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Wer ist die Blonde dort mit sitt'ger Miene? Wie t?nen s?ss die Leid- und Liebes- Lieder! Mit ihren Heerden nah'n die Hirtenbr?der, Und jeder zeigt, wie er der Holden diene.

O Lust und Klang! o linde Aetherl?fte! Im zarten Sinn sinnreich beschneider Liebe So Himmlisches, doch Kindlichem Verwandtes.

Fremd w?ren uns die feinsten Blumend?fte, Wenn Galatea nicht sie uns beschreibe, Die G?ttliche des g?ttlichsten Cervantes.

"58. Supuesta la amistad, no era mucho, que usase Cervantes de semejante libertad. Cont?ntese pues el Licenciado M?rquez Torres, con que Cervantes le hizo part?cipe de la gloria de su estilo. I veamos que movi? a Cervantes a querer hablar, como dicen, por boca de ganso. No fu? otro su designio, sino manifestar la idea de su Obra, la estimacion de ella, i de su Autor en las Naciones estra?as, i su desvalimiento en la propia."

It would be imprudent to give great importance to arguments based solely on alleged differences of style. That M?rquez Torres was in holy orders, and that he was appointed chaplain to a prelate so virtuous and clear-sighted as the Cardinal-Archbishop of Toledo are strong presumptions in his favour. Nothing that is known of him tends to discredit his testimony. It would be most unjustifiable to assume of any one in his responsible position that he was capable of inventing an elaborate story from beginning to end, and of publishing a tissue of falsehoods to the world. Nor can we lightly suppose that Cervantes would lend himself to such trickery. The probability surely is that there is some good foundation for the anecdote, though perhaps the tale may have lost nothing in the telling.

Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment--

--Mais est-ce bien possible, grand'maman Gontier, est-il bien vrai que M. de Florian vous battait?

Et, pour toute r?ponse et explication, toute retenue qu'elle ?tait, la bonne maman Gontier leur disait dans sa langue du dix-huiti?me si?cle:

--C'est, voyez-vous, mes enfants, que celui-l? ne payait pas."

English , London, 1867, 1892.

German , Zwickau, 1830; , Stuttgart, 1840; , Stuttgart, 1841.

"From the Register of Matriculations of the University of Oxford. 1822 Jan. 15. Coll. Pemb. Gordon Willoughby Jacobus Gill, 18, Gulielmi, de par. S. Mariae bonae Arm. fil. 3^.

A true extract, made 30 Jan^, 1903 by T. Vere Bayne, Keeper of the Archives."

"As in religion what is bones to philosophy is milk to faith" .

"A literary man, however, is like a silkworm employed and wrapped up in his own work" .

Evidently a misprint for Silena.

"A STATIONER writes his remarks on the subject of some alterations on lapidary inscriptions in Wraysbury Church: and pray, Sir, by what right does this tradesman ask any family why they choose to change a monumental reading, provided nothing is inserted which militates against truth?

This was an unusually large slab, on which the simple record of the deaths of Wm. Gyll, Esq., and his wife, were only inscribed. The family thought the space might be occupied by the addition of other family names, &c.--and it was done. And now the slab is full.

No. 2. Wm. Gyll, Esq., was styled here Equerry to H.R.H. Duke of Sussex; but that he was also Captain in the 2nd Life Guards was omitted. It was deemed expedient to make room for its insertion, and it was done.

GORDON GYLL.

GORDON GYLL.

FIRST PART OF THE GALATEA

WRITTEN BY MIGUEL DE CERVANTES

DEDICATION TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS LORD, ASCANIO COLONNA, ABBOT OF SANTA SOFIA.

Your Lordship's worth has prevailed with me so much as to take away from me the fear I might rightly feel in venturing to offer you these first-fruits of my poor genius. Moreover, considering that your August Lordship came to Spain not only to illumine her best Universities, but also to be the pole-star by which those who profess any real science may direct their course, I have not wished to lose the opportunity of following this guidance, since I know that in it and by it all find a safe haven and a favourable reception. May your Lordship be gracious to my desire, which I send in advance to give some kind of being to this my small service; and if I do not deserve it for this, I may at least deserve it for having followed for several years the conquering banners of that Sun of warfare whom but yesterday Heaven took from before our eyes, but not from the remembrance of those who strive to keep the remembrance of things worthy of it, I mean your Lordship's most excellent father. Adding to this the feeling of reverence produced in my mind by the things that I, as in prophecy, have often heard Cardinal de Acquaviva tell of your Lordship when I was his chamberlain at Rome; which now are seen fulfilled, not only by me, but by all the world that delights in your Lordship's virtue, Christian piety, munificence, and goodness, whereby you give proof every day of the noble and illustrious race from which you descend; which vies in antiquity with the early times and leaders of Rome's greatness, and in virtues and heroic works with equal virtue and more exalted deeds, as is proved to us by a thousand true histories, full of the renowned exploits of the trunk and branches of the royal house of Colonna, beneath whose power and position I now place myself to shield myself against the murmurers who forgive nothing; though, if your Lordship forgive this my boldness, I shall have naught to fear, nor more to desire, save that our Lord may keep your Lordship's most illustrious person with the increase of dignity and position that we your servants all desire.

Most Illustrious Lord, Your humblest servant kisses your Lordship's hands, MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA.

FOOTNOTES:

CURIOUS READERS,

The occupation of writing eclogues, at a time when poetry is generally regarded with such little favour, will not, I fancy, be counted as so praiseworthy a pursuit, but that it may be necessary especially to justify it to those who, following the varying tastes of their natural inclination, esteem every taste differing from it as time and labour lost. But since it concerns no man to justify himself to intellects that shut themselves up within bounds so narrow, I desire only to reply to those who, being free from passion, are moved, with greater reason, not to admit any varieties of popular poetry, believing that those who deal with it in this age are moved to publish their writings on slight consideration, carried away by the force which passion for their own compositions is wont to have on the authors. So far as this is concerned, I can urge for my part the inclination I have always had for poetry, and my years, which, having scarcely passed the bounds of youth, seem to permit pursuits of the kind. Besides, it cannot be denied that studies in this art carry with them no inconsiderable advantages: such as enriching the poet ; and acquiring a mastery over the tricks of eloquence comprised in it, for enterprises that are loftier and of greater import; and opening a way so that the narrow souls that wish the copiousness of the Castilian tongue to be checked by the conciseness of the ancient speech, may, in imitation of him, understand that it offers a field open, easy, and spacious, which they can freely traverse with ease and sweetness, with gravity and eloquence, discovering the variety of acute, subtle, weighty, and elevated thoughts, which, such is the fertility of Spanish men of genius, Heaven's favourable influence has produced with such profit in different parts, and every hour is producing in this happy age of ours, whereof I can be a sure witness, for I know some men who, with justice and without the impediment I suffer, could safely cover so dangerous a course. But so common and so diverse are men's difficulties, and so various their aims and actions, that some, in desire of glory, venture, others, in fear of disgrace, do not dare, to publish that which, once disclosed, must needs endure the uncertain, and well-nigh always mistaken, judgment of the people. I have given proof of boldness in publishing this book, not because I have any reason to be confident, but because I could not determine which of these two difficulties was the greater: whether that of the man who, wishing to communicate too soon the talent he has received from Heaven, lightly ventures to offer the fruits of his genius to his country and friends, or that of him who, from pure scrupulousness, sloth, or dilatoriness, never quite contented with what he does and imagines, counting as perfect only that which he does not attain, never makes up his mind to disclose and communicate his writings. Hence, just as the daring and confidence of the one might be condemned, by reason of the excessive license which accompanies security; so, too, the mistrust and tardiness of the other is vicious, since late or never does he by the fruits of his intellect and study benefit those who expect and desire such aids and examples, to make progress in their pursuits. Shunning these two difficulties, I have not published this book before now, nor yet did I desire to keep it back longer for myself alone, seeing that my intellect composed it for more than for my pleasure alone. I know well that what is usually condemned is that no one excels in point of the style which ought to be maintained in it, for the prince of Latin poetry was blamed for having reached a higher level in some of his eclogues more than in others; and so I shall not have much fear that any one may condemn me for having mingled philosophical discourses with some loving discourses of shepherds, who rarely rise beyond treating of things of the field, and that with their wonted simplicity. But when it is observed that many of the disguised shepherds in it were shepherds only in dress, this objection falls to the ground. The remaining objections that might be raised as regards the invention and ordering may be palliated by the fixed intention of him who reads, if he will do so with discretion, and by the wish of the author, which was to please, doing in this what he could and actually did, achieve; for even though the work in this part do not correspond to his desire, he offers others, yet to come, of better taste and greater art.

SONNET.

What time thy neck and shoulders thou didst place, Submissive, 'neath the Saracenic yoke, And didst uphold, with constancy unbroke Amidst thy bonds, thy faith in God's own grace, Heaven rejoiced, but earth was for a space, Without thee, well-nigh widowed: desolate, Filled with lament and sadness for thy state, Was left the Muses' royal dwelling-place. But since that, from amidst the heathen host, Which kept thee close, thy manly soul and tongue Thou didst unto thy native land restore, Heaven itself of thy bright worth makes boast, The world greets thy return with happy song, And the lost Muses Spain receives once more.

BY DON LUIS DE VARGAS MANRIQUE. SONNET.

In thee the sovran gods their mighty power, Mighty Cervantes, to the world declared. Nature, the first of all, for thee prepared Of her immortal gifts a lavish store: Jove did his lightning on his servant pour, The living word that moves the rocky wall: That thou in purity of style mightst all With ease excel, Diana gave her dower: Mercury taught thee histories to weave: The strength Mars gave thee that doth nerve thine arm: Cupid and Venus all their loves bestowed: 'Twas from Apollo that thou didst receive Concerted song: from the Nine Sisters charm And wisdom: shepherds from the woodland god.

BY L?PEZ MALDONADO. SONNET.

Out from the sea they issue and return Unto its bosom when their course is o'er, As to the All-Mother they return once more, The children who have left her long forlorn. She is not lesser made whene'er they go, Nor prouder when their presence they restore; For she remaineth whole from shore to shore, And with her waters aye her pools o'erflow. Thou art the sea, oh Galatea fair! The rivers are thy praises, the reward Whereby thou winnest immortality. The more thou givest to us, thou canst spare The more; though all before thy feet have poured Their tribute, yet thou canst not greater be.

GALATEA.

What time unto my sad and mournful cry, Unto the ill-tuned music of my lyre, The hill and mead, the plain and stream reply In bitter echo of my vain desire, Then take thou, wind, that heedless hastenest by, The plaints which from my breast, chilled with love's fire, Issue in my despite, asking in vain Succour from stream and hill, from mead and plain.

The stream is swollen by the tears which flow Forth from my wearied eyes: the flowery mead Blooms with the brambles and the thorns that grow Into my soul: the lofty hill doth heed Nowise my sorrows; and the plain below Of hearing is awearied: in my need No solace, e'er so small, to assuage my ill I find in stream or plain, in mead or hill.

I thought the fire that sets the heart aflame, Lit by the wing?d boy, the cunning net, Within whose mesh he doth the gods entame, The strangling noose, the arrow he doth whet In frenzied wrath, would wound the peerless dame As me they wound, who am her slave; and yet No noose nor fire hath power against a heart That is of marble made, nor net nor dart.

But lo, 'tis I who burn within the blaze, I waste away: before the net unseen I tremble not: my neck I humbly place Within the noose; and of his arrow keen I have no fear: thus to this last disgrace Have I been brought--so great my fall has been That for my glory and my heart's desire The dart and net I count, the noose and fire.

Thus on the banks of the Tagus sang Elicio, a shepherd on whom nature had lavished as many gifts as fortune and love had withheld; though the course of time, that consumes and renews man's handiwork, had brought him to such a pass, that he counted for happiness the endless misfortunes in which he had found himself, and in which his desire had placed him, for the incomparable beauty of the peerless Galatea, a shepherdess born on those same banks. Although brought up in pastoral and rustic exercises, yet was she of so lofty and excellent an understanding, that gentle ladies, nurtured in royal palaces, and accustomed to the refined manners of the Court, counted themselves happy to approach her in discretion as in beauty, by reason of the many noble gifts with which Heaven had adorned Galatea. She was loved and desired with earnest passion by many shepherds and herdsmen, who tended their herds by the banks of the Tagus: amongst whom the gay Elicio made bold to love her, with a love as pure and honest, as the virtue and modesty of Galatea allowed. It must not be thought of Galatea that she despised Elicio, still less that she loved him: for, at times, almost persuaded, as it were, and overcome by the many services of Elicio, she with some modest favour would raise him to heaven; and, at other times, without taking account of this, she would disdain him in such wise, that the love-sick shepherd scarce knew his lot. The excellencies and virtues of Elicio were not to be despised, nor were the beauty, grace, and goodness of Galatea not to be loved. On the one hand, Galatea did not wholly reject Elicio; on the other, Elicio could not, nor ought he to, nor did he wish to, forget Galatea. It seemed to Galatea, that since Elicio loved her with such regard to her honour, it would be too great an ingratitude not to reward his modest thoughts with some modest favour. Elicio fancied that since Galatea did not disdain his services, his desires would have a happy issue; and, whenever these fancies revived his hope, he found himself so happy and emboldened, that a thousand times he wished to discover to Galatea what he kept concealed with so much difficulty. But Galatea's discretion well knew from the movements of his face what Elicio had in his mind; and she gave such an expression to hers that the words of the love-sick shepherd froze in his mouth, and he rested content with the mere pleasure of that first step: for it seemed to him that he was wronging Galatea's modesty in treating of things that might in some way have the semblance of not being so modest, that modesty itself might take their form. With these up and downs the shepherd passed his life so miserably that, at times, he would have counted as gain the evil of losing her, if only he might not feel the pain which it caused him not to win her. And so one day, having set himself to consider his varied thoughts, in the midst of a delightful meadow, invited by the solitude and by the murmur of a delightful streamlet that ran through the plain, he took from his wallet a polished rebeck , and with a voice of exceeding beauty sang the following verses:

Amorous fancy, gently ride On the breeze if thou wouldst show That I only am thy guide, Lest disdain should bring thee low, Or contentment fill with pride. Do thou choose a mean, if fate Grants thee choice amidst thy plight, Neither seek to flee delight Nor yet strive to bar the gate 'Gainst the woe of Love's dark night.

If it be thy wish that I Of my life the course should run, Take it not in wrath: on high Raise it not, where hope is none, Whence it can but fall to die. If presumption lead astray, And so lofty be thine aim, This at last thy course will stay:-- Either thou wilt come to shame, Or my heart thy debts will pay.

Born therein, thy sinning lay In thy birth; the guilt was thine, Yet for thee the heart must pay. If to keep thee I design, 'Tis in vain, thou fleest away. If thou stayest not thy flight, Wherewith thou dost mount the skies Thou wilt plunge in deep abyss Thy repose and my delight.

Who to fate, thou mayst declare, Yields himself, does well: his spirit, Spurring on to do and dare, Not as folly but as merit Will be counted everywhere. To aspire so loftily, Yearning thus to reach the goal, Peerless glory 'tis to thee,-- All the more when heart and soul Do with the design agree.

Thee to undeceive I seek, For I understand the meaning: 'Tis the humble and the meek, Rather than the overweening, Who of Love's delights can speak. Greater beauty cannot be Than the beauty thou desirest; Thy excuse I fail to see, How it comes that thou aspirest Where is no equality.

Fancy, if it hath desire Something raised on high to view, Looks and straightway doth retire, So that none may deem it true That the gaze doth thus aspire. How much more doth Love arise If with confidence united Whence it draws its destinies. But if once its hope be blighted, Fading like a cloud it dies.

Thou who lookest from afar On the goal for which thou sighest, Hopeless, yet unto thy star True,--if on the way thou diest, Diest knowing not thy care. Naught there is that thou canst gain, For, amidst this amorous strife, Where the cause none may attain, Dying is but honoured life, And its chiefest glory pain.

'With no one,' replied Erastro, 'could I pass it better than with you, Elicio, unless indeed it were with her who is as stubborn to my entreaties as she has proved herself a very oak to your unending plaints.'

Straightway the twain sat them down on the close-cropped grass, allowing the herd to wander at will, blunting, with teeth that chew the cud, the tender little shoots of the grassy plain. And as Erastro by many plain tokens knew perfectly well that Elicio loved Galatea, and that the merit of Elicio was of greater carat than his own, in token that he recognised this truth, in the midst of his converse, among other discourses addressed to him the following:

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