Another species of the mangouste, found in the island of Java, inhabiting the large teak forests, is greatly admired by the natives for its agility. It attacks and kills serpents with excessive boldness. It is very expert in burrowing in the ground, which process it employs ingeniously in the pursuit of rats. It possesses great natural sagacity, and, from the peculiarities of its character, it willingly seeks the protection of man. It is easily tamed, and in its domestic state is very docile and attached to its master, whom it follows like a dog; it is fond of caresses, and frequently places itself erect on its hind legs, regarding every thing that passes with great attention. It is of a very restless disposition, and always carries its food to the most retired place to consume it, and is very cleanly in its habits; but it is exclusively carnivorous and destructive to poultry, employing great artifice in surprising chickens.
CULLODEN.
[Illustration: Letter C.]
Culloden Moor--the battle-field--lies eastward about a mile from Culloden House. After an hour's climbing up the heathy brae, through a scattered plantation of young trees, clambering over stone dykes, and jumping over moorland rills and springs, oozing from the black turf and streaking its sombre surface with stripes of green, we found ourselves on the table-land of the moor--a broad, bare level, garnished with a few black huts, and patches of scanty oats, won by patient industry from the waste. We should premise, however, that there are some fine glimpses of rude mountain scenery in the course of the ascent. The immediate vicinage of Culloden House is well wooded; the Frith spreads finely in front; the Ross-shire hills assume a more varied and commanding aspect; and Ben Wyvis towers proudly over his compeers, with a bold pronounced character. Ships were passing and re-passing before us in the Frith, the birds were singing blithely overhead, and the sky was without a cloud.
Under the cheering influence of the sun, stretched on the warm, blooming, and fragrant heather, we gazed with no common interest and pleasure on this scene.
On the moor all is bleak and dreary--long, flat, wide, unvarying. The folly and madness of Charles and his followers, in risking a battle on such ground, with jaded, unequal forces, half-starved, and deprived of rest the preceding night, has often been remarked, and is at one glance perceived by the spectator. The Royalist artillery and cavalry had full room to play, for not a knoll or bush was there to mar their murderous aim. Mountains and fastnesses were on the right, within a couple of hours' journey, but a fatality had struck the infatuated bands of Charles; dissension and discord were in his councils; and a power greater than that of Cumberland had marked them for destruction. But a truce to politics; the grave has closed over victors and vanquished:
"Culloden's dread echoes are hush'd on the moors;"
and who would awaken them with the voice of reproach, uttered over the dust of the slain? The most interesting memorials of the contest are the green grassy mounds which mark the graves of the slain Highlanders, and which are at once distinguished from the black heath around by the freshness and richness of their verdure. One large pit received the Frasers, and another was dug for the Macintoshes.
_Highland Note-Book_.
[Illustration]
ATHENS.
The most striking object in Athens is the Acropolis, or Citadel--a rock which rises abruptly from the plain, and is crowned with the Parthenon.
This was a temple dedicated to the goddess Minerva, and was built of the hard white marble of Pentelicus. It suffered from the ravages of war between the Turks and Venetians, and also more recently in our own time.
The remnant of the sculptures which decorated the pediments, with a large part of the frieze, and other interesting remains, are now in what is called the Elgin collection of the British Museum. During the embassy of Lord Elgin at Constantinople, he obtained permission from the Turkish government to proceed to Athens for the purpose of procuring casts from the most celebrated remains of sculpture and architecture which still existed at Athens. Besides models and drawings which he made, his Lordship collected numerous pieces of Athenian sculpture in statues, capitals, cornices, &c., and these he very generously presented to the English Government, thus forming a school of Grecian art in London, to which there does not at present exist a parallel. In making this collection he was stimulated by seeing the destruction into which these remains were sinking, through the influence of Turkish barbarism. Some fine statues in the Parthenon had been pounded down for mortar, on account of their affording the whitest marble within reach, and this mortar was employed in the construction of miserable huts. At one period the Parthenon was converted into a powder magazine by the Turks, and in consequence suffered severely from an explosion in 1656, which carried away the roof of the right wing.
[Illustration: ATHENS.]
At the close of the late Greek war Athens was in a dreadful state, being little more than a heap of ruins. It was declared by a Royal ordinance of 1834 to be the capital of the new kingdom of Greece, and in the March of that year the King laid the foundation-stone of his palace there. In the hill of Areopagus, where sat that famous tribunal, we may still discover the steps cut in the rock by which it was ascended, the seats of the judges, and opposite to them those of the accuser and accused. This hill was converted into a burial-place for the Turks, and is covered with their tombs.
Ancient of days! august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might--thy grand in soul?
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were-- First in the race that led to Glory's goal; They won, and passed away. Is this the whole?
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
Here let me sit, upon this massy stone, The marble column's yet unshaken base; Here, son of Saturn, was thy fav'rite throne-- Mightiest of many such! Hence let me trace The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place.
It may not be--nor ev'n can Fancy's eye Restore what time hath labour'd to deface: Yet these proud pillars, claiming sigh, Unmoved the Moslem sits--the light Greek carols by.
BYRON.
[Illustration: THE PNYX AT ATHENS.]
THE ISLES OF GREECE.
[Illustration: Letter T.]
The Isles of Greece! the Isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung-- Where grew the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all except their sun is set.
The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero's harp, the lover's lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse; Their place of birth alone is mute, To sounds which echo further west Than your sires' "Islands of the Blest."
The mountains look on Marathon-- And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dream'd that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persian's grave, I could not deem myself a slave.
A King sat on the rocky brow, Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; And ships by thousands lay below, And men in nations--all were his!
He counted them at break of day-- And when the sun set, where were they?
And where were they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now-- The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, Though link'd among a fetter'd race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear.
Must _we_ but weep o'er days more blest?
Must _we_ but blush?--Our fathers bled Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae!
What! silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no!--the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, "Let one living head-- But one--arise! we come, we come!"
'Tis but the living who are dumb.
In vain--in vain: strike other chords; Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
Hark! rising to the ignoble call-- How answers each bold Bacchanal?
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet; Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave-- Think ye he meant them for a slave?
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these!
It made Anacreon's song divine; He served--but served Polycrates-- A tyrant: but our masters then Were still at least our countrymen.