can transact foreign correspondence? Isaac smiled, but very weakly. "German, French, Italian, a trifle of Dutch, and if you have a seasoning of Russian, why-why, all the better." Isaac bowed in acquiescence to that opinion. "For the truth is," said Cox, negligently, "I have a great deal to do with many crowned heads. Indeed, pretty nearly all of them bave, in their time, passed through my hands!" ་ Isaac felt himself dilate, sublimed with respect. "As for salary, Mr ; by the way, what is your name?" "Cheek, sir-Cheek," and Isaac D |