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à-tète-talks a little and reads a little-sends him to bed, and for five or six days, in succession, talks again and reads again two or three hours every morning, and assigns him a certain number of pages to read by himself. He then leaves him for three days, in the full range of the library, house and table, apparently, because he has occasion to leave him-in the interval he is to read an assigned quantity, which will duly qualify him for communion, on his return, which accordingly takes place, privately solus cum solo in the bishop's private chapel, the seat and security of his perfect conversion. At the close, the considerate bishop presents him with a letter of conciliation from the offended lady-to whom he had actually paid a visit, and lectured into a subjugation of her pride and inflexibility-and even had the triumph of thus securing at once the spiritual and temporai felicity of the charming pair.

ART. VI.-La Vénus de Paphos et son Temple. Par J. D. Guigniaut, professeur de litterature Greque, &c. Paris. Hachette.

THE student of human nature cannot with impunity neglect researches into antiquity. To obtain just notions of society as it now exists, we must trace it from its feeble beginnings, to its greatest known development, watch its increase, its modifications, its vicissitudes, and learn exactly to appreciate every successive form through which it has passed. It is unquestionably an easy matter to affect a disdain for the wanderings of man's intellect, before the light of truth burst in upon it. But this contempt, even were it real and well-founded, will not satisfy the mind. It is more agreeable to understand than to despise our forefathers; and therefore, researches into their opinions, particularly such as regarded their religion and philosophy, possess peculiar attractions for every individual above a mere newspaper or novel reader.

Before we enter upon any examination of the dissertation of M. Guigniaut, it may, perhaps, be useful to trace from other sources, a rapid sketch of the history of the worship of beauty, which, according to the best authorities, sprung up together with most other forms of superstition, in the East, and gradually found its way into Greece, where it attained a perfection and consistency unknown to its original inventors. About the middle of the last century, the Academie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, of Paris, proposed as the subject of a prize essay, "An inquiry concerning the various names and attributes of Venus, among the different nations of Greece and Italy; the origin and reason of those attributes; the nature of her worship; the celebrated temples, statues, and pictures of this goddess; and the artists who had rendered themselves celebrated by representing her." The essay which obtained the prize, was that of M. Larcher, the well-known translator of Herodotus. With some taste, and immense learning, he amassed almost every

thing respecting this goddess, to be found in the works of the ancients; and if he did not succeed in composing an agreeable book, his judgment, not his knowledge, was to blame. Hyginus, Apollodorus, and the other ancient mythologists, have left us brief abstracts of the fables concerning Venus; and Tacitus, with that energetic conciseness for which he is remarkable, has given in one page an outline of the whole history of her worship. Before we come to this passage, however, we shall cast a glance over the history of its migration westward through Asia, taking up the thread of the narrative in Assyria.

The earliest notice we find of Venus, is under the name of Mylitta, Mithra, Alitta, &c. By this word, according to the interpretation of Julius Firmicus, the orientals, who represent all the operations of nature allegorically, meant to designate the vivifying power of the universe. Those writers who consider fire the first principle of all things, speak of Venus as the daughter of Cœlus or Ouranos; the Neptunians say she sprang from the foam of the sea; others call her the daughter of Jupiter and Dione. Whatever was her origin, she was from the beginning thought to preside over the union of the sexes; and is spoken of by the mystical Orpheus, as reason is by Lao-tseu, the celebrated Chinese philosopher, as the mother of the universe-Távta yàp èk oébev éotiv, says he, in his hymn to this goddess. Servius also observes to the same effect-"Dicunt ipsam Venerem esse matrem Deûm." So great and universal was the power of Venus, that she exercised authority even over the fates, the iron goddesses, who resisted all other rule.

From Assyria the worship of Venus passed to Phoenicia, and thence to Cyprus. This worship, which in the course of time degenerated into prostitution, was pure at first, and offered up to Venus Urania, a virgin goddess. Herodotus speaks of a shameful custom which had insinuated itself at Babylon, into the ceremonies of this worship, and afterwards prevailed at Heliopolis of Phoenicia, and at Aphka (Hodie Afka) near Mount Lebanon. M. Larcher says that Constantine destroyed the temples, and abolished the infamous custom in the last two cities: but in this he is perfectly mistaken; for, whatever may have been the fate of the temples, the custom still survives, in the midst of other manners, and other creeds. Zosimus, who passes over the practice to which we have alluded, amuses his readers with the fabulous history of a globe of fire or lighted torch, which appeared in the air, in the environs of the temple; and gravely says, that the offerings made to the goddess were thrown into a lake close at hand, and that such as were accepted sunk to the bottom, while those which the divinity of the place refused, floated upon the top.

The remarks of Mr. Larcher on the name Salambo, which according to Hesychius, the Babylonians applied to Venus, are very ingenious. They could not, says he, have made use of this term, since

it is a Greek word, derived from rána which properly signifies the agitation of the sea, and metaphorically that of the soul. From cán is derived caλathew, to strike the bosom, as in grief; or to lament the loss of something. Zaλats, groans; caλán, the agitation of the soul. According to the author of the Etymologicum Magnum, Zaλáubas was a goddess thus named, because she wandered about, weeping for Adonis. Anacreon uses the word caλate in the sense of, "to weep," "to deplore;" for grief and trouble agitate and disturb the soul. Thus, Salambo, signifies Venus lamenting the death of Adonis. Selden supposes Delephat, and the Syrian goddess, to have been identical with Venus. Strabo says she was called Atargatis; and Eratosthenes gives her the name of Derceto.

This Venus, in fact, was known under many different names. According to Cicero, in his work on the Nature of the Gods, she was called Astarte in Syria. It was to this goddess that the Emperor Helagabalus married the new god, which under his own name he had added to the Roman Pantheon. Astarte, who is represented by the Pagans as the wife of Adonis, was worshipped with peculiar honours at Byblos: I have seen, says Lucian, at Byblos, a vast temple dedicated to Venus, in which the orgies of Adonis are celebrated. I have examined these orgies; for pretending that Adonis was killed in their country by the boar, they every year strike themselves in commemoration of this event; they give way to lamentations, perform the prescribed rites, and an air of mourning pervades the whole country. When their weeping and self-tormenting cease, sacrifices, such as are performed in honour of the dead, are offered to Adonis. On the following day he is supposed to return to life, his statue is exposed in the open air, and his worshippers shave their heads, as the Egyptians do at the death of Apis.

This festival was observed in nearly all the countries of the East, to perpetuate, according to the mythologists, the remembrance of the loves of Venus and Adonis. The physical interpretation of this fable we leave to others, persuaded that whatever meaning we might attribute to it, a hundred other interpretations equally probable might be discovered. We shall merely observe that a statue of this goddess, supposed to represent the earth when stripped of its beauty by winter, was found on Mount Libanus, with the left hand enveloped in the drapery, the head covered, the countenance sad; and it was even supposed by some, that tears were represented trickling from the eyes.

Shakspeare, who penetrated with philosophical acuteness into the depths of ancient fable, and breathed a new life into wornout legends, has entered with his accustomed truth to nature, into the spirit of this magnificent fable. The goddess is represented wandering about the mountains, dejected, apprehensive, sorrowful

for the absence of Adonis. She commences her search with the dawn.

'Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,

From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,

And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty :

Who doth the world so gloriously behold,
The cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
Venus salutes him with this fair good-morrow:
O thou clear God, and patron of all light!
From whom each Lamp and shining Star doth borrow
The beauteous influence, that makes him bright:

There lives a son, that suck'd an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.
This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'er-worn;
And yet she hears no tidings of her love:
She hearkens for his hounds, and for his horu;
Anon she hears them chaunt it lustily,

And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.-p. 85.

Proceeding some little distance, she discovers, by the fierce and eager baying of the hounds, that her lover is engaged in no gentle sport, but attacking the boar, the bear, or the lion. Sad forebodings now throng on her heart. She trembles, and remains rooted to the spot. Anon she sees the tremendous boar dashing by, his snout covered with foam and blood, and bearing all the marks of having been engaged in a fierce struggle.

And with that word, she spy'd the hunted boar,
Whose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,

A second fear thro' all her sinews spread,

Which madly hurries her she knows not whither.'--p. 86.

Her terrors now increasing every moment, are presently after enhanced by perceiving the wounded and discomfited hounds roaming about without their master. Anticipating the worstAs faulcon to the lure, away she flies:

The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light,
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight.

Which seen her eyes, as murder'd with the view,
Like stars asham'd of day, themselves withdrew.
Or as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks back ward in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again:

So, at his bloody view her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head.

Where they resign'd their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain :
Who bids them still consort with ugly night,
And never wound the heart with looks again :
Who like a king perplexed in his throne,
By their suggestions gives a deadly groan.
Whereat each tributary subject quakes,
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,
Which with cold terrors doth men's minds confound.
This mutiny each part doth so surprise,

That from their dark beds, once more, leap her eyes.

And, being open'd, threw unwilling sight

Upon the wide wound, that the boar had trench'd
In his soft flank; whose wonted lilly white

With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd.
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
But stole his blood, and seem'd with him to bleed.

This solema sympathy poor Venus noteth,
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head :
Dumbly she passions, frantickly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead.

Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow,
Her eyes are mad, that they have wept till now.
Upon his hurt she looks so stedfastly,

That her sight dazzling, makes the wound seem three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes where no breach should be ;
His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled,
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.
'My tongue cannot express my grief for one;
And yet (quoth she) behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turned to fire, my heart to lead :
Heavy hearts lead melt at mine eyes as fire,
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.

'Alas! poor world, what treasure hast thou lost!
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is musick now? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing?

The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim,
But true sweet beauty liv'd and dy'd in him.

• Bonnet, or veil, henceforth no creature wear;
Nor sun, nor wind will ever strive to kiss you :
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;
The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you.
But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair.

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