wards Eleusis, filled with curiosity to examine the vestiges of the Eleusinian temple, and along a tract of land where every footstep excites the most affecting recollections. By every ancient well, and upon every tomb at which the traveller is induced to halt, and to view the noble objects by which he is surrounded, a crowd of interesting events rush into his mind, and so completely occupy it, that even fatigue and fever, from which he is seldom free, are for a moment forgotten. Arriving upon the site of the city of Eleusis, we found the plain covered with ruins. The first thing we noticed was an aqueduct, part of which remained entire. It conducted towards the Acropolis by the temple of Ceres. The remains of this temple are more conspicuous than those of any other structure, except the aqueduct. The paved road which led to it is also visible, and the pavement of the temple yet remains. But to heighten the interest with which we regarded the mysteries of the Eleusinian fane, and to fulfil the sanguine expectations we had formed, the fragment of a colossal statue, mentioned by many authors as that of the goddess herself, appeared in colossal majesty, among the mouldering vestiges of her once splendid sanctuary. We found it exactly as it had been described to us, on the road-side, immediately

before entering the village, and in the midst of a heap of dung, buried as high as the neck. Yet even this degrading situation had not been assigned to it wholly independent of its ancient history. The inhabitants of the small village which is now situated among the ruins of Eleusis, still regarded this statue with a very high degree of superstitious veneration. They attributed to its presence the fertility of their land, and it was for this reason that they heaped around it the manure intended for their fields. They believed that the loss of it would be followed by the failure of their annual harvests; and they pointed to the ears of bearded wheat, among the sculptured ornaments of the head of the figure, as a never-failing indication of the produce of the soil.

"The statue, consisting of the white marble of Pentilicus, which also afforded the materials of the temple, bears evident marks of the best age of the Grecian sculpture; but it is in a very ruined state. In the calathus, which yet remains as an ornament of the head, the sculpture, though much injured, is still fine; and that it was originally finished with the greatest elegance and labour is evident, because, in the foliage of a small chaplet which surrounds the whole, a small poppy is represented upon every

When the spring came forth in her May-day mood, Methought 'twas a beautiful sight to see,

'Mid the bursting buds by the zephyr wooed, The green leafy sprays of the wild-briar tree.

When the sunbeams shone with a warmer glow,
And the honied bells were sipped by the bee,
Could the woodlands a lovelier garland show,

Than the wreath that hung on the wild-briar tree.

But the hours speed on; and Time, as he flies,

Over the valleys breathes witheringly;

And the fairest chaplet of summer dies,

And blossomless now is the wild-briar tree;

The strong have bowed down, the beauteous are dead; The blast through the forest sighs mournfully;

And bared is full many a lofty head;

But there's fruit on the lowly wild-briar tree.

It has cheered yon bird, that, with with gentle swell, Sings, "What are the gaudy flowers to me?

For here will I build my nest, and dwell

By the simple, faithful, wild-briar tree."

Veronica chamadrys. Wild Germander.

Bunches lateral.

Germander Speedwell.

Diandria Monogynia.

Leaves egg-shaped, sitting, wrinkled,

toothed. Stem with two opposite rows of hairs.

Bunches frequently opposite. Blossom a fine blue.-Withering.

ANECDOTE OF ROUSSEAU.

SCHIMMELPENNINCK

THE philosopher of Geneva, during his earliest and happiest years, was one day walking with a beloved friend. It was summer: the evening was calm and delightful. The sun was just setting behind the double tower of the church; its broad beams spread their attempered fires in one vast sheet over the clear expanse of the lake; and the painted skiffs that glanced over the transparent water were tipped with vivid light. They sat on a soft, mossy bank, and enjoyed the gay prospect. At their feet was a bright tuft of speedwell. Rousseau's

"Theory of Beauty and Deformity."

D

friend pointed out to him the little pretty flower, the Veronica chamadrys, as wearing the same expression of cheerfulness and innocency as the scene before them. No more was said. Thirty years elapsed. Care-worn, persecuted, and disappointed, known to fame but not to peace, Rousseau again visited Geneva. It happened that he one evening passed by the very same spot. The scene was just the same. The sun shone as brightly as before; the birds sung as cheerfully, and rose as merrily on the soft summer air; and the glittering boats skimmed the still surface of the lake as rapidly. But the house where he had spent so many happy hours was levelled with the ground. His kind friend had long slept in the grave. The generation of villagers who had partaken the bounty of the same beneficent hand were passed away, and none remained to point out the green sod where that benefactor lay.

He walked on pensively. The same bank, tufted with the same knot of bright-eyed speedwell, caught his eye. He turned away and wept bitterly.