and limpid than the water of this spring. It stains not the rocks over which it passes, nor does it produce either weeds or mud. But what is very extraordinary, though so beautiful to the eye, it is harsh to the taste, crude, heavy, and not easily digested. It is excellent, however, for tanning and dying; and is said to promote the growth of a plant which fattens oxen and hatches chickens. Strabo and Pliny, the naturalist, speak of this peculiarity.

In the ordinary state of the fountain, the water falls away through some cavities under the rocks, and afterwards returns to the day, and commences its course as a river. But during the swell, about the

spring equinox, and sometimes also after heavy rains, there is an astonishing accumulation.

The waters roll on with a lofty head to the opening of the cavern, and are precipitated along the rocks with the noise of thunder. The tumult, however, soon ceases; the waters are peaceably received into a deep and commodious channel, and form a most delightful river, navigable to its very source. This river is, in its progress, divided into various branches, waters many parts of Provence, receives several other streams, reunites its branches, and falls into the Rhone near Avignon.

SEE MRS. DOBSON'S PETRARCH.

THE

BEAUTIES OF VIRGIL'S GEORGICS.

Concluded.

SCYTHIAN WINTER SCENE.

There stalls enclose the herds that never stray,
No
grass the field, no leaves the wood array,
But earth lies hid by ridgy drifts opprest,
And snow, sev'n ells in height, deforms her breast.
There blasts that freeze, there winter, ever dwells:
There never sun the pallid shade dispels :
Whether his fiery steeds high heav'n ascend,
Or westering to the wave his chariot bend.

Prone floods suspended in mid course congeal, Fix'd ocean rattles to the iron wheel,

Where tossing vessels cross'd the billowy main, O'er the smooth ice swift glides the loaded wain; Brass snaps in sunder, and th' infolding vest Hardens like mail, and stiffens on the breast, Down to their depths ice binds the solid lakes, And hatchets cleave the wine in frozen flakes; The icicle there hard'ning in the air,

Bristles the uncomb'd beard, and matted hair. Meanwhile o'er all the air snows swell on snows, And the large limbs of stateliest bulls enclose; Numb'd with new weight, and prest in droves, the deer

Scarce o'er the mass their topmost antlers rear; Nor toils their flight impede, nor hounds o'ertake, Nor plumes of purple dye their fears awake; But while in vain, beneath the load opprest, They heave the mount that gathers on their breast,

Them, front to front, at will the murderers slay, Shout to their groan, and bear the spoil away. Beneath the earth in deep-sunk caves confin'd, The hordes in careless indolence reclin'd,

With oaks on oaks their high-pil'd fires upraise,
And roll whole elms to feed th' undying blaze,
To sports and games the live-long night resign,
And with harsh service* mock the generous vine.
Thus live the untam'd hordes, where o'er them roll
The stars that wheel around the northern pole,
And shivering in the bleak Riphæan blast,
The tawny hide around their bodies cast.

THE BATTLE OF THE BEES.

But if contending factions arm the hive,
When rival kings in doubtful battle strive,
Tumultuous crowds the dread event prepare,
And palpitating hearts that beat to war;
Deep brazen peals the lingering crowds excite,
And harsh the voice like trumpets hoarse in fight.
Onward they troop, and, brandishing their wings,
Fit their fierce claws, and point their poison'd
stings;

* Beer, cider, perry, and fermented liquors made of services.