Simonides as the ne plus ultra of that of Affection. The exceeding simplicity of these beautiful verses is almost as formidable in the way of translation as the condensation of Φαίνεται μοὶ κήνος — 'The wind blew hard, the rough wave smote In rage on Danaë's fragile boat; Her cheeks all wet with tears and spray, And, "Oh! what woes, my babe," she said, &c. In this translation, "fragile bark" seems to us to express a false idea. The ark is represented as made by Dedalean art, and its strong fastening with nails of brass is referred to. It appears to have been the purpose of the poet to represent the dreariness of Danaë's situation, and not to picture her as overcome by the terror of immediate danger. "My purple robe" we think should be "thy purple robe." By his omission of the concluding lines, we should judge that the translator sympathized with us in the feeling which we have expressed of their incongruity with what precedes, if understood as they commonly have been. In a note, the reviewer says: "We cannot refrain from adding Robert Smith's version, famous in the memory of his contemporaries at Eton : — 'Ventus quum fremeret, superque cymbam Non siccis Danaë genis, puellum "O quæ sustineo! sopore dulci Dum tu solveris, insciâque dormis Securus requie; neque has per undas Formidas iter, impetumque fluctûs Dormirent simul!"' We have thus given nine different versions into English, and two into Latin, of this famous fragment. In the days of Moghul power, the native city of Etawah was a flourishing place, the abode of Omrahs and grandees belonging to the imperial court; but with the downfall of Moslem dominion it has sunk into insignificance, and possesses few, if any, attractions, excepting to the artist, who cannot fail to admire a splendid ghaut, one of the finest on the river Jumna, and several picturesque buildings, which latter, however, are falling fast into decay. The cantonments in the neighbourhood are peculiarly desolate, and exhibit in full perfection the dreary features of a jungle-station. Upon a wide sandy plain, nearly destitute of trees, half a dozen habitable bungalows lie scattered, intermixed with the ruins of others, built for the accommodation of a larger garrison than is now considered necessary for the security of the place, a single wing of a regiment of sepoys being deemed sufficient for the performance of the duties of this melancholy outpost. The civilian attached to it, who discharges the joint office of judge and collector, is seldom resident, preferring any other part of the district; and the few Europeans, condemned to linger out their three years of banishment in this wilderness, have ample opportunity to learn how they may contrive to exist upon their own resources. The bungalows of Etawah, though not in their primitive state,- for upon the first occupation of these remote jungles, doors and windows were not considered necessary, a jaump, or frame of bamboo covered with grass, answering the purpose of both,-are still sufficiently rude to startle persons who have acquired their notions of India from descriptions of the City of Palaces. Heavy, ill-glazed doors, smeared over with coarse paint, secure the interiors from the inclemencies of the cold, hot, and rainy seasons. The walls are mean and bare, and where 1 attempts are made to color them, the daubing of inexperienced workmen is more offensive to the eye than common whitewash. The fastenings of the doors leading to the different apartments, if there be any, are of the rudest description, and the small portion of wood employed is rough, unseasoned, and continually requiring repair. The intercourse between the brute denizens of the soil and their human neighbours is of too close a nature to be agreeable. If the doors be left open at night, movable lattices, styled jaffrys, must be substituted to keep out the wolves and hyenas, who take the liberty of perambulating through the verandahs; the gardens are the haunts of the porcupine, and panthers prowl in the ravines. The chopper, or thatch of a bungalow, affords commodious harbour for vermin of every description; but in large stations, which have been long inhabited by Europeans, the wilder tribes, retreating to more desolate places, are rarely seen; squirrels or rats, with an occasional snake or two, form the population of the roof, and are comparatively quiet tenants. In the jungles, the occupants are more numerous and more various; wild cats, ghosaumps, a reptile of the lizard tribe as large as a sucking pig; vis copras, and others, take up their abode amid the rafters, and make wild work with their battles and their pursuit of prey. These intruders are only divided from the human inhabitants of the bungalow by a cloth, stretched across the top of a room, from wall to wall, and secured by tapes tied in a very ingenious manner behind a projecting cornice: this cloth forms the cieling, and shuts out the unsightly rafters of the huge barn above; but it proves a frail and often insufficient barrier; the course of the assailants and the assailed may be distinctly traced upon its surface, which yields with the pressure of the combatants, showing distinctly the out lines of the various feet. When it becomes a little worn, legs are frequently seen protruding through some aperture, and as the tapes are apt to give way during the rains, there is a chance of the undesired appearance of some hunted animal, who, in its anxiety to escape from its pursuers, falls through a yawning rent into the abyss below. Before the introduction of cloths, snakes and other agreeable visitants often dropped from the bamboos upon the persons of those who might be reposing beneath; but although, where there are no dogs or cats to keep the lower story clear of intruders, the dwellers of the upper regions will seek the ground-floor of their own accord, they cannot so easily descend as heretofore there is quite sufficient annoyance without a closer acquaintance with the parties, for night being usually selected for the time of action, sleep is effectually banished by their gambols. The noise is sometimes almost terrific, and nervous persons, females in particular, may fancy that the whole of the machinery, cloth, fastenings and all, will come down, along with ten thousand combatants, upon their devoted heads. The sparrows in the eaves, alarmed by the hubbub, start from their slumbers, and their chirping and fluttering increase the tumult. In these wild solitudes, in dividuals of the insect race perform the part of nocturnal disturbers with great vigor and animation. At nightfall, a concert usually commences, in which the treble is sustained by crickets, whose lungs far exceed in power those of the European hearth, while the bass is croaked forth by innumerable toads. The bugle-horns of the musquitos are drowned in the dissonance, and the gurgling accompaniment of the musk-rats is scarcely to be distinguished. In the midst of this uproar, should sleep, long-wooed, descend at last to rest upon the weary eyelids, it is but too often chased away by the yells of a wandering troop of jackalls, each animal apparently endeavouring to outshriek his neighbour. A quiet night, in any part of India, is exceedingly difficult of attainment; the natives, who sleep through the heat of the day, protract their vigils far beyond the midnight hour, and however silent at other periods, are always noisy at night. Parties from adjacent villages patrol the roads, singing; and during religious festivals or bridal revelries, every sort of discordant instrument, gongs, and blaring trumpets six feet long, are brought in aid of the shouts of the populace. Such is the usual character of a night in the jungles, and it requires nerves of no ordinary kind to support its various inflictions. Fortunately, the beds, as they are constructed and placed in India, afford a secure asylum from actual contact with invaders, the many-legged and many-winged host, which give so lively an idea of the plagues of Egypt. The couch occupies the centre of the floor, and is elevated to a considerable height from the ground; the musquito-curtains, which are tightly tucked in all round, though formed of the thinnest and most transparent material, cannot easily be penetrated from without, and though bats may brush them with their wings, lizards innumerable crawl along the walls, and musk-rats skirt round the posts, admission to the interior is nearly impossible: on this account, as well as for the great preservative which they form against malaria, it is advisable to sleep under a musquito-net at all seasons of the year. The noisome broods, nurtured in the desolate places around Etawah, have not yet been taught to fly from the abode of the European; but to counterbalance the annoyance which their presence occasions, the brighter and more beautiful inhabitants of the jungles fearlessly approach the lonely bungalow. In no other part ex of India, with the exception of the hill-districts, are more brilliant and interesting specimens of birds and insects to be seen: tremely small brown doves, with pink breasts, appear amid every variety of the common color, green pigeons, blue jays, crested wood-peckers, together with an infinite number of richly-plumed birds, glowing in purple, scarlet, and yellow, less familiar to unscientific persons, flock around. A naturalist would luxuriate in so ample a field for the pursuit of his studies, and need scarcely go farther then the gardens, to find those feathered wonders, which are still imperfectly described in works upon ornithology. Here the lovely little tailor-bird sews two leaves together, and swings in his odorous nest from the pendulous bough of some low shrub. The fly-catcher, a very small and slender bird of a bright green, is also an inhabitant of the gardens, which are visited by miniature birds resembling birds of paradise, white, and pale brown, with tails composed of two long feathers. Nothing can be more beautiful than the effect produced by the brilliant colors of those birds, which congregate in large flocks; the ring-necked paroquets, in their evening flight as the sun declines, show rich masses of green, and the byahs or crested-sparrows, whose breasts are of the brightest yellow, look like clouds of gold as they float along. Numbers of aquatic birds feed upon the shores of the neighbouring Jumna, and the tremendous rush of their wings, as their mighty armies traverse the heavens, joined to other strange and savage sounds, give a painful assurance to those long accustomed to the quietude of sylvan life in England, that they are intruders on the haunts of wild animals, who have never been subjected to the dominion of man. There is one sound which, though not peculiar to the jungles, is more wearying than in more thickly-inhabited places, on account of the extreme loudness of the note, and its never ceasing for a single instant during the day, the murmuring of doves: the trees are full of them, and my ear, at least, never became reconciled to their continued moaning. At sunset, this sound is hushed, but the brief interval of repose is soon broken by the night-cries already described. The roads around Etawah, if such they may (by courtesy) be called, are about the very worst in the world: they are the highways leading to the neighbouring stations, Mynpoorie, Futtyghur, Arga, and Cawnpore, and afford no picturesque views within the range of a day's excursion. There is little temptation to drive out in a carriage in the evening, the favorite method of taking air and exercise in India; a few mango-groves, skirting villages surrounded by high walls of mud, probably as a security against the incursions of wild beasts, alone diversify the bare and arid plains, while the ruts threaten dislocation, and the dust, that plague of Hindoostan, is nearly suffocating. The gardens afford a more agreeable method of passing the short period of day-light which the climate will permit to be spent in the open air. They are large and wellplanted; but the mallees (gardeners) are extremely ignorant of the European methods of cultivation, not having the same opportunity of acquiring knowledge as at larger stations. The pomegranate is of little value except for its rich red flowers, for the fruit,-in consequence, no doubt, of either being badly grafted or not grafted at all, when ripe, is crude and bitter; it is greatly esteemed, however, by the natives, who cover the green fruit with clay, to prevent the depredations of birds. The pomegranates brought from Persia never appeared to me to merit their celebrity: whether any attempt has been made to improve them, by a graft from the orange, I know not, but I always entertained a wish to make the experiment. Sweet lemons, limes, oranges, and citrons offer, in addi |