In the morning, smiles were on their marble lips. Incholese sat like one rapt in ectsacy, and Glorianna's fingers were still upon the harp whose melody had charmed the host to bliss--a silent throng they lingered there. The little gentleman was also true to his appointment--in three days he showed to Farragio the souls of his enemies. But his own looked from its infernal abode upon those--in a place of less torment than the bottomless abyss that foamed its fury upon him. A LEAF FROM MY SCRAP BOOK. My friend Bob for the most part made verses in commendation of the eyes and cheeks of Betty Manning. After her death, however, he at times left these to the worm, and wrote upon other matters. One thing for which Bob was renowned was his disregard of everything like accuracy in his literary statements, and in his quotations from books. I find the following singular note appended to a little poem which with many others, fell to my care at his death. "The flight of the Huma is in so rarified an atmosphere, that blood oozes from its pores; its plumage is constantly colored with it. The eyes, too, of this comrade of the clouds, unlike those of the eagle or hawk, have a sorrowful and lack lustre appearance."--_Spix_. Bob must have found this note on the same page with the description of the "Chowchowtow." But that is no business of mine. The verses to which the above note was appended were headed "_The Huma_." Mark how the sun flush dyeth Earth and sky! Bravely yon Huma flyeth Lone and high. Thine is a flight of glory Bold bird of the bosom gory, And mournful eye!--what story Hath that eye? What tale of sorrow telleth That bosom?--Hark! In yon high bright breast dwelleth Pain low and dark. O is it not thus ever With human bard? His wings of glory quiver By no mist marred; The clouds' high path he shareth, His breast to heaven he bareth-- And a regal hue it weareth-- But--dark reward! 'Tis blood his breast that staineth-- His own hot blood. Over thought's high realm he reigneth His heart his food. THE CORPUS JURIS. The "_Corpus Juris_," which is written in Latin, has never been translated into any living tongue; yet it is the basis of law in nearly all Europe and America. It was written by Tribonien, Theophilus, Dorotheus, and John, and although called The Roman Law, is in nothing Roman but the name. It is in four parts--Institutes, Pandects or Digests, The Code, and The Novel Law. This celebrated book is full of pedantry, and abounds in the most whimsical platitudes. For example, in the chapter, "De patria potestate," 'The father loses his authority over the son in many ways, firstly, when the father dies, secondly, when the son dies,' &c. There is a Greek version of the Institutes by Angelus Politianus. {373} A LOAN TO THE MESSENGER. NO. III.