The Æneid has been often translated into English, both in prose and verse, since the days of Gawin Douglas, but we doubt if the Mantuan bard has ever been more happily rendered than by the good Bishop of Dunkeld. The following is his rendering of perhaps the best known and perhaps the most frequently quoted passage in Virgil:-- "Facilis descensus Averni, Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis; Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras Hoc opus, hic labor est," &c. "It is richt facill and sith gate, I thè tell, For to descend and pass on doun to hell: The black yettis of Pluto and that dirk way, Standis evir open and patent nycht and day: But therefra to return agane on hicht, And bere aboue recouir this airis light, That is difficill werk, there labour lyis; Full fewe there bene quhom heich aboue the skyis, Thare ardent vertew has rasit and upheit, Or yet quhame squale Jupiter deifyit, Thay quhilkis bene gendrit of goddis may thidder attane. All the midway is wilderness vnplane, Or wilsum forrest; and the laithly flude Cocytus with his dresy bosom vnrude Flowis enuiron rounde about that place." Warton (History of English Poetry) says of Bishop Douglas' Æneid, that "it is executed with equal spirit and fidelity, and is a proof that the Lowland Scotch and English languages were then nearly the same." We may state that Douglas' Æneid, irrespective of its many and great intrinsic merits, is especially interesting, as being the first translation of a Roman classic into the English language either in verse or prose. We have quoted above an old Highland belief in the exceeding efficacy, even in the most serious ailments, of the kindly beams of a May-day sun. Another belief of theirs was this-- "Geir fèidh air a ghabhail 'n ad bhroinn, 's air a shuathadh ri d' dhruim 's ri d' thaobh-- Am fear nach leighis sid, cha'n 'eil leagheas ann." That is--the fat of deer applied internally and externally, the invalid whose sickness that does not heal, why, then, there is no healing for him. The old Highlanders, you see, knew the value of deer: they hadn't a good word to say of sheep. A few days ago we went into a cottage where a woman was sitting spinning, and singing a song we had not heard for many years, though we recollect hearing it frequently sung in boyhood. The soft and plaintive air was an old favourite, and her style of singing pleasing. With a very sweet voice and much feeling, she sang it all on requesting her to do so; and after tea in the evening we threw the verses into English, as follows. It is, however, rather an imitation than a translation. The original, which is probably known to many of our readers, beginning-- "Tha'n oidhche dorcha, dubh, gun reult Tha aibh's na speur fo ghruaman," &c.