A ROMAN COUNTRY SEAT. AMONG the epigrams of Martial, there are several that are rather short pieces of description, than points of wit; and of these some are singularly valuable on account of the notices they afford of manners and customs prevailing at that time both in the capital and the provinces. In the fifty eighth epigram of the third book he has given a picture of an Italian villa, the abode of rural plenty, in contrast to a merely ornamental suburban box, with which I have often been much entertained, and I think a translation of it, with some explanatory comments, may prove no unacceptable article for the Athenaeum. I shall only attempt a prose version, as accuracy of representation is my principal object. It is scarcely necessary to inform your readers that Martial flourished in the first century, chiefly in the reign of Domitian. The poet begins with telling his friend Bassus, that the Baian villa of their acquaintance, Faustinus, is not one of those which idly occupy a wide space of ground, with plantations of useless myrtle, or the sterile plane, or the shorn box, but is a genuine rustick country house. It is to be observed that the trees and shrubs above mentioned were the principal ornaments of the Roman pleasure grounds, and we learn from Pliny, that cutting box into artificial and fantastick forms, was as much the practice then, as it has ever been since. The Baian territory in the vicinity of Naples, is well known to have been one of the favourite retreats of the Roman nobility, who enhanced the delights of a beautiful situation and a delicious climate, with all the contrivances of refined luxury; but none of these are mentioned as belonging to the villa of Faustinus. "Here, says Martial, every corner of the house is crammed with the gifts of Ceres, and numerous casks smell of the products of remote autumns. Here, on the approach of winter, the vine dresser brings in late bunches of grapes.* Bulls bellow in the deep valley, and the calf, with unarmed forehead, longs for the combat. Here wander all the tribes of the poultry yard; the cackling goose, and the gemmed peacock, and the fowl which owes its name to its scarlet plumage ;† the painted partridge, and the spotted Numidian fowl, and the pheasant from Colchos: here strutting cocks court their Rhodian hens;|| the turrets resound with the clattering pigeon, and the stockdove and turtle plain. The greedy swine follow the feeder's apron, and the fleecy lamb expects its full mother. Well *These are dried raisins. †The Phoenicoptorus, or Flamingo, esteemed as a great delicacy, and kept tame with the poultry, as in some places it has since been. + Partridges and pheasants were kept tame by the Romans. The former are so at present in large flocks in the Greek islands. Some of our great preservers of game, have pheasants so far domesticated, as to feed at the barn door. This is our Guinea fowl, well characterized in its plumage by the Latin epithet guttata. Rhodes was famous for its breed of poultry. fed domesticks* surround the clear fire, and whole trees flame before the festal lares. Here no one is pale with idleness, or occupied in useless exercises; but one lays snares for the voracious thrushes, another draws out fish with his trembling rod, or brings home the hind entangled in his toils; meanwhile the garden employs the jocund town bred servants, and even the ministers of pleasure obey the farm bailiff. Not a rustick comes to pay his respects empty handed; but brings either white honey in the comb, or a new cheese, or sleepy dormicet from the neighbouring wood, or the bleating offspring of the shaggy dam, or the steril capon. Well grown daughters of honest husbandmen bring their mother's presents in ozier baskets. The glad neighbour is invited when his work is done; the unsparing board makes no reserve for the morrow's feast; and the satiated servant does not envy the tipsy guest. You, Bassus, on the contrary, possess close to the city an elegant starving place ; and from a lofty tower you look down upon barren laurels, in a garden where Priapus is in no fear of thieves. You feed a vine dresser with town bought meal; and at leisure hours, carry out to your painted villa, herbs, eggs, pullets, fruit, cheese, and must. Is this to be called a country seat, or a town house at a distance ?" The "Connoisseur," in No. 33, has borrowed the latter part of this epigram as a motto for an humourous description of a cit's country box in the mode of 1754. The writer's imitation of the concluding lines is very happy. PRIDE is that exalted opinion of our merits or advantages, which leads us to look down with contempt on those around us, as * The Vernae, or house born slaves, who seem to have been indulgently treated by the Romans. The Glis, Greater Dormouse, French, Loir, was a Roman delicacy, and was fattened in cages. + The goat. 66 S" Fames munda," a strong figurative expression, which will not bear rendering into prose. the mere ministers of our pleasure. This most odious of the mental vices is different from vanity. Pride exacts the admiration of the world as a debt; vanity solicits it, and is pleased with it. There is somewhat of gratitude in the last; but the first is monstrous and horrible throughout. Neither is pride to be blended with a just sense of our dignity. Every man owes to himself the care of his estate, his privileges, and his reputation; and these he ought to defend by every honourable means. Of these, the man of humble pretensions has as keen a sense as the haughtiest of his neighbours, and is equally indignant at their violation; but he dares not brave the majesty of heaven in seeking vengeance on his foe. The proud man has no God. He is his own idol. In his own estimation, he is the standard of perfection. The finest form which he sees is in a mirrour; the sweetest musick that he hears is the sound of his own voice; and no opinions are equally correct with those which he has himself formed. This imaginary excellence exists in all the works, which he has executed or designed. No house is so convenient and tasteful as the one which he has built; and no gardens so beautiful as those, which his skill has planned. Whatever he does, must be done with a peculiar air. His dress must have a certain fashion; his equipage an eccentrick splendour; if he walks, it is not like other men; when he speaks, it is in sesquipedalian periods, which must have the authority as well as pomp of oracles. Swoln with ideas of his own consequence, the proud man conceives, that all the world has the same fond opinion of him, which he has of himself. It must shut its eyes upon his defects, and open them only on his excellencies. If any one is hardy enough to dispute the infallibility of his judgment, or withhold those marks of respect, to which he has been used, he foams and swells like the sea in a storm. His rage is ungovernable. The furies take their stations in his countenance, and he exhibits a picture of deformity and terrour. Yet as this character, of all men living, is most hurt by insult, contumely, or neglect, so of all men he is most likely to receive it. His whole life is a sort of warfare with the laws of society; its members, therefore, very cheerfully seize every fair opportunity, which falls in their way, to retaliate the injury which he has done to their feelings or honour. He is detested and avoided. The friend of none, he finds none his friend. In the midst of society, he is alone; and poor, though abounding in wealth. Let him, then, who is in quest of happiness, throw away pride. In any of its forms it is selfish, unreasonable, abominable, and invariably defeats its own ends. Is he proud of birth? This sort of pride brings all eyes upon him to institute comparisons no wise in his favour. A charming opportunity is hence afforded to envious lookers-on to exclaim, Where, alas, is the virtue, which once adorned his illustrious house? Is he proud of office? He is reminded, that the office was made not for him, but the publick; and that he holds it by a precarious tenure. Is wealth the object of his pride? If he acquired it by his industry, he makes a sorry figure in looking down with disdain and insolence on such as are on a level with what he once was. If by inheritance, those ought not to be the objects of his scorn, who, possessing his advantages, would probably have been his superiours. And to be proud of learning and knowledge, is wretchedly to use the means of imparting virtue and happiness to the world, like the barbarous and ignorant. This thought the Remarker will expand and illustrate in the words of a prolifick writer. "The man of mental furniture," says he, "has no more reason to despise those, whose attention has been confined to manual excellence, for not having read what he has read, than the latter to look with contempt upon the former, for his inability to use those tools, in the employment of which he has learned to be expert. Nor has either of these any more cause for contemning the other, than the native of any town for despising one who was never there before, for not knowing the way in it so well as he. Indeed, the unreasonableness of looking down on any, upon account of their ignorance on subjects, to which they have had no opportunity of paying attention, is so evident even to vulgar apprehension, that no mechanick ever dreams of despising any person who has not been bred to his occupation, for not understanding it. The tiller of the ground never thinks of despising the workman in wood, for his want of skill in the management of the plough. The carpenter contemns not the husbandman, upon account of his incapacity to carve, and to connect the materials, with which his art is conversant. Neither does any artificer allow himself to discover contempt for the ignorance which the scholar and the gentleman may betray, in any occasional conversation with him, relating to the names or to the nature of the implements of his occupation. Nor do the members of the learned and enlightened world permit themselves to show any scorn towards any of their own class, upon account of their ignorance of those particular branches of science, that are by custom appropriated to particular professions, and to which they are not, therefore, supposed, unless they belong to those professions, to have paid any close attention. The physician does not despise the medical ignorance of his learned patient; or the lawyer, the want of legal light in his philosophical client; or the divine, the absence of scriptural criticism in the statesman. It is immediately admitted, on all hands, that the ignorance, which arises from the direction of the understanding another way, is no blot in the intellectual reputation of them, who have cultivated the common branches of knowledge that belong to liberal education. Yet, when the general body of the cultivated part of mankind regard the mechanical classes of human life, they are apt to depart from this rule of intellectual estimation, which they observe towards one another, and which those classes of society have the good sense to observe towards them. This is neither generous nor just." POETRY. DIRGE IN CYMBELINE. TO fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks the quiet grove; But shepherd lads assemble here, And tender virgins own their love. No withered witch shall here be seen, Nor goblins lead their nightly crew; But female fays shall haunt the green, And deck thy grave with pearly dew. The red breast oft at evening hours Shall kindly lend its little aid, With hoary moss and gathered flowers To deck the ground where thou art laid When howling winds and beating rain In tempests shake the sylvan cell; Or 'midst the chase on yonder plain The tender thought on thee shall dwell. Each lonely scene shall thee restore, For thee the tear be duly shed; Beloved, till life could charm no more, And mourned till pity's self is dead. VERSIO LATINA. Terrae, quae viridi condit in aggere Halantes date flosculos. Nunquam accedet humum tristis imaginum Fidus sed juvenis, pura puellaque, Nulla hic adveniet dira venefica, Cantu non animas ducet ab inferis; Venit, sed gracilis saepe rubecula, Muscum mollem et amaracum. Venti cum strepitant murmuribus vagis, Sic desiderium nascitur hic novum |