with the strongest ale, and headiest liquors, carryes the bucklers away from all his fellowes.*

"Now because the fashion of downright blowes in the ignoble schoole of drinking is growne stale, wickedness has invented new sorts of weapons to bewitch men-that love such kind of play-to goe reeling to destruction. In some places they have little Jacks† tipt with silver, and hung with small silver bells-these are called the Gyngle Boys-to ring peales of drunkenness. In other places they have shallow brown bowles, which they call Whiskins. Then you have another brewing, call'd Huff's Ale, at which, because no man must have but a pot at a sitting and so begone, the restraint makes men more eager to come on, so that by this policie one may huffe it foure or five times a day.

"These quaffings hurt thousands, and undoe many poore men, who would all follow their labours, but now live in beggary; their wives-unlesse they tipple hard too, as for the most part they doe by their evill examples, -starving at home, and their ragged children begging abroad. Then in some places instead of full quarts they have jugs of a pint and a halfe, with long necks embroydered, with froth cans not a wine pint for a penny; demycans, of draughts a piece; and a device of six earthen pipes, or hollow funnells, all into one, every funnell holding two spoonfulls." English Villanies, bl. 1. sig. J. 3.

*It would appear from this allusion, as well as from so many others in the old dramatists, that in the fight with bucklers, the bucklers themselves were considered the prize of victory. Thus to "give up the bucklers" or to " lay down the bucklers," was to yield, as to "bear away the bucklers" was to win. Steevens in his notes on Shakspeare has accumulated a multitude of illustrative passages. + Jack, or Black Jacks,-pitchers of leather so called.

i. e. containing as much as would be taken off at an ordinary draught.

CUPID AND PSYCHE.

ONE of the most beautiful tales of classic romance is that of Cupid and Psyche as narrated in the "Golden Ass of Apuleius." It has been borrowed by romancers of all times and countries, though without ever having been improved, and may in a measure be said to be the founda.. tion of half the fairy tales. The prohibition of Cupid and the transgression of Psyche have suggested the serpentine vest of Madame D'Aulnoy, to say nothing of "Gracieuse and Percinet," which has evidently been derived from the The whole story has also been beautifully versified by Marino in his poem, "L'Adone," as well as been imitated by Fontaine, and dramatized by Moliere; at least a dramatic piece upon that subject appears in his works, being the same that was celebrated with so much magnificence at Paris in 1670, and which according to some was the joint production of Moliere, Corneille, Quinault, and Lulli, though the last in all probability had no farther share in it than setting the words to music.

same source.

But this story has yet earlier imitators, or else it was itself borrowed from the East, for we find something very like it in the "Three Calenders" and in others of the Persian Tales. The romancers too laid hands upon a fable

so much in harmony with this taste, and have left us a striking resemblance to it in the old fabliaux of " Partenopex de Blois." That the reader, who is unacquainted with the original, may be enabled to judge for himself how far these several assertions are correct, I will now give an abridgment of it, retaining as far as may be the peculiar tone and colouring, though not the precise language of Apuleius.

There was a certain king in the West, who had three daughters, all remarkable for beauty, but the youngest excelled her sisters, as much as they excelled all other women. Such indeed was her loveliness that strangers came from the farthest lands but to look upon her, and having once beheld her incomparable beauty they worshipped and reverenced her with divine adorations according to the olden rites. Hence it happened that the temples of Venus fell into neglect; Paphos was deserted; no worshippers visited Cithera; whereupon the goddess grew indignant, and, resolving to be revenged, she called her son, Cupid, and having shown him where Psyche dwelt, for so was the maiden called-she passionately entreated him that he would cause her to fall in love with the most wretched object possible.

While Venus was thus plotting with her son, poor Psyche, honoured as she was on all hands, yet reaped very little advantage from her beauty. Her two sisters had been long wedded to kings, while no one, noble or ignoble, offered to marry herself, but all were content rather to admire her as they might have admired a beautiful statue. The maiden was disconsolate; her father was no less so, and suspecting that some of the Gods were as usual at the bottom of this mischief, he resolved to consult the oracle of Apollo at Miletus. The customary sacrifices being paid, the God, although he was an Ionian, because of the Milesian founder, did yet think proper to

reply in Latin, the substance of his answer being that "Psyche should be placed in mourning weeds upon the top of a high rock, for she must not expect a mortal husband, but a cruel serpent, who flew on wings above the skies, and was the terror of the Gods themselves." Infinite was the grief of the king at this oracle, but as there seemed to be no help for it, he was obliged to submit, and in this he was farthermore encouraged by Psyche herself; she was not a little curious to see her promised husband, besides that she felt flattered by the enmity of Venus, to whom she attributed this evil, since it was an acknowledgment of her superior beauty. In this frame of mind she was carried to the appointed rock, and there left alone to meet her destiny. And now was seen wonder; the breezes began to blow gently about her, and lifting her up as it were upon their wings they gently laid her down in the valley below amidst the flowers. Then sleep fell upon her, and when the maiden again awoke it was with a calm and placid mind, and she found that she was sweetly couched in the midst of a pleasant grove, through which ran a stream as clear as crystal. At the farther end, by the fall of the river, was a princely edifice, not builded by the hands of man, but fashioned by divine art. You would judge at the first entry therein that it was the dwelling of some God, for the roof was of citron-wood and ivory supported by pillars of gold, the walls were cased in silver, and the pavement was composed of precious stones, forming various pictures, so that blessed, and thrice blessed, were they who might tread upon such a floor. Yea, all around was as bright as day from the glittering of fiery gems that shot forth a splendour equal to that of the sun when he is at the highest.

Captivated by a scene so brilliant, Psyche did not long hesitate to enter, and her admiration encreased with every moment, when suddenly a gentle voice was heard, saying,

"Why, O maiden, do you marvel at these riches? they are all thine; wherefore, go you into yon chamber, and repose yourself on the couch, and demand what bath you desire. We, whose voices you hear, are your servants, ready to minister to your wishes, and when you have recovered from your fatigue a regal feast is prepared for you."

Psyche did as the voice said to her, and having bathed and refreshed herself she sate down to a banquet, which was brought in by no hands, but wafted as it were by the wind. Then came the sound of music, but though it seemed as if multitudes played and sang, yet still she saw no one. So too, with the lover who has prepared all these delights for her gratification; unseen he woos and weds her, and at the dawn of day he again departs without her having once looked upon her new husband.

And thus it happened for a long time. Custom, as is usual, recommended novelty, and the sound of that sweet invisible voice was the delight of her solitude. In the meantime her parents grew old in sorrow; and the fame of her abduction, spreading far and wide, came at length to the ears of her sisters, who hereupon left their own homes that they might console and comfort their parents.

The same night Psyche's invisible husband thus addressed her " My best and dearest wife, a great danger threatens you whereof I earnestly warn you to beware. Know that your sisters, grieving for your loss and tracking your footsteps, have now come to the mountain; but if you should hear their lamentations, take heed you neither answer nor show yourself to them, for if you do, you will cause infinite grief to me, and destruction to yourself."

Psyche promised obedience to the hests of her lord and husband, but when he had again departed from her at the break of morning, she began to weary of her solitude and