Page:ONCE A WEEK JUL TO DEC 1860.pdf/64

56 been brought to light, and many other remains of the greatest interest, amongst which are some friezes, beautifully executed, and which have been preserved and deposited in the British Museum, the whole of them extending to a length of eighty feet: and Mr. Newton is of opinion that no museum in Europe can show so magnificent a series of high reliefs. These marbles will no doubt form a fine study for artists, and it is to be hoped that drawings of them will be published.

As to the Mausoleum itself, we learn from Pliny that it was surrounded by thirty-six columns, and that the whole height was a hundred and forty feet, and the length on each side sixty-three feet, making two hundred and fifty-two feet in all, and that the whole was adorned with appropriate sculpture.

Mr. Newton has the credit of having conducted the excavations of these magnificent remains, and also for having satisfactorily set at rest the question of the locality of the Mausoleum. His success can only be properly appreciated by viewing the vast quantity of interesting relics he has sent to this country, and which must form only a small portion of the original building, the materials of which, through a long succession of ages, have been used for various erections and the burning of the marbles to procure lime.

Mr. Newton is now the English Consul at Rome, where it is to be hoped that his scientific knowledge and thirst for new discoveries may enable him to enrich his country with further objects of interest and antiquity. 2em

married half a score of years, With children growing tall, I muse on former hopes and fears, On long past smiles and sighs and tears, And bygone days recall.

Yes! twelve, twelve months have passed away, Since “She and I” first met, But still the dress she wore that day, And almost all she chanced to say, I well remember yet.

Of course I cannot tell if she Was conscious of her power; I know that on that day for me Commenced a long captivity Which lasts until this hour.

My love was faint and feeble then, And almost self-denied; Yet still I’d jealous promptings when I chanced to witness other men Attentive at her side.

And, oh! what jealous pangs I bore As love increased in force; I often turned and left her door, With firm resolve to go no more,— And went next day of course.

What trifling matters then inclined My hopes to rise or fall; It wasn’t difficult to find A plea for my sad state of mind In anything at all.

While I was in this wretched state, Some friends, one summer day, Arranged a little rural fête; I made a sham of self-debate, But went—I needn’t say.

Although I own that in my eyes A pic-nic’s no great treat; I don’t like gnats, or wasps, or flies, Or dust that spreads, or damps that rise, Or rain, or broiling heat.

Well! at this fête—tho’ what about I’ve not discovered yet— Clara began to sulk and pout, And I, from sympathy, no doubt, Began to fume and fret.

Our words were very sharp and curt, We spoke, and nothing more; And then, I always will assert, That she began to laugh and flirt With people by the score.

(I do sometimes assert it now— It’s not a bit of use— She positively won’t allow One single thing, but asks me how I can be such a goose.)

What happen’d next I cannot say, Except from what I hear: I’m told that I was very gay, And chatter’d in the wildest way With everybody near.

The sequence of events I own I’ve never understood, But when my mind regain’d its tone, I found that we were quite alone, And walking in a wood.

Yes, there we were, with no one by, No sound the silence broke, Till Clara gave a little sigh, Which startled me so much that I Took heart of grace, and spoke.

I sought a smile, I fear’d a frown, But scarce had I begun, When she, to veil her face, shook down Those clust’ring curls, in shadow brown, But golden in the sun.

Ah, then came bliss, so long deferr’d, Which paid for everything! What joy one little whisper’d word, So low it scarcely can be heard, Is large enough to bring!

O, what a calm, delicious change From jealousy to rest! And then the trifles to arrange, So numerous, so sweet, and strange, Which give love half its zest.

The slender ring, the stolen tress, (Inestimable prize!) The loving glance, the shy caress: If such as these be foolishness, I envy not the wise.

No bitter memories remain Of all that stormy past; May those who feel a kindred pain By fortune’s kindly aid attain A kindred joy at last!