530 

 A SCHOLAR'S "PASSAGE OP ARMS. 



WE are, as times go, a scholar though neither a denizen of Grub- 

 street, nor yet an inhabitant of May-fair, nor a member of the Athe- 

 naeum, and i' faith the other day we had a right scholarly adventure. 

 The evening was wet, and our little parlour was snugly illuminated 

 by a Sinembra, aided by a cozy sea-coal fire ; and the old house-keeper, 

 a very incarnation of comfortableness, had put the tea-things on the 

 little table; we had our Poetae Graeci in hand, in which we had 

 " stcut est ?nos" been spelling over the tit bits of " pure Simonides," 

 and the glowing lyrics of the Lesbian lover, and thrilling through 

 and through at the war songs of old Tyrtaeus when, lo ! we became 

 oblivious, heaven knows how long. Suffice it that we were restored to 

 consciousness by a severe pain in the right leg. Well, we took a 

 precious long journey that evening sitting in our stuffed chair, 

 tliough we were with our feet one on each hob, bachelor-fashion. 

 Whether Merlin touched us with his wand, cannot now be said ; most 

 likely he did, and presto, we were a Spartan ; troth we suddenly ac- 

 quired a taste for black broth and flagellation, though as we were a 

 ready-made man, the latter operation was not experienced. However 

 we were clearly a Spartan of 2.567 years ago that is, in the time of 

 the first Messenian war, and, strange to say, we were in Messenia. 

 We were wondrous wrath with those loose young Messenians, who 

 behaved so rudely to our Spartan damsels, one of whom was our 

 sister and another our betrothed bride aye, marry, as lovely a girl as 

 ever bound the sword of her true love to his side at his departure for 

 the battle-field, or raised her shrill treble to laud and magnify the 

 wars of Lacedaemon. Offer violence to such an one, we were over- 

 whelmingly indignant and true even in sleep to our old English 

 propensities, we devoted the souls and limbs of every Messenian 

 and Athenian who trod the earth of those two accursed spots to 

 Phegethon and Styx, and Tartarus, in as good full-toned Greek as 

 ever rung upon mortal ear. We thought of our beloved Teleclus to 

 whom we had so often paid the homage of love and admiration ; we 

 thought of him reigning in the hearts of the Spartan brave, and 

 proud and lusty, and right royal as he was and anon we thought of 

 him cold and dead, and mangled and we said to ourselves " who 

 hath done this thing?" and it was answered "they of Messene ;" 

 and our blood boiled, and forth burst the volume of our rage in a 

 torrent of execrations against the hated people who respect not the 

 bravery of heroes, nor the chastity of women. Then we heard a re- 

 port that they of Messene had not slain our maidens, but that certain 

 of our heroes had arrayed themselves in the garb of women to sur- 

 prise and assault them. Base, degenerate lie ! when did the eagle 

 array herself in the plumes of the dove to work mischief against the 

 sparrow ? These things must come to pass ere the Spartan clothe 

 himself in the raiment of his women to engage his foe ; sooth thuogh 

 it be, that in the bosom even of a Lacedaemonian woman throbs jthe 



