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www.ebook3000.com
20392_ch00.i.qxd 1/5/04 11:02 AM Page i

Sextrology
The Astrology
of Sex and the Sexes

STA RS K Y + C OX
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for laurie litchford

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CONTENTS
Introduction

ARIES MAN The One

A R I E S WO M A N The Original

T A U RU S M A N The Idol

T AU RU S WO M A N The Ideal

GEMINI MAN The Goodfellow

G E M I N I WO M A N The Gift

CANCER MAN The Player

C A N C E R WO M A N The Pearl

LEO MAN The Natural

L E O WO M A N The Knockout

VIRGO MAN The Vehicle

V I R G O WO M A N The Vessel

LIBRA MAN The Character

L I B R A WO M A N The Charm

SCORPIO MAN The Stranger

S C O R P I O WO M A N The Specimen
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S AG I T TA R I U S M A N The Maverick

S AG I T TA R I U S WO M A N The Maven

CAPRICORN MAN The Stickler

C A P R I C O R N WO M A N The Sleeper

AQUA R I U S M A N The Visitor

AQ UA R I U S WO M A N The Vision

PISCES MAN The Drifter

P I S C E S WO M A N The Dream

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Credits

Cover

Copyright

About the Publisher

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Introduction

For years, we’ve contended that men and women of the same astrological sign are actually
different signs. Most astrology books lump males and females together, while those that do
attempt to treat the sexes separately have never fully explored the distinctions between the
so-called sex signs or even so much as ventured to explain why it is they are, as is so often
the case, markedly unlike each other. We maintain that astrology must factor in the great
divide between the sexes, that the energies that comprise the signs filter through the oppo-
site sexes as through prisms, separate and unique from one another.
We believe that the zodiac has been ignored as a real meditative tool for understanding
human nature. Even astrologers themselves have had a hand in discrediting its validity, making
such a stink about sun-sign astrology, especially horoscopes, being charlatanism while prescrib-
ing individual birth-charting. In so doing, the baby went out with the bathwater. Of course,
drafting a person’s birth chart will outline the potentialities specific to that individual’s life. But
that shouldn’t be used as an argument against a more general sun-sign astrology. Indeed, there
is much more to be gained via its exploration than most people realize. Particularly when it
comes to sex.
To be fair, we can’t completely blame the skeptics. Especially on the subject of sex and
astrology, there is nothing cringier than the type of material lining the bookselves on the topic.
It’s hardly a big epiphany to say, for instance, that Taurus “gal” likes candlelit bubble baths and
pink champagne as a prelude to getting laid. We believe that the subject of sex and astrology is
vastly underexplored, and it’s our aim in writing this book to show how rich the subject is with
potential revelation.
Let’s face it, we all like to read about ourselves. Yet, the biggest argument against astrology
remains: The whole of the human race can’t possibly be divided into twelve (or in this case,

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Sextrology

twenty-four) categories. Well, guess again: Just because most sun-sign astrology
has been so general and gotten such a bad rap doesn’t mean it isn’t valid. And,
for our money, it is most intriguing when investigated via the sexual natures of
the signs. In reading Sextrology, we believe people will be pleasantly surprised,
and in a certain way excited, to discover that men or women of a particular sex-
sign share so much more than a string of hackneyed adjectives. They fall under
the same personality archetype, the gist of which, as we’ll readily explain, you
needn’t be a Jungian psychologist to comprehend. But let’s back up.
The zodiac itself is a dialogue, and often a bit of a battle, between the
sexes. And Sextrology is an exploration of the astrological signs from the per-
spective of gender, sexual identity, and sexual behavior. The zodiacal wheel is
first and foremost divided along gender lines into six masculine (fire, air) and
six feminine (earth, water) signs. This reflects universal balance, existence being
one big system of yin and yang. The basic premise of Sextrology is that there
are twenty-four signs, not just twelve, each sign being divided again into gen-
der polarities.
Men and women of the same sign can actually be very different from one
another as they manifest the dynamic of their sign’s energy in opposite fash-
ions. Specifically, if a person is aligned with the gender polarity of his or her
sign—men in masculine signs, women in feminine signs—he or she embodies
the elemental-quality of the sign; whereas men in feminine signs and women
in masculine signs will enact this dynamic. First, when we say elemental-quality,
we refer to each sign’s particular blend of element (fire, earth, air, water) and
quality (cardinal, fixed, mutable)—each sign is a unique amalgam of these two
zodiacal components that are key to understanding individual character—
which, when paired, one category with the other, four times three, gives us the
twelve combinations of the traditional signs.
For example, the masculine sign of Aries is the one and only cardinal-fire
sign; in simple terms, the cardinal quality suggests initiative and the fire ele-
ment represents life-spirit. Aries man, aligned with the gender polarity of his
sign, thus embodies this dynamic: He is like a spark, or an explosive fireball.
Aries woman on the other hand is a rather cool character who is nonetheless
the zodiac’s little fire-starter, an instigator, inciting others to explosive action
while she remains unruffled. To look at Aries man and Aries woman one
would say they couldn’t be more different in temperament, because, though
they are playing with the same astrological recipe as dictated by their sign, they
manifest these specific ingredients in an often diametrically opposed manner.
This is where personality archetype comes into play.
In the pages that follow, the zodiac will be illustrated as a mandala of

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I N T RO D U C T I O N

human existence and, specifically, human sexuality. Sex, whether referring to

gender or “getting some,” is the primal key to life. We are our sexual natures.
And so, in exploring the various personalities of the twenty-four astrological
gender-signs, it’s not only more fun to focus on the sexuality of these charac-
ters, it’s essential to do so. To appeal to a primarily occidental readership, arche-
types for each sign have been drawn from classical models—the pantheon of
various gods and goddesses—as well as their biblical Judeo-Christian equiva-
lents and the echoings of these characterizations throughout ancient and mod-
ern literature.
The zodiac itself, having originated in large part in ancient Greece, is
steeped in classical symbolism, and individual personality archetypes from that
pantheon organically emerge within the rich catalog of imagery surrounding
each sign. For instance, taking the example of Aries again, the sign is ruled by
the planet Mars, and indeed, we see much of that planet’s namesake god of war
(Greek: Ares) in the aggressive fireball of masculinity that is the Ram man.
When meditating on Aries woman, it naturally follows that she then draws
upon the archetype of the war goddess,Athena, who is quite different in char-
acter from her often bellicose brother. In fact, mythology tells us that of all the
gods, she most loathed him. Likewise, Aries man and woman aren’t the most
symbiotic couple on the astrological block.
And so it goes: Each of the twenty-four signs of the zodiac is endowed
with a certain prototypical energy to such a degree that we see these all too
human gods and goddesses come alive in the pantheon of humanity, as it is,
characterized by the dictates of astrological placement. And like the rose that
blooms in summer, as opposed to the chrysanthemum of winter, life-forms
that spring up at certain times of year manifest the character of that time. It is
the same with we humans.
Moreover, each of the signs is associated with a seven-year age span, Aries
kicking off the zodiac with its correspondence to the period of birth through
seven years. When taken metaphorically, we not only see, for instance, Aries
man’s signature sense of feeling himself “born” to do whatever he undertakes,
but the metaphor extending further to include comparisons on his nature to
the very advent of “big bang” creation on a universal scale. People are that
loaded with analogue.
Provided, of course, one accepts the “noble lie” of astrology to begin
with, a plethera of truth is to be gleaned from fully analyzing every zodiacal
precept and archetype associated with each of the twenty-four characteriza-
tions. Particularly when it comes to sexuality, the myths themselves are a
steamy enough soap opera that lend great insight into the erotic nature of

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Sextrology

every individual in whom the particular proclivities of the associative arche-

types are eerily encoded.
Each astrological character’s chapter is divided into three sections—sign +
mind, a psychological profile of the zodiacal personality as dictated by the sym-
bology of the sign: body + soul, physical attributes as well as the individual’s
mode of expression; and sex + sexuality, detailing sexual attitudes and behavior.
Each chapter finishes with a survey of that individual’s relationships with every
other sign, male and female, gay and straight. These coupling sections are truly
just the tip of the iceberg as they entail such a rich complexity of material as
to warrant a separate volume unto itself.
It is our hope that Sextrology will be read along the same lines, and in the
same spirit, as it was written: We set out to compose a pop exploration of
astrology and sexuality, intending it to be amusing, if ever so slightly titillating,
without taking itself too seriously. As the project got under way, more esoteric
dynamics of the subject became simply impossible to ignore; the archetypes
especially called out for inclusion in the material (and sometimes during a
sound sleep); the creative agendum then became hinged upon facilitating a
marriage between the more high-minded musings and the straightforward
juicy bits. Indeed it was a process of letting the connections be made rather than
emphatically making them; in time, everything fell into place. The reader
should follow suit by getting into the book for some enlightening entertain-
ment, read his or her particular chapter and those of loved ones, allowing them
to turn on a few lightbulbs while tickling the funny bone, if not other portions
of the anatomy.
If the book does, however, inspire a deeper fascination by way of its more
academic surveying of “the astrology of sex and the sexes,” then all the better.
In that case, one should read Sextrology from beginning to end, getting a sense
of the zodiac’s arc and how each sign, with its inherent symbols and precepts,
builds upon the previous, passing a baton of personal philosophy from one
character to the next, ad infinitum. Indeed the astrological “wheel” is a spiral-
ing continuum, rather than a static circle, whereby each of the twenty-four
signs has some nuggets of wisdom to offer the rest via his or her individual
approach to life, love, and understanding of the libido, without whose precise
urgings none of us would be here in the first place.

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The Sign of Sexual Being

March 21–April 20

Aries Man
the one

If an illustration accompanied the definition

of man in the dictionary, it would no doubt
look more like Aries than any other guy in the
zodiac. He is astrology’s prototypical chap—
the model-A male—and as such he embodies
the strictest utter essence of his sex: Whether
eternally boyish or painfully macho,Aries is an
exploration of masculinity in its purest form
physically, emotionally, and psychologically. He
is most self-assured and unapologetic in attitude and behavior, comfortable in his skin and fear-
less in his ambitions. He lives life as if he were the only guy on the planet, feeling entitled to
take freely from it what he wants, oblivious to obstacles or the admonitions of others. Forth-
right to a fault, he possesses a conquering spirit, thriving on pursuit in his professional as well
as private life. He oozes virility, literally generating an aromatic heat, making no bones about
expressing romantic or erotic interest. Beneath his typically clean-cut appearance lies a hor-
monally raging animal ever ready to take the sexual lead, yet he nonetheless feels obliged to
subdue this self-perceived bestial nature, hoping to achieve a higher, spiritual connection with
a woman and be her consummate knight in shining armor. In the end, he should come to real-
ize that pure intentions and prurient desire needn’t be mutually exclusive. When sexually
engaged with a male, the Aries guy manifests an outright need for domination, gleefully bend-
ing a man (over) to his will, unequivocally dispelling any and all questions as to who’s the boss
in bed.

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Sextrology

I Sign + Mind
PRINCIPLE
The Masculine Principle. As the first guy sign of the zodiac, Aries is astrology’s primordial male against
Aries emerges from the whose basic, straightforward theme all other men resound in myriad variation.
watery dissolution of
Pisces’s primordial womb. Like Western civilization’s premier male prototype—the aptly alphabetically
Herein lie the principles of first Adam—the man born under the sign of the Ram isn’t created for nuance
form, objectivity, activity, and
aggression. The self and its or deviation; sexually speaking, especially, he exists to get the job done—if not
fulfillment are the premier to be fruitful and multiply in the process. For Aries man, existence is a decid-
raison d’être. Aries man
views the world as ripe for edly uncomplicated affair in which his role is startlingly clear. Of all the men
the taking. in the zodiac the Ram most personifies the masculine stereotype—driven,
aggressive, often unemotional or even brutish; and as a result, he finds himself
labeled insensitive and self-serving by men and women alike, in every area of
life, especially in sexual relationships. This is simply his nature: Like that of any
alpha male in the wild kingdom, Aries man’s lust for life is inextricably linked
with his need to ensure domination. His ruling planet, Mars, represents the
Masculine Principle in the zodiac. Often called “the shield and spear of Mars,”
after the planet’s namesake Roman god of war (Greek:Ares), the planet signals
the active (male) energy in the universe. Mars, whether as planet or war god,
symbolizes an outward, objective view of experience that predisposes the Aries
to initiative and eagerness if not brashness and a blatant inability to view life
from any other aspect but his own. In biblical terms the sign of Aries is associ-
ated with big-bang creation befitting this, the only cardinal-fire sign in the
zodiac, an assignation denoting an initial spark of life that we see mirrored in
each dawning day. Prototypically Aries is the rising son, God’s firstborn boy,
and as such he embodies an unencumbered spirit of carte blanche. He is,
indeed, like Adam freeze-framed before Eve’s creation, with no concept of
“other” or, as it so often seems, no sufficient outlet for his relentless erotic
urges. The planetary glyph graphically recalls a guy’s boner and basket, which
sums up the sexual persona of Aries man in a nutshell: He is the eternal human
hard-on. He would be: Even on the physical level, Mars rules blood being
pumped outward, centrifugally, to the extremities, including the external geni-
talia, in both sexes, and the dangling male bits, specifically. As Mars’ number
one son (the planet also corules Scorpio), Aries is the pure personification of
this primal-male call to arms. He’s astrology’s valiant little soldier, standing
perpetually at attention. Indeed, Aries is an exceedingly imposing figure,
devoid of any irony or second-guessing in his signature bold demeanor, cut-
throat professionalism, not to mention an unerring yen for booty. His ruling
planet’s energy is both spontaneous and resolute, making the Ram as impulsive

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ARIES MAN

as he is determined in his quest to unleash his libido. However, it won’t be just

anybody who’ll qualify as a suitable object of his ever-pressing desire, save, as
we’ll see, for a certain caveat.
PLANETARY SYMBOL
In strict astrological terms, Mars’ glyph is said to signify the emergence of
The arrow (materiality)
matter (arrow) from the divine (circle), thus representing birth—life matter emerging from the circle
issuing from the nonmaterial realm or the actual circular womb-source, egg, or (spirit) represents birth as
well as divinely inspired
seed where spirit first takes form. Indeed,Aries is a singular human expression action. Often called the
of combined body and soul—there’s no inherent duality in the Ram guy’s spear and shield of Mars, it
also recalls male genitalia,
nature that would separate one metaphysical aspect from the other. To wax and the objective, aggressive
New Agey a moment, he is the model of body-spirit “oneness.” Unfortunately, impetus inherent in the sign
of Aries.
as is so often the case,Aries man imposes a psychological split where one ought
not to exist—feeling himself so attuned to the raging forces of his body, he
may label himself, indeed berate himself for being, too base or animalistic and
thus seek to subdue this most striking aspect of his nature. He is a child of the
astrological 1st House, after all, one that concerns itself with, among other
things, physicality, selfhood, and one’s life-force. And, again, though Aries may be a
native of this house, he is also the zodiac’s chief fire sign, that element symbolic
of spirit. From an astrological perspective, you might say that the Ram man is
soul incarnate, one and the same. We see this in his very person, a total presence
in full command of his body with no apparent disconnect between his impul-
sive urges and the physical actions that express them. Unrestrained despite sig-
nature attempts to downplay his animal heat, Aries brims with life, the force of
which vividly pulses through him.
The red, glowing planet Mars rules the blood—the very substance of fire
flowing hot through our veins that literally substantiates our existence from the
moment we spring to life in the womb. Fittingly, Aries is associated with
birth—the sign rules the first slice of human life, 0–7 years, just as it corre-
sponds to the birth of all creation. Indeed, Aries man vividly embodies that
energy of birth—an urgent, bursting-forth dynamic—in all of his life encoun-
ters. Moreover, Aries guy feels that he’s been born to whatever experience he
feels naturally inclined to pursue, experiencing his life as if it were a carefully
plotted series of predestined circumstances, wherein he is chosen for specific
purposes determined, albeit, by his intrinsic goals and strictly personal desires.
All fire-sign males—Aries, Leo, Sagittarius—are, to some degree, legends in
their own mind; but it is specifically along exact thematic lines of birthright
where Aries man is forever self-mythologizing. He inherently feels that he is
the one (and only) guy suited to “do” whatever or, for that matter, whoever
strikes his fancy. Just as he might look upon a chosen career as a divine calling,
when he is attracted to someone, he loftily believes he’s fulfilling his fate by

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entering into a relationship with that individual. It is a rather egotistical stance,

to be sure, but that, too, is an Aries predisposition. His sign’s motto, “I am,”
seems to be justification enough for the enormous liberties Aries man naturally
SIGN QUADRANT
takes, as it carries the subtext that only he exists. Indeed, Aries lives life like an
The zodiacal quadrants cor-
respond to metaphysical
eternal infant in the throes of his self-perceptions, all but oblivious to others’
planes of existence—physi- concerns.
cal, emotional, mental, and
spiritual. The First Quadrant
For Aries, the sign’s ram’s-head glyph symbolizes ego, and specifically the
is that of the self and individ- male ego, sprouting forth, hornlike, as the most definitive gesture of his char-
ual awareness. For Aries
man, importance lies in the
acter. As would befit the profile, even, of an actual ram, horns are a proud dec-
cultivation and indeed purifi- laration of strictly masculine identity; likewise, the Ram man’s own horny-ness
cation of self as a means for
achieving oneness with the
is in no small way linked to the expression of his healthy ego. Horn size deter-
universe. mines a male’s ability to assert his dominance—the ram with the biggest
equipment usually gets his pick of the ewes—serving as a symbol of masculine
supremacy, both as a weapon in his sexual war against other male competitors
and as a totem to his own virility, literally, the active power to create life. In
mythology, both Ares–Mars and Zeus–Jupiter take the form of a ram, espe-
cially when engaged in battle. In the ram’s horns, we see that inextricable link-
ing of anger/aggression and lusty sexual expression, both energies that fall
under Martian rule.
Aries is the zodiac’s personification of the rising-son or rival-god arche-
type, represented by the savior-warrior deities Ares and Zeus, who are often
considered by scholars to be the same god in two aspects—the callow Zeus
overthrows his father Cronus-Saturn, who, in turn, had deposed his father,
Uranus. These characters, in their youthful upstart phase, all, one and the same,
characterize this rival energy, which the flesh and blood Aries man personifies.
(The Hindu equivalent is the warrior god Rudra, “the red one,” befitting the
sign’s ruddy planetary association, just as Lancelot “the spear bearer” is the
medieval Ares–Mars who can’t help but undermine the king,Arthur, despite his
initial noble intentions.) Whereas Zeus was born to battle and overthrow the
Titans, Ares is thwarted from repeating the patrilineal pattern of uncrowning
Zeus and rather comes down to us, in myth, as a whiner who runs to his
mother, Hera, the instant he sustains the slightest boo-boo. Such are the two
prime aspects of the Aries male persona—conquering hero and/or cruel cow-
ard. Still despite Ares’s brutish mien, or indeed due to it, he is still so handsome
and dashing a deitific stud as to be the first to pluck the über–love goddess
Aphrodite fresh from her seashell, just as Lancelot is wedded to the medieval
Aphrodite, Columbine, meaning “dove,” the animal-totem form the Greek
goddess takes. It’s an age-old archetypal love story—one that likewise ends well
for the Aries man: No matter how much women insist they prize emotional

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ARIES MAN

sensitivity in a man, most can’t resist the straightforward male-animal nature of

the Aries, to whom they are drawn on a strictly physical, sexual level. His needs
are simple, basic, primal. And for his part, no woman will do but one who is so SIGN GLYPH
dripping with femininity as to be a living incarnation of Aphrodite herself. He The Arien emblem is the
craves ultrareceptivity, if not outright passivity, in a mate, or a one-night stand Ram’s head and horns, sig-
nifying male dominance,
for that matter, fleeing from the kind of feminist power that his mother, herself virility, strength, and asser-
an often overbearing Hera type, typically wields. It is the demure female that he tion. It is an expression of
male ego inextricably linked
finds exotic and in whose blushing bosom he seeks comfort. As chauvinistic as to physical virility. Aries’s
it sounds, the Ram man looks for a coy lady love, not one who’ll compete for a symbol is the Ram, the ani-
mal totem of phallic male
chance to wear the pants. He has a severe allergy to outspoken women, espe- fertility deities throughout
cially those who are wont to swear and swill like sailors. antiquity.
Sexism, whether it be a negative or a noble objectification of women, has
its seeds in Aries’s earliest development. Aries guy’s mother may be an over-
whelming force while his father’s influence tends to be negligible, or even hos-
tile. Regardless,Aries’s dad will be at odds with his mother’s invariable spoiling
of him. She’ll dote on him, label him a godsend, even seem to favor him as her
ELEMENT + QUALITY
“little man” over her husband, with whom life is tense, at least during the
The fire element signifies life
formative years of Aries’s upbringing—the main thrust of marital discord gen- energy. The cardinal quality
erally being her disappointment in her spouse’s ambition and station in life. denotes a call to action and
initiative. Together the
She may set up a rivalry between Aries and his father, always holding up the cardinal-fire combination
shortcomings of her husband as pitfalls for her son to avoid, lest he similarly particular to Aries is best
illustrated as a spark, or
fall short, in her estimation, whether in the pursuit of a career or in the devel- spontaneous explosion. It
opment of a moral character. Not wanting to be painted with the same brush points to Aries’s creative ini-
tiative, forthrightness, and
of failure,Aries emotionally separates from his dad. His father likewise retreats, leadership.
just as Uranus shrank from Cronus-Saturn, who, in turn, recoiled from Zeus.
Given the synonymous nature of all these characters, one could say that the
Aries boy, in a sense, also separates from himself, or at least the “lesser” parts of
his nature, not allowing for even a humble recognition of inherent shortcom-
ings that most of us, to varying degrees, acknowledge. It is important to note
that Hera conceived Ares all by her lonesome in retaliation for Zeus’ solitarily
having brought forth Athena (fittingly the Aries female archetype) from his
Aries-ruled head (actually by his first wife, Metis, meaning “prudence,” who
externally resides in his noggin). Like Hera,Aries’s mother may endow her son
with the purpose of showing up his father, albeit subconsciously. However, it is
a plot that fails—Ares is not Zeus’ inheritor; likewise,Aries is, to some degree,
forever locked into the Martian role of striving warrior without ever feeling
that he can comfortably sit on some metaphorical throne. He is the eternal
knight-errant who never stops his life pursuits long enough to enjoy the brand
of luxury to which some complacent king is privy. But all is as it should be.

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Via this parental dynamic,Aries boy is conditioned to associate an overage

of female affection with the witholding of masculine validation he’ll hence-
forth seek to embrace and, indeed, embody on his own. Meanwhile, he’ll draw
POLARITY the better part of his strength from winning female favor, in being a woman’s
Males in masculine (air, fire) champion à la Lancelot. And yet the zodiac’s macho man is ironically fearful of
signs are aligned with the
gender polarity of their sign
proverbial feminine power when he can’t siphon it at his discretion. Instead, it
and thus embody the threatens to overwhelm him, whether on a global societal scale or in his own
quality-element combination
of the sign. Aries man is an
personal life. And for the simple reason that one often fears most what one
unstoppable fireball. As the doesn’t understand. In youth, he will eventually flare up at his mother, bidding
zodiac’s sparky conquista-
dor, he explodes onto every
her to back off, just as he’ll avoid flag-waving feminists in adulthood. Especially
situation. Life is for the tak- when it comes to sexual relationships,Aries is programmed with alarms against
ing, and love and sex must
be pursued, never invited.
feminine force, which he, archetypally, suspects might usher in his demise:
Guinevere’s power over Lancelot was the warrior’s undoing—just as Adam’s
first mate, Lilith, was way too pants-wearing for his taste; he thus saw her
demonized and banished to make room for the more seemingly compliant
Eve, who, let’s face it, was no bed of roses either. The name Lilith still signals
female power in popular culture, most notably in its adoption as the name for
the “fair” that constitutes the women’s movement in music—concerts where
one would be hard-pressed to find assembled a substantial Aries-male popula-
tion.
Though he owes his original bolstering to his mother, the Ram boy is
quick to avoid being seen as the prototypical mama’s boy he truly is, and as a
result, he begins to vividly eschew what he considers to be “softer” femmy
feelings and behavior, adopting a more impressively impassive demeanor. Enter
the Aries swagger, a physical way to signal masculinity. He’s a rough-and-
tumble kid, the ultimate man’s man in adulthood, meanwhile fairly confident
his metaphoric horny antlers are impressing the babes. Unfortunately, such dis-
plays mightn’t stop there: Aries boys can be notoriously scrappy, seeming to
always find themselves embroiled in playground conflicts. Fittingly, the planet
Mars rules the adrenal system, which regulates the fight-or-flight instinct,
which may inspire the Ram male’s penchant for butting heads ( just as it dic-
tates that female Aries remain forever above the fray). For Aries man, other
males more or less fall into a single category: the competition, if not the out-
right enemy. For the most part, however, he learns to relax his predisposed
combative stance, developing a signature strategy for dealing with members of
his own sex; in other words, he doesn’t. He assumes all men see the world the
way he does—from that purely objective Masculine Principle perspective—
and he thus believes that other guys need nothing from him. He doesn’t bond,
he coexists, rarely investing emotionally in his fellow man. Life, in the world of

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ARIES MAN

men, is like a pickup game for Aries, who experiences no glitch entering into
testosterone-fueled environments, greeting strangers with the same blasé inter- 1
est as he does his closest male friends. To the straight Aries-male mind, if you SIGN NUMBER
turn guys over, they all look the same. He rarely feels impressed, let alone The number of life: One is
intimidated, by even the most celebrated sports figure or other such societal the basis for all other num-
bers. In the cabala it is asso-
supermen, and he is perfectly in his element in the butchest milieus whether it ciated with unity and
be a sports bar, barracks, locker room, or open-trough urinal. wholeness in the individual.
It is the number of objectiv-
In the Aries world, it’s every man for himself. What the zodiac’s premier ity, viewing life outward from
male teaches us, by example, is the power of having a me-first attitude. Aries’s a singular vision of selfhood.

take on the survival of the fittest, stemming from his 1st House of self, means
not becoming unduly involved with others emotionally, but instead putting 0–7
energy into liberal, personal pursuits, attacking life, taking from it what he SIGN AGE
wants. There is no denying that Aries’s astrological influences predispose him ASSOCIATION
to an innate sense of grabby entitlement, if not more than his fair share of The age of singularity. Birth
arrogance. Aries is the only cardinal-fire sign in the zodiac, meaning he literally is violent and bloody and the
infant’s primal impetus is an
embodies that sparky initiative spirit. The Ram is a fireball, hurtling himself animal instinct for survival.
into experience as well as at any and all objects of his desire; while Aries Aries man embodies this
fight for life all his days. This
woman, a cool and detached character, in contrast, nonetheless seems to be for- age is associated with a
ever starting fires of desire for her in the heart of others. Devoid of subtlety, child’s need to play alone.

Aries is his anger and lust personified, metaphorically or literally lunging at

whomever ignites his temper or passion. The two greatest weapons in ancient
wars were the spear for killing rival male factions and the penis for impregnat-
ing women with the conquering race. As the personification of the war god,
Aries retains much of this sensibility. But his cardinal-fire nature doesn’t end
with corporeal campaigns but rather flickers on another metaphysical level as
well: Fire, as suggested, symbolizes Aries’s self-idealized spirit, and so cardinal-
ity, on this score, refers to the Ram’s vigilant questing for spiritual fulfillment
inherent, even, in his pursuit of a romantic partner, at least to the extent that it
is often unclear whether he’s following his inbred noble intentions or that per-
petual stiffy. The upshot, for this creature of oneness, is that sexuality and spir-
ituality are inextricably linked. But because he can’t ever seem to separate
them, it may be a painful paradox to endure not only for him but for a would-
be mate, who must accept the mantle of responsibility for being Aries’s preor-
dained prince or princess bride, as the case may be.
Here, we uncover the crux of Aries man’s psychosexuality, one that may
cause a dangerous schism in his personality: He is forever torn between his
anger and lust on one side and his inherent need to be a virtue crusader on the
other. When it comes to sex, he fights against his basic instincts and strives to
become some transcendent knight-errant who has mastered his predisposed

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beastly nature. Moreover, Aries quests after a sense of spirituality because the
strong physicality of his sign leads him to believe he all but completely lacks it.
PSYCHOLOGY
Despite his possible delusions of being divinely directed in life, or even the
The Aries man often suffers
very reason for them,Aries is insecure about what he perceives as this dearth in
from delusions of grandeur, himself, and so he often compensates by putting on a soul-man persona, if only
a total disregard of others,
and antisocial behavior. He
a subconscious pose. His 1st House emphasis on physicality confounds him—
may attach an overimpor- he is simple, basic, but he confuses that with being base and inaccessible on a
tance, if not divine interven-
tion, to circumstances he
“higher plane.” He doesn’t realize that his is no mere physicality. It is rather
encounters. He experiences like the computer hardware on which any introduced software of ideology can
difficulty with authority and
is particularly prone to tem-
be run. As is true for everyone, the ability to “exist” on more cosmic levels is
per and overaggressive determined, first and foremost, on the health and integrity of the self as a phys-
behavior. Aries may express
sexism, prejudice, and zeno-
ical organism. What Aries must understand is that his personal computer came
phobia. with built-in programs for spiritual understanding, which he might not recog-
nize because they are so perfectly integrated into his singular system. His brand
of spirituality isn’t one of transcendence, he should come to see, but one
grounded in his very being. Aries would do himself a great service by grasping
that his spiritual role model isn’t an apotheosized figure like Christ, transform-
ing from man to god via a very public self-sacrifice, but rather one of personal
transformation like that of the Buddha, an Aries himself, who achieved
enlightenment, “oneness,” by sitting and contemplating his endemic 1st House
selfhood rather than going on crusades for some external experience of exalta-
tion. Simplicity, Aries can show us, is the most sublime state of all. Yet despite
Buddha’s example, sitting still, let alone self-scanning, is not the strongest suit
of the outwardly objective Aries. Herein lies both his greatest challenge and
fondest hope for achievement.

Body + Soul
Aries man, and particularly his sign-ruled head, is always racing. At a party, say,
he’s generally the guy in an ongoing monologue, directed at a single person,
intent on proving some point or theory that (he’ll have you know) has been of
late occupying his mind. Typically this entails elaborate theses along a specific
theme—himself—as he seeks to enlighten others on what defines him, what
makes him tick, convinced people are burning to learn what is behind the
mind of this most intriguing creature. Just keep nodding (if only in an effort
not to nod off). Otherwise, if another person does somehow manage to take
the floor, Aries will be lost in solitary physical life and needs—making special
requests from a waiter, sneaking peaks at his watch, pager, or text messages, jot-

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ARIES MAN

ting down an idea, adjusting his clothes, and as is most likely, taking glimpses of
himself in anything reflective within view. This son of Mars has indeed inher-
ited the war god’s dashing looks and notorious ego—besides, he has to keep
ARCHETYPE + MYTH
himself occupied somehow as he’s pretending to listen to what you’re saying.
Aries man draws upon the
One is reminded of an old rumor about Marlon Brando that illustrates how he war god, Greek Ares, Roman
relates to other actors in a scene: He supposedly said something akin to “bull- Mars. These were originally
fertility figures; the phallic
shit, bullshit, bullshit, my line, bullshit, bullshit, my line.” This attitude is vin- spear became an instrument
tage Aries. for the hunt and then for
martial conquest, aggression
A list of famous Aries men —which includes Russell Crowe, Colin Far- in the Aries having equal cre-
rell, Steve McQueen, Hugh Hefner, Roger Corman, Warren Beatty, Serge ative and destructive poten-
tial. He embodies the rival or
Gainsbourg, James Caan, Charlie Chaplin, Pete Rose, Alec Baldwin, William son god archetype. Aries’s
Holden, James Garner, and Buddha—reveals that Ram men are self-concerned objective nature is also por-
trayed by Jason’s quest for
individuals whose all-else-be-damned perspective on life is their greatest asset, the Ram’s golden fleece. His
but sometimes their most fatal flaw. Suffice it so say, they are not known as the disregard for the feminine
condition (Medea) mirrors
most sensitive of men, particularly when it comes to the opposite sex, lacking Aries’s own misogyny. Mars’
any connection to what could be labeled a “feminine” side. In looks, Aries association with birth is still
evident in his namesake
guys run the gamut from A all the way to B: either eternally boyish figures— month of March, and the
David Cassidy, Ewan McGregor, Matthew Broderick, Dudley Moore, Gary vernal equinox, which marks
the beginning of Aries.
Oldman, Michael York, Dana Carvey, Martin Short, Jackie Chan, Robert
Downey Jr.—forever clad in jeans, tees, sneakers, and baseball caps, or decid-
edly manly men—Gregory Peck, Daniel Day-Lewis, Spencer Tracy, James
Woods, Dirk Bogarde, Timothy Dalton, Jean-Paul Belmondo—who might
give the impression they were born with chest hair. Indeed, brimming with
testosterone, Aries man may practically have to machete back the pec fur that
often threatens to comingle with his beard. One thing all Aries men have in
common is the appearance that they’ve always just had their hair cut—associ-
ated with birth, the sign of Aries rules the head, and he always regards this part
of his anatomy as the first to show. The Ram man gets sheared, snipped,
clipped, or buzzed more than any other guy on the astrological block—usually
opting for a close and even cut, squared off in the back above his neck, not
tapered. Clean and neat, like a Secret Service agent’s. Actually, the whole of his
appearance has that same squared-off look—his shoulders are so straight you’d
think he left the hanger in his shirt. His clothes generally look as if they’ve
been freshly pressed, with pleats and creases in all the right places; and yet,
despite all this apparent crispness, there is something undeniably animal about
him. While it’s noticeable when he’s clothed, naked it’s unmistakable: He has a
raw, primordial quality, even ever so slightly cavemanesque. Little wonder that,
in A Streetcar Named Desire, Blanche (Vivien Leigh) comes right out and asks
Stanley (Marlon Brando) if he’s an Aries—and though that coarse fictional

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character turns out to be a Capricorn, Brando himself is so clearly a Ram man.

Aries’s notoriously bantam physique is undeniably male—even dressed, he
appears raw and naked to the imagination, as if his clothes can’t quite conceal
BIBLE + LITERATURE
his protrusive virility. Muscles rippling noticeably beneath his garments, he
The sign of Aries corre-
sponds to creation in Gene- radiates a stirring aromatic heat. Tough, taut, and eager for vigorous, athletic
sis and the male of the sign sex, Aries looks as if he’d be single-minded in his desire to subdue an object of
to Adam, meaning bloody
clay. He is, like Aries, with- his affection, not to mention get off as many times as possible, pleasuring and
out guile and completely exhausting his partner in the process.
objective in his view.
Another biblical character is His broad neck and chest bulge regardless of whether he sticks to a disci-
Samson, whose strength is plined workout schedule. Relative to other men,Aries has muscles of the Pop-
centered in his Arien-ruled
hair, a symbol of his virility. eye variety—his forearms are so thick as to nearly outmeasure his biceps if he’s
The Arthurian Ares is not careful. Despite such aboriginal hints, Aries possesses a graceful, bouncy
Lancelot, meaning one with
a great spear, a questing gait and carriage, a low center of gravity that gives him a dug-in quality with-
knight who mates Columba, out the slightest appearance of squattiness. Typically, he has rounded pectoral
the dove, Aphrodite’s totem.
In Don Quixote we see the muscles and rather retiring, unobtrusive nipples, a tough and tightly knit torso
characterization of the Arien with developed lats that fan out, cobralike, accenting a naturally V-shaped
male’s infamous crusading
becoming delusional. frame. A flat upper stomach, typically rippled much to the annoyance of other
Hesse’s Siddhartha (Bud- men, begins to protrude outward well below the navel, which may be so neg-
dha) portrays the Arien need
to strike out on one’s own in ligible as to be barely visible (like Adam’s, questionably existent), tucked into a
search of enlightenment. knot of sinew. Aries’s lower tummy, swelled by deep, childlike intakes of air, is
Modern heros like Super-
man, Zorro, G.I. Joe, and the supported by open, sturdy hips, which may thrust ever so slightly forward. His
Lone Ranger are all Arien pelvic bone, too, is pronounced, thick, coarse pubic hair spreading out gener-
characters.
ously to either side allowing hardly a glimpse of skin beneath as it trails down
along the inside of his thighs, blatantly powerful with thick slabs of muscle
atop hairy and sturdy calves. His penis tends to be of average to ample length,
though rather thick and stick-straight, the head of which may often end in a
markedly sharp point. His balls, though plum-sized, are typically held tight, a
signal of tension and aggression in males throughout the wild kingdom, not to
mention his body’s readiness for release. His ass may be alarmingly muscular
and firm even as he ages. Ram guy’s feet and hands are always meaningful,
often more delicately rendered than the rest of him. Similarly, his face, tightly
drawn with high cheekbones and rather flat like a Plains Indian’s—a wide can-
vas stretched and perfectly suited for lines of war paint (a nod to Aries’s war-
god archetype)—is childlike with features all falling well below its equator,
leaving a large and noble forehead to float seemingly far above. Only his dra-
matically ridged brow bone echoes that recurring primal theme, especially if
his strident grooming habits haven’t plucked the ever-unpopular unibrow into
submission. His nose is small and sharp, eyes quick and expectant, his lip line
extensive and perfectly horizontal, though the lips themselves are often thin

14
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endeavored from the moment they laid hands on me, to struggle
with them; but my limbs were powerless: I endeavored to call out,
and awaken my fellow lodgers; but my voice had lost its sound, my
tongue seemed paralyzed: I could not articulate a syllable. The cold
sweat of terror stood upon my brow. I had a presentiment that some
awful fate awaited me, but I could form no conception what it was
to be.

At the place where they halted in their progress, I saw a huge

grindstone, from behind which a little black urchin leaped up, and
seizing the handle, commenced turning it with surprising velocity,
looking into my face and laughing with that hearty glee so peculiar
to the cachinations of his race. I knew the imp too well, for I had
seen him in his tatters an hundred times, hopping the gutters in
front of the Eagle Hotel. A horrible consciousness of my fate now
flashed upon me. The prophesy of my aunt Deborah came into my
mind, and I felt that it was to be fulfilled. I cast my eyes around me
in despair, when they fell upon the figure of the old lady herself,
standing upon the prow of the vessel. Her look was severe and
reproachful. The finger of her right hand was uplifted, as if she
would have said, "I have warned you in vain!"—while her left hand
conveyed a pinch of snuff to her nostrils, which they received with
an inspiration so keen that it hissed in my ears like hot iron. My
glance at this figure was but momentary. Scarce had the imp
commenced turning the instrument upon which I had now become
aware that I was to be tortured, when the Titans in whose gripe I
was held, forced my head downward, until my proboscis rested upon
the revolving stone, and I felt its horrid inroads upon that sensitive
member. The first excoriation was severe. I writhed and struggled to
free myself, but the power which held me was indomitable.
Gradually the urchin relaxed in the rapidity of his motions—the stone
revolved slowly, and I saw that my torment was to be a lingering
one.

In the midst of their task the inhuman wretches began to chaunt

songs and incantations adapted to the horrid ceremony. I remember
some snatches of the ballads they sung. Never shall I forget them,
for the cruel mockery of their fiendish merriment was more galling
than the pain I endured, or the awful reflection that I must pass the
rest of my days the noseless object of pity and contempt. One of the
stanzas ran thus:

De man who hold he nose too high

Mus' be brought low:
Put him on de grinstone
And grind him off slow.
Wheel about, and turn about,
And wheel about slow;
And every time he wheel about
De nose must go.

I was at no loss to recognize in this a parody on a popular ballad by

James Crow, Esquire, very skilfully arranged for the piano-forte by
Mr. Zephaniah Coon; and I despised my tormentors the more for
their plagiarism and want of originality. At the end of each refrain,
the barbarians sent forth as a kind of supplementary chorus, shouts
of laughter, which seemed to come from their very souls. It was
none of your civilized ha ha's—nor your modish he he's—but the
hearty, pectoral yeoh yeoh yeoh of the unsophisticated "nigger."

All this time my nose was gradually diminishing. The imp at the
handle turned it slowly but steadily; the grasp upon my shoulders
was firm, and the pressure upon my head was so heavy, that the
inexorable stone was fast penetrating flesh, cartilage and bone, and
reducing to a level the inequalities of my visage. This could not last
forever; and at length I felt that the sacrifice had been
consummated—the friction of the stone upon my cheeks, gave
fearful evidence that what had been a nose, existed no longer, and
brought the horrid reflection that I was noseless! That the pride of
my countenance was gone, and forever!
The awful consciousness of my bereavement made me desperate,
and strung up my sinews to a gigantic effort for freedom and
revenge.—Suddenly the grasp upon my body was loosened, and as
suddenly the agents and the instrument of my torment vanished.

I awoke, covered with perspiration and in a mortal tremor. The cabin

was dark, and but for the snoring of my neighbors, I should not
have known where I was. My nose was still suffering a most
uncomfortable sensation, and I breathed with difficulty from some
unknown obstruction. Although instantly aware that, to use the
language of Molly Brown, I had merely "dreampt a dream," I
instinctively lifted my hand to my face to reassure myself that my
nose remained in undiminished amplitude and longitude. In
searching for that interesting feature, I found that it was eclipsed
and borne down by some weighty substance, which the sense of
feeling soon informed me was the ponderous fist of my Kentucky
neighbor, who had in shifting his position during his slumbers,
unceremoniously thrust it into my face. I was cramped for room, and
tugged to rid myself of the incumbrance, when its owner awoke.

"Halloo stranger!" said he, "you kick about like an eel out of water."

I explained to him the cause of my uneasiness, for which he briefly

asked my pardon; and re-adjusting himself, again fell asleep. I could
not follow his example, my mind being occupied in recalling the
incidents and sensations of my dream, which fully engaged my
thoughts until I was made aware, by the shouting and scampering
upon deck, that we had reached New York.

And now for the moral which I promised my readers. It is this—Do

not think too much of your nose—or hold it too high,—lest it should
be brought to the grindstone in good earnest; and moreover, never
sleep in a steam boat cabin, where men are planted, like Indian
corn, in rows—if you can avoid it.
 For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MORELLA—A TALE.

BY EDGAR A. POE.

Auto kath' auto meth' autou, mono eides aei ou.

Itself—alone by itself—eternally one and single.
Plato. Sympos.

With a feeling of deep but most singular affection I regarded my

friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her society many years ago,
my soul, from our first meeting, burned with fires it had never
known—but the fires were not of Eros—and bitter and tormenting to
my eager spirit was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner
define their unusual meaning, or regulate their vague intensity. Yet
we met; and Fate bound us together at the altar: and I never spoke
of love, or thought of passion. She, however, shunned society, and,
attaching herself to me alone, rendered me happy. It is a happiness
to wonder. It is a happiness to dream.

Morella's erudition was profound. As I hope to live, her talents were

of no common order—her powers of mind were gigantic. I felt this,
and in many matters became her pupil. I soon, however, found that
Morella, perhaps on account of her Presburg education, laid before
me a number of those mystical writings which are usually considered
the mere dross of the early German literature. These, for what
reasons I could not imagine, were her favorite and constant study:
and that in process of time they became my own, should be
attributed to the simple but effectual influence of habit and example.

In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do. My convictions, or I

forget myself, were in no manner acted upon by my imagination, nor
was any tincture of the mysticism which I read, to be discovered,
unless I am greatly mistaken, either in my deeds or in my thoughts.
Feeling deeply persuaded of this I abandoned myself more implicitly
to the guidance of my wife, and entered with a bolder spirit into the
intricacy of her studies. And then—then, when poring over forbidden
pages I felt the spirit kindle within me, would Morella place her cold
hand upon my own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead
philosophy some low singular words, whose strange meaning burnt
themselves in upon my memory: and then hour after hour would I
linger by her side, and dwell upon the music of her thrilling voice,
until at length its melody was tinged with terror and fell like a
shadow upon my soul, and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at
those too unearthly tones—and thus Joy suddenly faded into Horror,
and the most beautiful became the most hideous, as Hinnon became
Ge-Henna.

It is unnecessary to state the exact character of these disquisitions,

which, growing out of the volumes I have mentioned, formed, for so
long a time, almost the sole conversation of Morella and myself. By
the learned in what might be termed theological morality they will be
readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would, at all events, be
little understood. The wild Pantheism of Fitche—the modified
[Greek: Palingenesia] of the Pythagoreans—and, above all, the
doctrines of Identity as urged by Schelling were generally the points
of discussion presenting the most of beauty to the imaginative
Morella. That Identity which is not improperly called Personal, I think
Mr. Locke truly defines to consist in the sameness of a rational being.
And since by person we understand an intelligent essence having
reason, and since there is a consciousness which always
accompanies thinking, it is this which makes us all to be that which
we call ourselves—thereby distinguishing us from other beings that
think, and giving us our personal identity. But the Principium
Individuationis—the notion of that Identity which at death is, or is
not lost forever, was to me, at all times, a consideration of intense
interest, not more from the mystical and exciting nature of its
consequences, than from the marked and agitated manner in which
Morella mentioned them.

But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the mystery of my
wife's manner oppressed me like a spell. I could no longer bear the
touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tone of her musical language,
nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. And she knew all this but did
not upbraid. She seemed conscious of my weakness, or my folly—
and, smiling, called it Fate. She seemed also conscious of a cause, to
me unknown, for the gradual alienation of my regard; but she gave
me no hint or token of its nature. Yet was she woman, and pined
away daily. In time the crimson spot settled steadily upon the cheek,
and the blue veins upon the pale forehead became prominent: and
one instant my nature melted into pity, but in the next I met the
glance of her meaning eyes, and my soul sickened and became
giddy with the giddiness of one who gazes downward into some
dreary and fathomless abyss.

Shall I then say that I long'd with an earnest and consuming desire
for the moment of Morella's decease? I did. But the fragile spirit
clung to its tenement of clay for many days—for many weeks and
irksome months—until my tortured nerves obtained the mastery over
my mind, and I grew furious with delay, and with the heart of a
fiend I cursed the days, and the hours, and the bitter moments
which seemed to lengthen, and lengthen as her gentle life declined
—like shadows in the dying of the day.

But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in Heaven,
Morella called me to her side. There was a dim mist over all the
earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, and amid the rich October
leaves of the forest a rainbow from the firmament had surely fallen.
As I came, she was murmuring in a low under-tone, which trembled
with fervor, the words of a Catholic hymn:

Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes

Upon the sinner's sacrifice
Of fervent prayer, and humble love,
From thy holy throne above.

At morn, at noon, at twilight dim,

Maria! thou hast heard my hymn.
In joy and wo, in good and ill,
Mother of God! be with me still.

When my hours flew gently by,

And no storms were in the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be,
Thy love did guide to thine and thee.

Now, when clouds of Fate o'ercast

All my Present, and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine.

'It is a day of days'—said Morella—'a day of all days either to live or

die. It is a fair day for the sons of Earth and Life—ah! more fair for
the daughters of Heaven and Death.'

I turned towards her, and she continued.

'I am dying—yet shall I live. Therefore for me, Morella, thy wife,
hath the charnel house no terrors—mark me!—not even the terrors
of the worm. The days have never been when thou couldst love me;
but her whom in life thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore.'

'Morella!'
'I repeat that I am dying. But within me is a pledge of that affection
—ah, how little! which you felt for me, Morella. And when my spirit
departs shall the child live—thy child and mine, Morella's. But thy
days shall be days of sorrow—that sorrow which is the most lasting
of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of trees. For the
hours of thy happiness are over, and Joy is not gathered twice in a
life, as the roses of Pæstum twice in a year. Thou shalt not, then,
play the Teian with Time, but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the
vine, thou shalt bear about with thee thy shroud on earth, like the
Moslemin at Mecca.'

'Morella!'—I cried—'Morella! how knowest thou this?'——but she

turned away her face upon the pillow, and, a slight tremor coming
over her limbs, she thus died, and I heard her voice no more.

Yet, as she had foreseen, her child—to which in dying she had given
birth, and which breathed not till the mother breathed no more—her
child, a daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in size and intellect,
and was the perfect resemblance of her who had departed, and I
loved her with a love more fervent and more intense than I believed
it possible to feel on earth.

But ere long the Heaven of this pure affection became overcast; and
Gloom, and Horror, and Grief came over it in clouds. I said the child
grew strangely in stature and intelligence. Strange indeed was her
rapid increase in bodily size—but terrible, oh! terrible were the
tumultuous thoughts which crowded upon me while watching the
development of her mental being. Could it be otherwise, when I
daily discovered in the conceptions of the child the adult powers and
faculties of the woman?—when the lessons of experience fell from
the lips of infancy? and when the wisdom or the passions of maturity
I found hourly gleaming from its full and speculative eye? When, I
say, all this became evident to my appalled senses—when I could no
longer hide it from my soul, nor throw it off from those perceptions
which trembled to receive it, is it to be wondered at that suspicions
of a nature fearful, and exciting, crept in upon my spirit, or that my
thoughts fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling theories of
the entombed Morella? I snatched from the scrutiny of the world a
being whom Destiny compelled me to adore, and in the rigid
seclusion of my ancestral home, I watched with an agonizing anxiety
over all which concerned my daughter.

And as years rolled away, and daily I gazed upon her eloquent and
mild and holy face, and pored over her maturing form, did I discover
new points of resemblance in the child to her mother—the
melancholy, and the dead. And hourly grew darker these shadows,
as it were, of similitude, and became more full, and more definite,
and more perplexing, and to me more terrible in their aspect. For
that her smile was like her mother's I could bear—but then I
shuddered at its too perfect identity: that her eyes were Morella's
own I could endure—but then they looked down too often into the
depths of my soul with Morella's intense and bewildering meaning.
And in the contour of the high forehead, and in the ringlets of the
silken hair, and in the wan fingers which buried themselves therein,
and in the musical tones of her speech, and above all—oh! above all,
in the phrases and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved
and the living, I found food for consuming thought and horror—for a
worm that would not die.

Thus passed away two lustrums of her life, yet my daughter

remained nameless upon the earth. 'My child' and 'my love' were the
designations usually prompted by a father's affection, and the rigid
seclusion of her days precluded all other intercourse. Morella's name
died with her at her death. Of the mother I had never spoken to the
daughter—it was impossible to speak. Indeed during the brief period
of her existence the latter had received no impressions from the
outward world but such as might have been afforded by the narrow
limits of her privacy. But at length the ceremony of baptism
presented to my mind in its unnerved and agitated condition, a
present deliverance from the horrors of my destiny. And at the
baptismal font I hesitated for a name. And many titles of the wise
and beautiful, of antique and modern times, of my own and foreign
lands, came thronging to my lips—and many, many fair titles of the
gentle, and the happy and the good. What prompted me then to
disturb the memory of the buried dead? What demon urged me to
breathe that sound, which, in its very recollection, was wont to make
ebb and flow the purple blood in tides from the temples to the
heart? What fiend spoke from the recesses of my soul, when amid
those dim aisles, and in the silence of the night, I shrieked within
the ears of the holy man the syllables, Morella? What more than
fiend convulsed the features of my child and overspread them with
the hues of death, as, starting at that sound, she turned her glassy
eyes from the Earth to Heaven, and falling prostrate upon the black
slabs of her ancestral vault, responded 'I am here!'

Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct—like a knell of death—horrible,

horrible death, sank the eternal sounds within my soul. Years—years
may roll away, but the memory of that epoch—never! Now was I
indeed ignorant of the flowers and the vine—but the hemlock and
the cypress overshadowed me night and day. And I kept no
reckoning of time or place, and the stars of my Fate faded from
Heaven, and, therefore, my spirit grew dark, and the figures of the
earth passed by me like flitting shadows, and among them all I
beheld only—Morella. The winds of the firmament breathed but one
sound within my ears, and the ripples upon the sea murmured
evermore—Morella. But she died, and with my own hands I bore her
to the tomb, and I laughed, with a long and bitter laugh as I found
no traces of the first in the charnel where I laid the second—Morella.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

CONTENT'S MISHAP:
 A VERITABLE HISTORY.

BY PERTINAX PLACID, ESQUIRE.

CONTENT once dwelt in humble cot

Beside a stream with music flowing,
Embower'd in shade—a verdant spot—
Woodbines and wild flowers round it growing.

There NATURE lavish of her store

Breath'd fragrance over plain and mountain;
A soft entrancing aspect wore,
And sang sweet strains by brook and fountain.

Within the cot where dwelt the maid

PEACE ever reign'd, with mild dominion,
And LOVE, reform'd, no longer stray'd,
But loos'd his bow, and furl'd his pinion.

There PLENTY crown'd each savory meal

With simple food from NATURE'S bounty;
And HEALTH contemn'd the boasted skill
Of all the Doctors in the county.

One morning PRIDE, a city belle,

In FASHION'S gaudiest trappings glaring,
The fragrant meads for once to smell,
That way had driven to take an airing.

By chance, a vagrant cloud sent down

A shower to cool the sultry weather,
When PRIDE protested with a frown,
'Twould spoil her riding-hat and feather.
CONTENT'S snug dwelling stood hard by,
And thither PRIDE her car directed:
Welcomed with homely courtesy,
She smiled to find her dress protected.

The first brief salutations o'er,

PRIDE view'd with scorn the humble cottage,
Its narrow rooms, its sanded floor—
And turn'd her nose up at the pottage.

Then thus, to meek CONTENT she spoke:

"I wonder so genteel a maiden
Should dwell in this secluded nook,
As dull as ever hermit pray'd in.

'Tis shameful such a form and face

Should hide themselves in this mean hovel:
That so much loveliness and grace
Should with such stupid people grovel.

How would you grace those splendid halls

Where I and PLEASURE lead the million!
There you would shine at routes and balls,
Queen of the waltz and gay cotillion.

These humdrum folks you live with now

Are cut by all who aim at fashion:
To see you so beset, I vow,
It puts me quite into a passion.

Here's PEACE, a tiresome, dowdy thing,

Fit only for the chimney corner,
To listen while the crickets sing,
And teach the brats their Jacky Horner.
PLENTY is well enough 'tis true,
Where hungry peasants gorge their rations;
But her rude fare would never do,
For FASHION'S delicate collations.

And LOVE,—who once was all the rage,

And turn'd the heads of half the city,
Dealing his shafts on youth and age,
As you have learnt from many a ditty—

Has long been voted quite a bore,

He made so many a sad miscarriage;
And now, the part he play'd before,
CONVENIENCE takes at every marriage.

This rustic-looking, sheepish boy

I ne'er should dream was master CUPID,—
Whom once I knew so full of joy—
He looks so quiet and so stupid.

I cannot bear that you should dwell

In such a lonely sequestration,
When you might reign a city belle,
And taste the sweets of admiration.

Come then, nor longer tarry here

In this retreat so lone and dreary:
In PLEASURE'S brilliant throng appear,
Where TIME'S bright pinions never weary."

The artless nymph, ta'en unawares,

Was dazzled by PRIDE'S invitation;
But still she fear'd the City's snares,
And answer'd with great hesitation.

She said a happy life she led,

 That care had ne'er her bosom enter'd
Tho' tenant of an humble shed,
Here all the joys she ask'd for centred.

But PRIDE protested 'twas a sin,

That so perversely she should prattle,
When HOPE, (the jade) who just dropp'd in
That moment—closed the wordy battle.

HOPE whisper'd in the maiden's ear—

What 'twas I never could discover,—
But from her beaming eye, 'twas clear
CONTENT'S resistance all was over.

Suffice to say, the car was brought,

The ladies in it soon were seated:
PRIDE took the reins, and quick as thought,
The valley from their vision fleeted.

'Tis true CONTENT some sorrow felt

At leaving PEACE and LOVE behind her;
But HOPE sat by, and fondly dwelt
On all the happiness design'd her.

* * * * *

Soon by Dame FASHION'S mystic aid

CONTENT became another creature;
Such art was in her form display'd,
She needed not the charms of nature.

* * * * *

Behold our country maiden now!

In PLEASURE'S train a gay attendant;
Before her throng'd admirers bow;
 Her beauty was pronounced transcendent.

In every scene where PLEASURE reign'd

CONTENT was found, a radiant charmer;
And while the novelty remain'd,
Her wild career did not alarm her.

Months pass'd in one continued round

Of parties, balls, and routes and levees,
And tired CONTENT at length had found
No happiness in PLEASURE'S bevies.

Jaded in this unceasing maze,

Her eye grew dim, her cheek grew pallid:
PRIDE only could her spirits raise,
And oft her melancholy rallied.

But long even PRIDE could not hold out;

Sorely the maid her change repented—
Her dreams had all been put to route—
CONTENT was sadly discontented.

One morning HOPE, who scarce had seen

The maiden since she sought the City,
To make a flying call, popp'd in,—
And saw her alter'd looks with pity.

"Ah faithless HOPE!" exclaim'd CONTENT:

"Why did you flatter and deceive me—
Why urge the step I now repent,
And be the first to scorn and leave me.

Oh, but for you, deceitful friend,

I still had lived untouched by SORROW,
Where beauteous flowers their fragrance blend,
Nor blushes from cosmetics borrow.
I might have dwelt, a happy maid,
With PEACE and LOVE, in blest seclusion,
Afar from FASHION'S dull parade,
Her endless throngs of gay confusion.

Fain would I to my cottage fly,

But PRIDE resists, and SHAME upbraids me;
And PLEASURE, ever hovering nigh
With some delusive tale dissuades me."

HOPE, with a woman's ready wit,

From all reproach herself defended;
And forced her listner to admit
Her counsel "for the best" intended.

* * * * *

CONTENT at length "made up her mind"

('Gainst PRIDE'S usurp'd control rebelling,)
To leave the bustling town behind,
And seek again her humble dwelling.

'Twas a bright morn in early Spring,

When, HOPE her languid steps attending,
Through vales where birds were on the wing,
To that lone cot the maid was wending.

The sun shone bright on hill and lea,

The flowers from leafy shades were peeping;
The brook ran murmuring merrily,
And flocks were in the valleys leaping.

The Cottage reach'd, she met once more

The smile of PEACE, and LOVE'S embraces;
JOY lit the maiden's eye again,
 And from her brow chased sorrow's traces.

Soon HEALTH return'd, with genial glow,

Her languid frame with strength induing,
The blood resumed its wonted flow,
The roses on her cheeks renewing.

HOPE views the change with fond delight;

Vows from CONTENT she ne'er will sever;
Controls each wild impassion'd flight,
And points where mercy beams forever.

What more could Providence bestow

To yield CONTENT an added blessing?
Each hour her heart's pure offerings flow,
To Heaven its gratitude addressing.

And ever since, CONTENT has dwelt

From the gay crowd, in vale secluded:—
Their joyless strife she once has felt,
And cannot be again deluded.

Oft have I seen the humble roof,

Where, with PEACE, LOVE and HOPE uniting,
She dwells, from worldly cares aloof,
Even while her story I am writing.

The following beautiful reply to the stanzas of Mr. Wilde, published in the first number
of the Messenger, is attributed to Mrs. Buckley, the wife of a distinguished physician
of Baltimore, a lady whose fine taste and poetic capacity are most happily displayed
in these touching lines. The answer is a very perfect counterpart of Mr. Wilde's
stanzas, and if we were called on to decide upon their relative merits, we do not
know which of the two would most demand our admiration.

ANSWER

To "My Life is Like the Summer Rose."

The dews of night may fall from Heaven,

Upon the wither'd rose's bed,
And tears of fond regret be given,
To mourn the virtues of the dead:
Yet morning's sun the dews will dry,
And tears will fade from sorrow's eye,
Affection's pangs be lull'd to sleep,
And even love forget to weep.

The tree may mourn its fallen leaf,

And autumn winds bewail its bloom,
And friends may heave the sigh of grief,
O'er those who sleep within the tomb:
Yet soon will spring renew the flowers,
And time will bring more smiling hours;
In friendship's heart all grief will die,
And even love forget to sigh.

The sea may on the desert shore

Lament each trace it bears away;
The lonely heart its grief may pour
O'er cherish'd friendship's fast decay:
Yet when all trace is lost and gone,
The waves dance bright and gaily on;
Thus soon affection's bonds are torn,
And even love forgets to mourn.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO —— ——

We parted—not as lovers part—

No tear was in thine eye;
No mantling blush was on thy cheek,
Thy bosom heaved no sigh;
Yet there was something in thine air
That seemed to all unmoved,—
Something that told my bursting heart,
Dearest, that I was loved.

For, when I took thy gentle hand

To bid a short adieu,
Methought within my trembling clasp,
That white hand trembled too;
And when too, from my faltering tongue
The parting accents fell,
Thou didst not, dearest—can it be
Thou couldst not say farewell!

Forgive, if I have boldly erred—

If fancy 'twere alone,
That check'd thy voice, and lent thy hand
The tremors of my own.
Forgive, forgive the daring thought—
Forgive the hopes—the love—
That bids me seek thee soon again,
My bliss or wo to prove.
T. H. T.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

WHAT I LOVE.

I love to stray at early morn,

'Mid flowers along the verdant dale,
Inhale the fragrance of the thorn,
And hear the Dove's low plaintive wail.

I love within some forest deep,

At sultry noon reclined to lie,
And watch the fleecy clouds that creep,
With quiet pace along the sky.

I love at quiet eve to go,

Far from the noisy crowd, and dream
Of all the glorious hopes which throw
Their sunshine o'er life's gloomy stream.

But more than all, at silent night,

I love with one fair form to rove,
Beneath the pale moon's pensive light,
And whisper burning words of love.
 For the Southern Literary Messenger.

TO —— ——

Let not your heart be troubled.—John 14: 1.

Let Ocean swell with angry spite,

And yawn and lash the heedless shore;
And billows rage with mount'nous height,
As if they'd be at peace no more.
Let storm 'gainst storm their fury hurl,
And loudly roar with fearful might,
Till sea and land—yea, all the world—
May seem to grope in trouble's night.

But let thy heart thy Saviour know,

Whose word once calmed the troubled deep,
Who spake to winds that dared to blow,
And hushed them in the lap of sleep.
Tis He can quell each rising sigh,
And calm thy heart from cruel fears,
As when the storms in silence lie,
And not a wave the Ocean mars.
SIWEL.
 For the Southern Literary Messenger.

AN ITALIAN EXTRAVAGANZA.

Addressed to a beautiful lady.

Se tutti gli alberi del mondo

Fossero penne—
Il cielo fosse carta,
Il mare, inchiostro—
Non basterebbero a descrivere
La minima parte della vostra perfexione!

AN ATTEMPT AT TRANSLATION.

Could we the sky's unbounded range,

To paper all convert—
And had we power, miraculous, to change,
To pens, the trees,
To ink, the seas—
These would not all suffice to paint, in part,
The rich perfections of thy mind and heart—
Thy graces—thy desert!
ELLA.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

WHERE IS MY HEART?
 BY ALEX. LACEY BEARD.

Where is my heart?
Its place of rest is not within this aching breast;—
Where does it dwell?
It is not in the glittering hall,
Where sunbright glances gaily fall
'Neath pleasure's spell.

Where is my heart?
Not in the crowd 'mid mirth and wine and revel loud;—
It is not there.
Nor is it where the summer's sky
Gives birth to flowers of brightest dye
And balmy air.

Where is my heart?
Upon the sea, where dwell the joyous and the free,
It has not gone.
My withered heart, it has not flown
Where love or hope or joy is known,
Or pleasures dawn.

Where is my heart?
To the cold grave, where yew and cypress darkly wave,
My heart has fled.
Yes, where the form it worshipped sleeps,
My blighted heart its vigil keeps,
Beside the dead.
 For the Southern Literary Messenger.

INVOCATION.

Come my love—O! come with me,

We will wander wild and free,—
Where the pale moon sheds her light,
And the dew-drops glisten bright;—
Where is heard the gurgling flow
Of the streamlet, we will go,
And our joyous feet shall tread,
Near the humble violets bed.
We will breathe the rich perfume,
Born of fragrant flowers in bloom;
All that's sweet and all that's fair,
From green earth or scented air,
Nature brings in vesture gay,
Laughing strews around our way.

We will seek the shady grove,

Through its mazes we will rove,
Sit upon the moss-grown seat,
And our youthful vows repeat.
Years have passed since we were there,
Still thy cheeks are fresh and fair,
Not a single care-worn line,
Mars that lovely brow of thine.
Many gay and gladsome hours,
We have spent in sunny bowers;
Not one cloud of care or strife,
E'er has dimmed our path thro' life,—
And our pilgrimage doth seem
 As one long and happy dream.

Come my love the Moon's on high,

Sailing o'er the summer sky,
And the stars are twinkling through
Boundless fields of azure-blue—
Faintly from the leafy trees,
Sighs the balmy southern breeze.
Down the valley we will stray,
Where the night-flowers scent the way;
Arm in arm we'll wander o'er
Many a scene beloved of yore;
Tell the oft repeated tale,
By the fountain in the vale,—
Talk of deep, confiding love,
And of hearts that never rove.
ALEX. LACEY BEARD.

Aldie, Va.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

AUTUMN.

Come to the forests, while the leaves are falling

In rustling showers from every yielding bough—
Seek the wild haunts, where, save some lone bird calling
Its mate departed, all is silence now.

Leave the bright hearth, where love and peace are smiling,
 To dream awhile 'midst Autumn's falling leaves,
To watch her power the Summer's charms despoiling
As time of early joys the heart bereaves.

There, as the year's bright glories fade around thee

Bring home the lesson to thy saddened heart;
Muse on the loves and friendships that have bound thee,
Which thou hast seen like autumn leaves depart.

Or if the Past yield no sad recollection,

Upon the Future let thy thoughts be cast;
Nor check the current of the sad reflection
That whispers, human life is fleeting fast.

Then bow to Him, in meek and low contrition,

Whose Wisdom, full of Mercy, doth ordain
To man a second spring in realms elysian,
Where the bright hues of Summer ever reign.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

NAPOLEON.

Aye! there he lies,—the mighty one!

Death's hand is on him now;
And fearfully he puts his seal
Upon that haughty brow.

What boots it that his own proud name

 In foreign lands has rung?
That orators his fame have spoke,
That bards his deeds have sung?

What boots it that the hills of Spain

Shook 'neath his lordly tread—
That with the blood of her best sons,
Her vallies' streams ran red?

That over Moscow's battlements,

His flag-folds he shook out—
That e'en the lofty pyramids
Rang with his charging shout?

He who subdu'd so many lands,

Must now from England crave
(Although she is his deadliest foe)
What man last wants—a grave!

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

MR. WHITE,—You have published at page 199 of your January

number, four outlandish-looking lines, with a hope that some one of
your numerous readers may not only be able to inform your
correspondent who furnished them, in what language they are
written, but let him still further into the secret by giving their
meaning. Happening to know a little of the Gaelic, I have no
hesitation in saying that that is the tongue in which they are written;
and further, I think I have succeeded, after a good deal of trouble, in
discovering to a certainty that they are a translation of the first
stanza of Sappho's celebrated Ode addressed "To the Beloved Pair,"
and commented upon at some length by Longinus, in the tenth
section of his De Sublimitate. The stanza in question runs thus:

[For want of proper type we cannot give it in the Greek.—Ed.]

Videtur mihi ille æqualis Diis

Esse Vir, qui oppositus tibi
Sedet, et prope te dulce loquentem audit
Et rides amabiliter.

Blest as the immortal Gods is he

The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile.

An interesting critique upon the Ode, with the whole of Ambrose

Philips' spirited translation of it, is to be met with in the two hundred
and twenty-ninth number of the Spectator. Yours, &c.

UDOCH.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

THE FINE ARTS.

No. II.

——If the painter saw

Naught but the prose of things, and dared but draw
The literal, aged, uninspiring truth,
 And saw not nature in her winged youth
Her rainbow aspect, when she stands array'd
In floods of sunshine and in nights of shade,
What would he gain?—Barry Cornwall.

In my last number, I undertook to show, that "uncultivated taste, is

incapable of estimating excellence in art" and that, "the beautiful in
nature, like philosophy and science, can only be comprehended by
those who study it profoundly and observe it habitually." But those
who think nature an unveiled beauty to be gazed upon by every
wanton eye, or that the arts aspire no higher than the "prose of
things;" those who are resolved to admire what they like, rather
than learn to like that which is admirable, may spare themselves the
trouble of reading this article,—as my object is, to instruct the
teachable, to ramble with the lover of nature amidst the shades of
rural life, and converse with the amateur of art, about all that is
excellent in ancient or modern works.

Before we can perceive what is beautiful in art, we must

comprehend what is beautiful in nature; and without entering into
the abstruse question of beauty, which has so much divided the
erudite in all ages, we may say, that every thing from the hand of
the Creator is beautiful in its proper place: and it is precisely this,
that is beautiful in art. But to know the place where beauteous
nature lurks, and to trace the harmony and fitness of every object to
the part it supplies in the picturesque of scenery, requires a mind

"——by nature's charms impress'd,

An ardor ever burning in the breast,
A zeal for truth, a power of thought intense;
A fancy, flowering on the stems of sense;
A mem'ry as the grave retentive, vast
That holds to rise again, the imprison'd past."
Beauty is not confined to the waving line of Hogarth, or to objects
smooth and soft, as Mr. Burke thought, but is multiform in nature,
and therefore admits of a diversity of tastes; yet it is not an arbitrary
principle subject to the fancy of every individual, but like harmony in
music, it vibrates on the imagination and affections of a cultivated
mind, as doth the octave in a well tuned instrument;—the tutored
ear perceives the slightest discordance in sounds, and the cultivated
eye detects with equal facility the want of harmony in art or nature.
It has been said "that the peasant youth, would require more red in
the cheek of his beauty, than would be agreeable to a man of
cultivated taste," and the inference was, "that the delicate is more
beautiful than the florid," but in fact, they are each beautiful in their
place. In rustic life, amidst the scenes of the vintage, in the hay
field, or milking the cow—how beauteous is the flush and healthful
bloom of the cottage maiden! The ruby lip and liquid laughing eye
bespeak the joyous heart, pleased with its vocation. Here, the
delicate and courtly dame of polished life would appear unequal to
the task; would be incongruous to the scene, and as much out of
place as epic verse in pastoral poetry;—yet in her proper sphere

"——those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet

Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul,
Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd
Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart,"

she moves the attractive star of cultivated taste.

The choice of these subjects, constitutes the difference between the

Dutch and the Italian schools of art. The former painted pastoral
scenery with a fidelity incomparably superior to the Italians, yet
greatly inferior in the higher excellencies of art. They are justly
admired for their attention to detail, to exact finish, and all the
results of "mere mechanic pains," but are void of classical taste, of
moral instruction, and the poetry of the imagination, that highest
effort of genius. Their works may therefore be beautiful, but never
sublime, and their attempts at historic painting degrade it to
something worse than caricature. I remember to have seen in the
Louvre, a little painting of this school, designed for "Peter denying
his Lord in Pilate's house." The interior was a Holland kitchen; boors
were smoking before a chimney place, or playing at cards on a tub
reversed; a coarse looking woman held Peter by his collar, and
chanticleer sat perched on a beam of the house. The costume and
furniture were equally out of keeping, but executed with the most
harmonious tone and finest touch of the pencil. Now the same
subject in the schools of Italy would represent a hall becoming the
governor of Judea, soldiers in Roman costume would be grouped
around an antique vase of embers, placed upon a tripod, and Peter
would quail under the pert recognition of a beautiful damsel; the
grey dawn would appear through the intercolumniations of the
portico, and the warning clarion of the cock would be expressed on
the brow of the conscience-stricken Apostle.

This may not be considered a fair comparison, but rather the

antithesis of the two schools. What then shall we take as the highest
effort of Dutch genius? The Bull of Paul Potter!1 As well might we
compare a wax figure of Tecumseh with the Apollo Belvidere, or the
Sleeping Beauty with the Venus de Medicis. But, if indeed, it be the
highest effort of genius to produce an exact representation of things,
the modeller in wax, is superior to the sculptor in marble, and the
Bull at the Hague, to the Transfiguration in the Vatican. As no one of
any pretension to taste will ever assent to this conclusion, I must
again insist, that art aspires to a higher attainment than the mere
portraiture of nature, and claims poetic honors; it is the poetry of
form and color: it selects the agreeable from the discordant parts of
the great prototype—combines and disposes them—and without
changing the features, elevates and ennobles them; it seizes upon
incidental effects to cast a shadow over the asperities of objects,
and throws a broad and brilliant light on the more beautiful parts.
When Dominichino was asked what obscured a part of his picture,
"una neblia si passa," was his reply; and by thus imagining a passing
cloud, he was enabled to preserve that breadth of light and shade so
remarkable in the English school at present. The Italians however,
did not often seek after effect; they did not address themselves so
much to the eye, as to the judgment; and their distinguishing
excellence is correctness of design and dignity of character. It was
this that acquired for them the praise of a "grand gusto," or
sublimity of style, superior to all other artists.
1 This is esteemed the greatest of the Dutch school.

G. C.

For the Southern Literary Messenger.

ETYMOLOGY.

——The inventor of a new word must never flatter himself that he has secured the
public adoption, for he must lie in the grave before he can enter the Dictionary.—
D'Israeli.

Mr. White:—I am an odd old fellow, and fond of etymology, and

frequently amuse myself with tracing to their roots, words in familiar
use. Having been confoundedly puzzled of late by the term CAUCUS,
which is in every body's mouth, and not being able to satisfy myself
as to its origin, I have determined to have recourse to you, and will
be infinitely obliged to you or any of your readers for a solution of
the difficulty. If it be true as D'Israeli says, that the inventor of a
new word cannot be secure of its adoption by the public, for he
must lie in the grave before he can enter the Dictionary—the man
who made the aforesaid word must be still living, though at a very
advanced age. I rather suppose however that D'Israeli is mistaken,
and that the inventor has been dead a long time, and lived to see
the general adoption of his word, notwithstanding it has as yet no
place in any Dictionary that I have seen. Supposing it to be an
English word, I consulted Walker, and was mortified to find that he
took no notice of it. I then made sundry combinations of other
terms, but could light upon none that seemed at all plausible, except
the words calk us, which, united into caucus, may produce a kind of
onomatopoeia, descriptive of the assemblage in question; for to calk,
is, according to the abovementioned lexicographer, "to stop the leak
of a vessel;" and inasmuch as a caucus is urged by the admirers of
Mr. Van Buren, to be the means of stopping all leaks in our political
vessel, there seems to be some show of reason in this derivation.
Upon further reflection, however, I concluded that the word must be
Greek, and having recourse to Schrevelius, found the paronymous
term kakos, malus. This I presently rejected, though apparently
descriptive of the pernicious tendency of a caucus, because the
institutors of that pestilent oligarchy would hardly have selected so
barefaced an epitheton, such a cacophony, if I may so speak. On
further search, upon meeting with kaukis, I was so much delighted
with the near resemblance of sound, as to jump up and cry out
eureka; but moderated my rapture on discovering that "genus
calceamenti," the explanatory terms in Latin, could not be tortured
to any manner of application, unless indeed it was intended to
indicate that the members of a caucus would be willing to stand in
the people's shoes, upon the occasion of electing a President of the
United States; or unless we observe further the aliter baukos,
jucundus; for it is literally a very pleasant and right merry way of
getting rid of the difficulty of a choice by the people. So far the
Greek. As for the Latin, I have consulted every Dictionary in my
possession, from Ainsworth and Young, up to old Thoma Thomasius,
printed Coventriæ Septimo Idus, Februarii 1630, and can find
nothing resembling our Caucus, but the three headed robber Cacus,
who by paronomasia, might be considered as the grand prototype of
that modern monster, which has stolen, if not the cattle, at least the
property of the great American Hercules, and will keep it, unless he
rise in his might, and crushing the political thief, resumes his original
rights. Now, Mr. White, I am disposed to rest here; though not quite
so well satisfied as Jonathan Oldbuck was about the locality Of
Agricola's camp, from those mysterious initials which the
mischievous Edie Ochiltree so wickedly interpreted to mean "Ailie
Davy's lang ladle," and not "Agricola dicavit libens lubens," as
Monkbarns would have it;—but do observe, sir, the singular
coincidences between Cacus and Caucus; the one a three headed
rogue—the other a sort of political Cerberus; the first slily taking
away the cattle of another—the second insidiously cajoling the
people of their rights; the former hiding them in a cave, where they
were discovered by their bellowing—the latter betrayed by a
bellowing from Maine to Georgia; and finally Cacus demolished by
Hercules, and Caucus easily demolished by the Herculean force of
public sentiment.

I acknowledge, however, that I am not entirely satisfied,

notwithstanding this "confirmation strong," and hope you will
speedily relieve the perplexity of

Your most obedient,

NUGATOR.

P.S. A friend facetiously suggests that Caucus is nothing more than a

corruption,—Caucus, quasi cork us; that is, shut close the doors that
nobody may hear us.

REMARK.

We will do all in our power to assist our esteemed friend Nugator in

his etymological researches.—We remember to have read in a work
of a New England author, some years since, an elaborate inquiry into
the origin of the word which so much puzzles our correspondent. If
our memory serve us faithfully, that writer fixes the nativity of the
term in the city of Boston, and the date of its birth previous to the
revolution. The circumstances out of which it sprang he asserts to be
these. In that stormy period, when every class of citizens was
agitated by the sentiments which exploded shortly afterwards in the
thunders of revolution, public meetings were frequently held by the
different trades and professions. For reasons which we now forget,
particular attention was attracted to one called by the Calkers, a
large body of citizens in so commercial a town. Their proceedings
being peculiar, (perhaps in exclusiveness or secrecy,) caused this
assemblage to be much talked of; and every subsequent meeting
characterized by similar peculiarities in its formation or proceedings,
was called a "Calker's Meeting." Gradually, in the lapse of time,
although the term continued to be used, its origin was forgotten;
and a knowledge of its etymological parentage no longer preserving
it from corruption, an erroneous pronunciation, and consequently an
erroneous manner of spelling it, gave to it the form and shape which
it now wears—a change not at all surprising in regard to a word
which was probably unwritten during the first thirty years of its
existence. We give this derivation from memory alone; we cannot
even recall the work in which we saw it. If it be the true one, our
friend will perceive that in one of his surmises he is not far wrong. It
is high time that the birth, parentage and early condition of a
particle of our language, which has of late become a word of power,
equal in its magic influence to the fabled spells of ancient
necromancers, should be settled beyond dispute. Seeing what
Caucus now means, it is natural that we should desire to know from
what beginnings it has arisen to its present stupendous importance
in the ranks of our modern political vocabulary.

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