ror, that Nature could ever have bestowed upon it, was cleared away by the command of Augustus, and when a numerous fleet was daily exercising upon its pestilential waters. To us, undoubtedly, one of the great charms of the Eneid is a kind of belief in its superstition and divine machinery; if not an actual belief, at least a persuasion, that the age and people to whom it was addressed, looked upon its fictions with credulity and awe. But to see Avernus and Baiæ side by side, and to call to mind the fashionable scepticism of the Augustan age, we must conclude that the glowing pictures of heathenism, that warm even us moderns into momentary belief, were merely calculated to please the taste and flatter the pride of the ancient sceptic, by celebrating the race which he sprang from, and the chosen spot where he resided. The vulgar may have had credulity enough to enjoy the horrors and the beauties of Virgil's Hell; but books in those days, above all, the Eneid, was not written for them. And the philosopher who spent his summer months of leisure and merry-making on the brink of Avernus, must have looked upon the poem as little more than an elegant and cold allegory.

But any more than a simple account of these interesting spots would be impertinent on so beaten a theme as the Eneid and its author.

THE SKELETON DANCE. A BALLAD.

THE anthem is chaunting-the priests kneel around—
No unlistening ear in the village is found,

The loud-swelling chorus flies upward to heaven,
To the organ's full peal a fresh volume is given-
The day is now waning-declining the suu,
And the Lord's-day bless'd matins are over and done.
A troop of young villagers outward are pressing,
All greeting, and laughing, and joyful caressing.
Young Roger de Tracy and Ralph Boranville,
Robert Wivell was there, and the young Amourduile.
All gay-blooded Normans-in tourney or court
Could none match the youths of fair Rix-à-la-Port.
The moon she shone mildly, the stars twinkled bright,
And flooded the Chapel with silvery light-

The spires and gravestones look'd gay; and the trees
Seem'd tipped with fair splendour, and waved in the breeze;
And out rush'd the band of the villagers gay

As the last anthem-peal was dying away.

"Ho! ho!" cried young Roger,

a night such as this
Is sacred to lovers and kisses and bliss-
What say'st, sweet Sibylla? what, comrades? what, ho!
Shall we creep to our couches demurely and slow?
Let us hail yon fair goddess-ay now, ere we rest-
Let us hail her with revel, with dance, and with jest."
Then loud laugh'd his comrades, and shouted assent,
"Let us to the Green;" but now, as they went,
The holy monk Francis besought them to stay,
"Oh! sin not," he cried, "oh! think on the day—
Oh! think that God hallow'd this day out of seven-
Oh! think that to pleasure six days hath he given!"

Away with thy priestcraft," cried Roger with scorn, "We will dance, we will jest, we will revel till morn! Nay, to punish thy pride, and throw shame on thy face, Instead of the Green, we will dance in this place! Over the gravestones and over the dead!"— "Ay, ay," all his revelling company said.

All but one-and he was the young Amourduile;
The rest of the band could not hear-could not feel.
"Dear Matilda," cried he, " oh! quit, love, this place!"
But she jeer'd at his fears, and laugh'd in his face,
"Go, coward," she said,
go pray if you will,
Give me dance and high revel the sunbeams until.”
And now each brave youth has a fair partner led
To dance o'er the gravestones and over the dead;
And loud shouted Roger, and Sibyl laugh'd high,
As over the tombs and the flesh-grass they fly.
And holy St. Francis went mutt'ring away,

Ay-dance on for ever-for ever, for aye!"

Then revell'd they on, and the moon she shone bright,
And still they dance on, as departed the night;
And then fathers and mothers and elders so grey
Pray'd in vain that they'd stop, in vain that they'd stay.
They laugh'd at their fathers, they jeer'd at the grey,
And all went with jokes or profaneness away.

Still they danced-still they danced, but now nothing said!
As they rush'd o'er the gravestones and over the dead.
No laughter's now heard-no revel—no jeer-
They seem'd not to see, or to feel, or to hear!

The maidens look'd pale, and no cheek there was red,
As they flew o'er the gravestones and over the dead.
The morning-blush now had just dappled the sky,
Still o'er the churchyard-ah! fastly they fly!
The villagers gazed on the horrible band,

And speechless-and motionless-spiritless stand.
Some pray-some lament-some weep, and some kneel,
When rush'd from the village the young Amourduile.
"Matilda! Matilda, oh! stop thee," he cried;
"Oh! quit soon this horrible motion, my bride."
She stopp'd not a moment, and nothing she said,
But flew o'er the gravestones and over the dead;
And on rush'd the band with the swiftness of light,
And whirl'd round and round in the villager's sight.

In

young Amourduile rush'd-the band soon came round,
He flew to Matilda, and caught her fast round.
She was icy-his blood thrill'd-but still he held fast,
And on rush'd the horrible company past,

And on swept Matilda-with fright and alarm
He found he clasp'd still but a skeleton-arm!
Then vanish'd the band-though that night every year
Their dance you may see-their shrieks you may hear-
There lash'd by fierce spirits, they sweep on till
Who treated God's day and his servants with scorn.
There the Skeleton Dance may be seen, it is said,
Dance over the tombstones and over the dead,

morn,

L.

A FEW THOUGHTS ON SMALL-TALK.

THE Science of small-talking is as valuable as it is difficult to be acquired. I never had the least aptitude for it myself, yet Heaven knows the labour I have bestowed in order to master it. It is not that I have nothing to say; but when I am in company a sort of spell seems to hang over me, and I feel like some fat sleeper who has a vision of thieves, and dreams that he cannot call out for assistance. It is in vain that I observe others, and endeavour to imitate them; a shallow-headed chatterer will make himself agreeable in society, while I sit by in silence. I have taken very considerable pains in my time to observe the various kinds of small-talk, with a view of turning my knowledge to some account; but, though the scheme has totally failed in my own person, a few remarks upon the subject may not be useless to others.

I hold it to be an incontrovertible truth, that every subject is to be best treated of distributivè, under proper divisions and subdivisions. In pursuance of this plan, I shall distribute all small-talk into two species, I. General small-talk; II. Special, or professional small-talk. The former class includes the small-talk which we hear in mixed society, where men and women, young and old, wise and foolish, are all mingled together. In the latter division I would include the small-talk of persons of the same profession or mode of life, as between two apothecaries, two dissenters, two lawyers, two beggars, two reviewers, two butchers, two statesmen, two thieves, &c. &c. &c.; in short, all conversa. tions which are tinctured with the art, craft, mystery, occupation, or habits of the interlocutors.

And, first, of General Small-talk. However simple the art of general small-talking may seem, and however plain and intelligible the topics may be upon which it is employed; yet, in fact, it is more difficult than the special kind. The materials out of which it is formed are few in number, and easily accessible. The following is a pretty complete assortment. The weather-the health of your friends-the funds-any accidents which have happened to any of your acquaintances, such as deaths or marriages-the King-Bonaparte-Lord Byron-the cheapness of meat-any watering-place-the corn-bill-the author of Waverleyand the theatre. These are the coin that will pass current in any society. Thus, in a morning call, if two strangers happen to be left together, how agreeably they may pass the time in enlarging upon the above topics. "A very hot day, Sir!" "Yes, indeed, Sir; my thermometer stood 80 in the shade. Pray, Sir, are you related to the Rev. Jeremiah Jollison? I hope he is well."-"I am his brother, Sir: he died two years ago." "God bless me! but it's more than two years since I saw him. Pray, Sir, what do you think of Spanish bonds?" &c. &c. Such is the conversation you generally hear after dinner (before dinner there is none), in stage-coaches, at hotels, and at watering-places. It is most suitable for adults. The grand difficulty in this kind of smalltalk is to discover any subject; for as I imagine it to be a metaphysical truth, that the mind cannot, ex mero motu suo, call up any subject it pleases, the dialogue must necessarily depend on the power of association in the brain of the individuals who maintain it. It requires great presence of mind to call up a sufficient number of topics to meet a sudden emergency. Thus, when you meet a friend in the street, who, in

spite of your attempts to pass him with a nod, will stop and speak to you, how awkward is it to have nothing to say! This happens to me continually. When you have shaken hands, and the one has said, "A fine day," and the other, "Yes, very," you stand for a few moments gazing with a vacant sort of look upon one another, shake hands again, and part. part. The same accident sometimes happens in morning calls. After having exhausted all the common-places of civility, you feel yourself suddenly run on shore. It is in vain you attempt to think of some subject of discourse; the longer you search, the further you are from it; except the conviction that you can find nothing to talk about, your mind is a tabula rasa. Your guest at last rises, and puts you out of

your agony.

There are some people, however, who have a genius for small-talk. Their stock seems boundless. It is no matter where, or with whom, or upon what, they are talking; still it flows on and on " in one weak washy, everlasting flood." It is a great infliction to be the only person in company with these inveterate small-talkers. Their discourse

makes one's head ache. It is like the perpetual dropping of water upon the crown of one's pericranium. To me, however, such people, if their conversation is not addressed to me, are a great relief. They save me the trouble of attempting to talk, and the mortification of a failure.

Every one must have occasionally experienced the up-hill, heartbreaking labour of talking to an impenetrable person. "Well, what sort of a day had you?" said I, to a lively friend of mine. "Oh! my dear Peter," said he, "I had the ill luck to be seated at dinner next to the dreariest young lady you ever did not talk with. She seemed to be afraid lest, if she opened her mouth, jewels and roses would fall from it, and she should lose them. I did do all that might become a man.' I tried her with Lord Byron-I tried her with Moore-I tried her with the theatre-I tried her with Walter Scott-I tried her with the Park-I tried her with Albert-with Noblet-with Mrs. Hannah More -with the tread-wheel-the frost--quadrilles-lancers-Sir Charles Grandison, and Spanish boleros."-"Ah! but, my dear friend," said I, "did you try her with dress? Did you tell her of the Valenciennes lace which you brought over the other day in the collar of your coat? I see where your mistake lay. Instead of talking to her of books, you should have talked of book-muslin. You should have discoursed of milliners instead of authors, of flounces instead of poems."-You occasionally meet with the same sort of people in stage-coaches." Beautiful country this we are travelling through, Sir?" Yes, Sir."-" Fine cattle this stage, Sir." "Yes, Sir."—" Did you get any sleep in the night, Sir?' No, Sir."-"Did you see the papers before we set off, Sir?" "No, Sir!" and so the conversation terminates.

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II. Of Special Small-talk: and, first, of such as is purely professional. Under this head I include the conversation of persons who are of the same profession or occupation, and who therefore speak a kind of language peculiar to their craft, and frequently unintelligible to the rest of the world. Physicians, lawyers, and merchants, may be taken as examples.

There is something particularly piquant in the small-talk of gentlemen of the medical profession. I well recollect the conversation of two young surgeons, who were sitting in the next box to me in a coffee-house near

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Great Marlborough-street. "Oh, by the by, Jenkins, I got the finest subject yesterday you ever saw."- Ay! where did you get it?""From France, to be sure, and never saw a fellow so neatly packed; by Jove, he was as round as a ball."-" What was the damage?". Oh, the fellow who sent him me, said if I would send him back the hamper full of beef, he should be satisfied; so I sent him a trifle.""Have you any part to spare? (Waiter, another chop)."– Why, you may have a limb reasonable."- "Well, then, next week; but just at present I have got a very pretty small subject."-" What did you give?"-" Two shillings an inch, but the cursed fellow had pulled the child's neck almost out of joint, to make it an inch longer. But didn't I tell you of the fun we had at Br- -'s? You know we had that fellow who was hanged on Wednesday for murdering his grandmother. Well, he was devilishly ill hanged, and so we thought we'd galvanize him. We got the battery ready (you know it's a pretty strong one), and, as soon as ever it was applied, the fellow--(but won't you have some more porter? (Waiter, another pint of port!) the fellow lifted up his brawny arm and threw it twice across his breast. The pupils were all delighted, but our Irishman O'Reilly-you know O'Reilly, who nearly got into a scrape with cracking the crown of the sexton at St. Pancras O'Reilly, who was standing by with a stout board in his hand, no sooner saw this motion, than, not quite understanding the affair, and fearing that the fellow was actually coming to life again, he caught him a thwack on the side of the head, which made the cerebellum ring again. Is it he's going to walk?' cried Paddy-thwack— ' and shall justice be defated?'--thwack--' and shall I be chated out of my shaving money?*-thwack-'By Jasus I've floored him!'-"Capital!" cried Jenkins, "I wish I had been there. But have you heard of Astley Cooper's operation?"—" No, what was it?"-"Why, he whipped off a child's leg in thirty-eight seconds and a half; the child didn't know what he was about, and only asked what was tickling it so.""Clever that, by Jove. Do you hear who is likely to get St. Thomas's?""Why, some say Dr. A. and some say Dr. B. I know B.'s friends have subscribed for thirty new governors. Have you seen the new tourniquet?"—"No, but I'm told it's clever; what do you think of the Моха?"- "A deal of humbug."-" Have you a small skull?". "Yes, I've two."—" Will you lend me one?"-"Oh, certainly."-" By the by, where do you get your knives from?"- "From Millikin's." And your books?"—"I always go to Callow's."-" By the by, (whiff, whiff,) I think you hav'nt changed your dissecting coat, have you?"-" Hush, hush! the people about you will hear-they all think now that it's the woodcock, a little too gamy in the next box."-This was quite sufficient for me: I had been for some time aware of a strange odour, but I had laid it to the account of the woodcock. No sooner, however, did I discover the true origin of it, than, throwing down my money and seizing my hat, I hastily sought the open air.

I was once a good deal amused with hearing the chit-chat of two young gentlemen of the long robe. You must know, sir, that I had a sort of cousin seven times removed, who used to reside in a court in

* I have since discovered that the Surgeon receives a crown for shaving and dressing a subject previous to dissection.