Beside the streams which irrigate the subterranean regions of Rome, we know by the concurrent testimony of all antiquity, that many parts of the exterior surface which are now united by dry land were originally covered with large bodies of water. The valley between the Palatine and Aventine was filled by a spacious pool, known among the early Romans as the Velabrum, and which was crossed as the Tiber now is, by a ferry. Propertius even goes so far as to represent the boatmen as employing a sail in the passage: in this, however, he may justly be suspected of a poetic exaggeration. A portion of this pool, which extended around the base of the Palatine to the Capitol, was distinguished from the main body by the epithet of the 'lesser Velabro,' a name which it in part retains to the present day, although every trace of its primitive state has long since disappeared. It was chiefly for the draining of these bodies of water that the Cloacca Maxima was constructed, and more than one of their original subterranean tributaries still flow through this same passage to the river.

In the Forum there was a pool celebrated in the early annals of the city as the 'Lago Curzio,' and which, though but a branch of the lesser Velabro, has given rise to various conjectures and much learned disquisition. Nor has the position and history of the 'Lago Caprea,' the scene of the death or disappearance of Romulus, been agitated with less ardor. And difficult as it is to ascertain with precision the location of objects of which every vestige has been effaced, the mass of citation and reasoning is sufficient to show that it must have covered that part of the plain which lies between St. Andrea della Valle and the river.

To complete this picture of primitive Rome, you must fancy every hill as covered with thick grown woods, and here and there along their rocky declivities some cavern looking gloomily forth from a shroud of dark shrubbery and trailing vines. The fable of Cacus is familiar to every reader of Virgil, and tradition still points you out his cave at the base of the Aventine. A spacious grove of oaks crowned the Capitoline and Cœlian; laurels and myrtles were interwoven in dark masses upon the summit of the Aventine; the beech, that favorite of Latin pastoral, spread its broad shade over the Esquiline; and even the least credulous etymologists will acknowledge the correctness of the interpretation which traces to its willow groves the origin of the name of the Viminal. Religious associations, which have never yet been satisfactorily explained, imparted to these groves a character of sanctity which in part secured their preservation long after every other portion of the city had lost all traces of its original aspect under the busy hand of man. They were the favored haunts of the Dryads and Guino, and Diana herself loved the freshness of their cool retreats. Beautiful must they have seemed amid the temples and palaces of the imperial city, relieving the sombre majesty of their massive walls, and extending a grateful shade over their squares and fountains. Some traces of them still remain in the vicinity of the city, if not enough to shelter you, as in the days of their prime, yet showing how gracefully they followed the windings of the valleys, and with what a garland-like verdure they encircled the brows of the hills. But the same causes which had been their protection during the reign of paganism, proved fatal upon the

public adoption of christianity, and it is generally believed that but few remained to share in the desolation of the middle ages.

Rome, 49 Via del Quirinale,

June 20, 1841.

G. W. G.

THE best work upon the Geology of Rome is Brocchi's treatise 'Dello Stato Fisico del Molo di Roma.' It is accompanied by an admirable geognostic map. It may perhaps be fair to state that BREISLAK supposes Rome itself to have been the seat of a volcano. I have adopted the more propable opinion of BROCCHI.

And we have kept our promise, Kate,
In spite of youth's decaying,

While Time with other's fortunes hath
All sorts of freaks been playing;
Nor has it left us changeless, Kate!
Mine eye has lost its brightness,
And your once graceful form hath not
Its former fairy lightness.

For twenty years will make, dear Kate!
In maiden beauty, changes;

And many a head it layeth low,
And many a heart estranges:
Full forty years are on your brow,
And some few more on mine,
Where shining threads of silver gray
Begin with brown to twine.

And we are spinsters both, dear Kate!
Yet happy ones, I trow;

There's many a wedded wife I know
Who wears a sadder brow:

And blessings on your birth-day, Kate!
And blessings on your lot;

You 're blest indeed with loving friends,
For oh! who loves you not!

And far off be the day, dear Kate!

When one of us lies low;

And one is left behind to mourn,

And strive alone with wo.

We've lived in love, while twenty years
Have flown full swiftly past;

And when the parting summons comes
May I not be the last!

Allany, September, 1841.

ANNE RIVERS.

THE DAY-DREAM OF A GROCER.

BY HARRY FRANCO.

A-BUBBLE, a-bubble, a-bubble, rubble, rubble, rubble, ubble, ubble, ubble, ble, ble, and a half, and a half, and a half, alf, alf, alf, f-f-f-f, and a half; did you say a half?—will you say a half? I mean to give you the wines, gentlemen; I mean to do it; I will give you the wines; a half it is; thank you, Isaac; I must have my commissions, gentlemen; I must have 'em: thank you, Isaac-jolly old soul! Isaac bids twelve; a-rubble, a-rubble, a-rubble, and a half; go it strong, Isaac! go it strong, I say; and a half, and a half, and a half, alf, af, af, af, f-f-f-f; won't you give any more? won't you? nor you? Then I must give it to Isaac at twelve and a half; put it down to Isaac at twelve and a half.'

These were the identical words that came rattling from the throat of the rich and portly Walter Windmill, Esquire, the auctioneer. Every body is a squire in these days, but above every body else rich auctioneers. Mr. Windmill was a Falstaff in his profession; he had enormous jowls, the most comical crispy hair conceivable, and a pair of the funniest hazle eyes that ever an auctioneer was blessed with; but they were entirely useless to him without the aid of a pair of gold-mounted spectacles, and even with this aid the owner of them could not distinguish a hawk from a hand-saw at any respectable distance. The occasion on which the emphatic words above recorded were uttered was a sale of wines, by catalogue and sample; and the gentleman whose name was repeated with such unction by Mr. Windmill was ISAAC DEMIJOHN, Esquire, a rich old grocer of Coenties Slip, who had breathed the atmosphere of that favored spot ever since he came into this breathing world. Isaac was very rich, rich enough, every body thought but himself, and he enjoyed all the honors that belong to that happy condition. Nobody, at least no poor body, ever had the audacity to call in question the correctness of his opinion. All his sayings had an orphic tendency; and his jokes were always sure to command an explosion of mirth. This is one of the choicest blessings that wealth can bestow; to know that your wit will be appreciated by discerning listeners, and that should you chance, through forgetfulness, to tell a funny story a second or third time, your auditor will kindly receive it as though he had never heard it before. Isaac's sons were the greatest rakes about town, and gave unquestionable evidence of ending their lives in ant alms-house his daughters too, having been stinted in their education, because their father was determined upon dying a rich man, were idle, extravagant, and silly, and much sought after too. If one had a desire to be completely wretched, he could not attain his object more surely than by taking one of the Misses Demijohn to wife; and yet many young gentlemen whose sole pursuit was happiness, paid them the most

assiduous attentions, with the hope of winning their favor. Such are some of the blessings attached to riches.

Isaac was a first-rate judge of liquors. You would have thought he held the destiny of all the states and territories in his hand, if you could have seen with what profound deliberation he drew his proof-glass from the bung-hole of a brandy-pipe and applied it to his plethoric lips; and then with what a solemn shake of his head he intimated a forthcoming veto on the quality of the liquor. You would have sworn that nothing short of a constitutional scruple or a Virginia abstraction could induce such a mighty caution. But Isaac never troubled his head with such unprofitable articles as abstract ideas: the main question with him was which of two brands would bear the most mixing; whether Pellevoisin' or A. Seignette' would take the greatest quantity of pure spirits without losing its flavor. This was an important point to decide; and the deliberation with which Isaac considered the subject was undoubted proof of his sincerity. He had scruples, beyond a question, conscientious scruples too; for Isaac was a communicant in a fashionable Dutch church, and he had frequently been called upon to hand round the plate for missionary purposes. As the flavor of good wine will remain in the cask long after its contents have been emptied, so will an odor of sanctity hang about a man engaged in such pious pursuits, even when employed about mere worldly matters. And no one who saw Isaac deliberating over a pipe of brandy or a hogshead of molasses, and knew what a lively interest he took in the welfare of the heathen, could doubt that he had the good of souls at heart.

The day on which we introduced him to the notice of the reader he had been engaged in tasting, smelling, and comparing an unusually long catalogue of choice wines; and he no sooner seated himself on one of the wooden benches in Mr. Windmill's auction-room, than a heavy drowsiness came over him, which he tried in vain to shake off. Let him change his position as he might, or open his eyes ever so wide, he could not resist the disposition to slumber which overpowered him. Sleep seemed to rain its influence upon him; and in spite of his anxiety to bid, he was forced to yield to its resistless but gentle power, and be borne off to the Land of Nod like a manacled slave. There he sat with his catalogue and pencil in hand, his back against the wall, and his head kept upright by his fat double chin, unable to move or speak a word. His spirit had passed away from the spot in which his body was located, and while all around were conscious of his corporeal presence, he was not himself conscious of any thing that was passing near him. In all save appearance he was like a skeleton at an Egyptian feast. He had purposely placed himself in a corner where no one but the auctioneer could see his motions; for he knew that when younger grocers saw him bid upon a particular lot, they would try to out-bid him, to show their superior judgment to the rest of the world. And there he sat, every now and then nodding at the auctioneer, whose imperfect vision did not allow him to discover that Isaac was stuck fast in an apoplectic slumber; so he took all his nods for bids, and knocked down to him some terrible hard bargains, that would have ruined the credit of a younger grocer.

Who would have guessed that the soul which inhabited that happylooking corporation was then undergoing a probationary residence with the troubled spirits in Tophet? So little of an index to the mind are the outward developements of the person. Although Isaac was asleep in the auction-room, he was wide awake in another place. Though he was deaf to the winning voice of Mr. Windmill, he could not shut the ears of his soul to a terrible voice that none heard but himself.

Lord! what an uncomfortable position a man is in when left alone tête-à-tête with his conscience! But if it is terrible in a day-dream, with the blessed light of day shining full upon you, and many voices chattering around you, what must it be when one is lying with the cold earth upon his breast, and dismal night-winds howling around his solitary biding-place! It is too fearful for thought; and so it appeared to Isaac Demijohn, Esq., while like a guilty coward he tried to shun his accuser, but dared not offer a word in his own defence. Rich as he was, Mr. Demijohn would have given all he was worth if some kind hand had but touched him and delivered him from his troublesome condition. But no one discovered that he was asleep, or a dozen hands would instantly have been raised for his rescue; and the auctioneer rattled away with his lubble, a-lubble, a-lubble, a-lubble, and a half, and a half, and a half, af, af, af, as other men in other places will rattle away at their various employments, wholly regardless and careless of the sufferings and griefs of those around them.

But what could possibly disturb so respectable a person as Isaac Demijohn, Esq.? He occupied a very elevated position in society; he was a bank director, and a subscriber to all the charitable enterprises of the day; he was looked up to by his neighbors, and when men spoke of him in the street he was said to be as good as old wheat.' Yet in spite of all these things Isaac would have sold himself for a sixpence. A monstrous weight was lying upon his breast, compared with which one of the granite pillars of the new Exchange were a feather; and yet, oppressive though it was, it was only a false weight; and the spirits that so troubled him were pure spirits; yes pure spirits, that he had mixed with brandy. Where was the harm in that? He could always aver with exact truth to his customers that he sold nothing but a pure article. Then there were tares springing up all around him, choking his path whithersoever he turned, and entangling his feet; but these were false tares. How horribly he was beset by these things, which, though they took no fixed shape, were so palpable and unquestionable that he knew them at a glance; and furthermore, he knew them to be his own. It never once occurred to him to shift them off upon somebody else.

After a while these passed away, and then a poor wretch came along with suffering in his looks, and Isaac trembled at his cruel glances. It was an unfortunate neighbor, from whom he had taken usury many years before, and who had been in his grave a long time. What a malicious creature he must be to bear malice so long! Close upon his heels came a maddened multitude of wo-stricken beings, every one of whom gave him a reproachful look, which seemed to say, 'But for you we had been happy and blessed; it was you who sold us rum; it was