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cepts. His first appearance before the old friend who is hailed with genial hospublic seems to have been as a satirist pitality, when Soracte is white with snow, an easy way to secure the popular ear in and the stormy winds tear the chestnut such a community as Rome, and one glades; his Bandusian fount by which he which youth generally feels very con- finds a cool refuge when summer blazes genial to its own deep-seated sense of upon the plain, even the reader who superiority. It was only, however, when knows little of Horace has already heard he attracted the notice of Mecenas that of those familiar parts of him. He is Horace came into the way of becoming the shrewdest, most clearheaded of easy great. Mæcenas, it is said, took nearly men, keen and humorous in his native a year to decide whether he should ad-lightness of soul, aware of his own little mit the young poet into his poetical self-deceptions, and laughing in his and political coterie or not. For all this sleeve at his own babble of green fields time, Horace, after their first interview, yet, notwithstanding the laugh, knowheard nothing of the all-powerful patron ing that the babble is true when the fields who could make any man's fortune; but, are his own. Altogether, though he is at the end of the long interval, he was far from a lofty personage, he is never sent for and bidden to consider himself unlikable, even lovable when he pleases. enrolled for the future among the friends He is perfectly friendly, though he would of Mæcenas. After this, his career was not make the slightest sacrifice for your smooth enough, and in the course of a sake; but neither would he ask any from few years, his noble patron bestowed you. He takes everything in an easy upon him the Sabine farm which figures tone, confident that nothing can last, not so largely in all he says and sings. It love itself, as he expounds to his beauwas worth while being a poet in days ties. Mr. Martin gives many examples when such gifts were natural. The Sa- of his poetic style, and for these we refer bine farm seems to have done more than the reader to the charming volume itself. secure for Horace the competence which No one has succeeded better in catching is so dear to all ease-loving people; it the airy grace, the lightness of the treatgave him an unfailing refuge from all the ment, the music of the verse. Here is a troubles of the world. He flew to it when charming description of his own mode of be was weary or out of temper, when a life, simple, yet embodying that luxury of passing fit of spleen or indignation brought simplicity, the enjoyment of everything that disgust which comes and goes so the writer loves best. The ordinary oceasily with real lovers of the world. It an-cupations and pleasures of his day are swered all the purpose of family and chil- thus set forth in contrast with the splendren to him he could always fall back did troubles of public life: upon it whatever happened. The character I walk alone, by mine own fancy led, which Mr. Martin presents to the reader Inquire the price of potherbs and of bread, is very charming, friendly, and attractive, The circus cross, to see its tricks and fun, if not perhaps very elevated. Horace is The forum, too, at times, near set of sun; of the world, worldly; he does not even With other fools there do I stand and gape strike the highest note of Epicurean phil-Round fortune-tellers' stalls, then home escape osophy. His" vanity of vanities," though To a plain meal of pancakes, pulse, and pease; he twitters it lightly enough in many a Three young boy-slaves attend on me with refrain, has nothing of the tragic disappointment of the Hebrew. Even in enjoyment he is no optimist, demanding the impossible; but asks only, in his cheerful way, to get along comfortably, and amuse himself and please himself, without harming others. His moralities are of a comfortable worldly sort; his immoralities are perfectly easy and good-humoured. His loves (save the mark !) and his hatreds are alike moderate, and bring no particular harm to any one. And his poetry is full of himself, and of these easy and pleasant characteristics. His farm, his fields, his vines, the log that is laid upon that hearth which we all know so well, the old wine that is brought out, the

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these.

Upon a slab of snow-white marble stand
A goblet and two beakers; near at hand,
A common ewer, patora, and bowl;
Campania's potteries produced the whole.
To sleep then I.

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I keep my couch till ten, then walk awhile,
Or having read or writ what may beguile
A quiet after-hour, anoint my limbs
With oil, not such as filthy Natta skims
From lamps defrauded of their unctuous fare.
And when the sunbeams, grown too hot to

bear,

The bath takes all my weariness away.
Warn me to quit the field, and hand-ball play,
Then, having lightly dined, just to appease
The sense of emptiness, I take mine case,
Enjoying all home's simple luxury.
This is the life of bard uaclogged, like me,

By stern ambition's miserable weight.
So placed, I own with gratitude, my state
Is sweeter, ay, than though a quæstor's power
From sire and grandsire's sires had been my
dower.

This is perhaps the most gentle and irreproachable form of self-indulgence, and sounds charmingly on paper. The deeper note involved in this delightful comfort and unassuming luxury, the future which it wisely, in accordance with its code, inquires into but little, accepting the inevitable, however, with sense and courage, is expressed in the following well-known verses:

Ask not such lore's forbidden
What destined term may be
Within the future hidden

For us, Leuconöe.

Both thou and I

Must quickly die!

Content thee, then, nor madly hope

To wrest a false assurance from Chaldean
horoscope.

Far nobler, better were it,
Whate'er may be in store.
With soul serene to bear it,
If winters many more
Jove spare for thee,

Or this shall be

The last, that now with sullen roar

Why wilt thou kill me with thy boding fears?
Why, oh Mecenas, why?

Before thee lies a train of happy years:
Yes, nor the gods nor I

Could brook that thou shouldst first be laid in
dust,

Who art my stay, my glory, and my trust!

Ah, if untimely Fate should snatch thee hence,
Thee, of my soul a part,

Why should I linger on, with deadened sense,
And ever-aching heart,
No, no, one day shall see thy death and mine !
A worthless fragment of a fallen shrine ?

Think not that I have sworn a bootless oath ;
Yes, we shall go, shall go,

Hand link'd in hand, whene'er thou leadest,
both

The last sad road below!

Me neither the Chimera's fiery breath,

Nor Gyges, even could Gyges rise from death,

With all his hundred hands from thee shall

sever;

For in such sort it hath

Pleased the dread Fates, and Justice potent

ever,

To interweave our path,

Beneath whatever aspect thou wert born,
Libra, or Scorpion fierce, or Capricorn.

The promise to go "hand in hand" with his friend, when the summons

Scatters the Tuscan surge in foam upon the came, on the sad road that led be

rock-bound shore.

Be wise, your spirit firing
With cups of tempered wine,

And hopes afar aspiring

In compass brief confine,

Use all life's powers;

The envious hours

Fly as we talk; then live to-day.

low, might have been a rash one; but it was singularly and touchingly verified. Mæcenas died in summer, and Horace in the November of the same year, at the age of fifty-seven -so it might well have been that something of the languor of soul that creeps over the lonely man when his friends disappear from his side had undermined the life of the poet.

Nor fondly to to-morrow trust more than you His death is, as so often happens, the

must or may.

most touching event in his life.

Oddly enough, these verses are quoted The other poets a little earlier or a in the eccentric and somewhat foolish little later than Virgil or Horace, who novel of a clever writer lately published, still may be classed as their contempoas an example of the means by which raries, find no place in Mr. Collins's series. his heroine was trained into the most per- Ovid, Tibullus, Propertius, Catullus, are fect of women! We doubt whether the passed over without a word-for what little poem would generally commend it- reason we can scarcely divine, unless self as adapted for this purpose; but the from the difficulty, to which we have resentiment is fine of its kind, and affords peatedly referred, of giving any fit idea, a fit crown and conclusion to the easy, by any means but those of direct translagenial, highly-cultured, and all-enjoying tion, of non-dramatic poetry. The reason life of the old Roman. He reaches a is quite valid, and worthy of full considhigh note, and shows a spirit touched eration; yet we think that some briefer to a finer issue, in one of the odes notice might have been given with adto Mæcenas. His patron lacked what vantage of these tuneful brethren Horace so fully possessed a tranquil enough at least to distinguish and idenand contented spirit-and it was evi-tify them to unlearned readers. They dently to soothe some despondent mood that the poet gave vent to this expression of devoted friendship:

are better known, more important, and more poetical, we cannot but think, than Plautus and Terence, who make up a

volume with their comedies adapta- and writers. The blaze of splendour tions from Greek originals and whose about him dazzles our eyes. We are more sole title to preference is, that their at home at the Sabine farm, listening to stories are more easy to tell. There is the trickling of the summer fountain, or little upon which we can dwell in these warm indoors in wintry weather over the two writers; fine speeches and striking chestnuts and the wine. lines, like the famous "Homo sum: hu- Cicero, however, less fortunate, less mani nihil a me alienum puto," are no splendid, and less great, succeeds better doubt to be found in them; but our lei- than Cæsar does in combining the glow sure does not permit us to dig for them and shine of public eminence with that through a mass of indifferent plots con- milder glory which is more dear to our fessedly not original. Passing over these heart. His public career was splendid, minor dramatists, we come to two great but unlike that of Cæsar, it was checkmen of action sufficiently linked with ered by great downfall and misfortune, literature to entitle them to a place as well as by the greatest honours and among classic authors, and giving in their promotions. He gained the highest disprincely persons a more splendid demon-tinctions Rome could give, earning the stration of Roman life than any merely titles of Pater Patria and of Saviour of literary productions could do. These men are Cæsar and Cicero. Mr. Anthony Trollope has told the story of the great Julius with much ease and spirit; almost too clearly, brightly, and well for a subject which we associate with mighty tomes and heavy periods. The reader feels as if he owed to the great Cæsar something more solemn than the pleas-failed in any results except murder, found ure with which he reads a narrative in which there is no tedium. It is seldom that an artist so distinguished in one branch of literature, takes the trouble

car

Rome, and then was driven out ignomini-
ously, an outlaw and excommunicated
person; but only to be brought back
eighteen months later in triumph-"
ried back to Rome on the shoulders of
Italy," as he himself says. Later, he
joined in the conspiracy of Brutus and
Cassius against Cæsar; and when that

in Antony, against whom in the mean time he had launched his tremendous Philippics, an enemy still more dangerous and powerful than the two former, of entering upon another: and the Catiline and Clodius, who had brought skill of the practised narrator conveys an about his previous misfortunes. It is a unusual charm to the history. Mr. kind of happiness in its way to have had Trollope carries out the principle of the for enemies men whose very names are series with conscientiousness. He tells hateful in history, and whom no good the story of the Commentaries in his own man would care to call friend. Cicero words, which are of themselves most died sadly enough while in the act of characteristic and pleasant. A more escaping. He was being carried in his splendid life has never been in the world, litter by his slaves through the woods and there are abundant means of study- which adjoined his villa, to the coast, that ing it. The man who as nearly con- he might get off by sea. He had been quered the world as any one man could urged unwillingly to this flight by his do; who conquered the might of old faithful servants, and lay in his litter, Rome, its factions and traditions; - who, moving slowly through the dewy trees, struggling through a hundred vicissi- reading his favourite Euripides when the tudes made himself the foremost figure pursuers overtook him. The leader of of his day, a kind of king of the universe the band was one whom Cicero's eloso to speak- he who was first in Rome quence had saved for that moment; and being first in the world-and who, not there the Roman warriors killed the old content with all these achievements, man, the Pater Patriæ, the saviour of wrote the story of them better than any their city. If we had space to enter into one elso could have written it, requires his life, there are specks in it evident little additional labour on the part of his enough; but he was both noble and unbiographer to prove his greatness. He fortunate; and the vanity of which he is is the most heroic, as he is the most pow-accused, and inability to bear misfortune erful, of Romans, in himself an admira- like a man, are, no doubt, fully attributable type of Rome, all-conquering, invin-ble to the keen, nervous sensibility of his cible, proudest and greatest of empires; organization, and partly to the habit of but his place is more in the imperial line his time, which was not fashioned (a of kings and statesmen than with the thing we find it so hard to understand) humbler, if not less proud, order of poetsupon our English nineteenth-century VOL. IX. 424

LIVING AGE.

In

In these few noble lines are compressed much that Shakespeare has repeated on various occasions. That quality of mercy which blesseth him that gives and him that takes, has never been more beautifully claimed. Not Isabella when she catches the cold Angelo's ear with, "Hark, I will bribe you! - not Portia's fine appeal, -are more direct than this which was addressed by the

rules of what is dignified or not. His miration and their love like mercy. first great claim upon the recollec-nothing do men reach so near the gods, as tion of posterity as a classic writer is (if when they can give life and safety to mankind. we may be permitted a bull) not through Fortune has given you nothing more glorious than the power his writings at all, but his speeches - your own nature can supply splendid pieces of oratory in which great and pardon whenever you can. nothing more noble than the will to spare The case, public speakers of all subsequent ages perhaps, demands a longer advocacy-your have found their models. It is scarcely gracious disposition feels it too long already. less easy to render them into quiet Eng-So I make an end, preferring for my cause lish than to transfer into our mother that you should argue with your own heart, tongue the poetic strains of fervent Italy. than that I or any other should argue with We feel that not only are the words you. I will urge nothing more than thiswanting, but the speaker, to enable us to the grace which you shall extend to my client feel the full force of the oration. Mr. in his absence, will be felt as a boon by all here present. Collins quotes a great many of these speeches, and from them the reader will learn as much as it is possible to learn of Cicero's power in this way. We will give only one example, one which shows the superior skill of the pleader, and his power of comprehending all the possibilities of a situation. He had been called upon to defend Ligarius, who was impeached of treason against the State, in the person of Caesar, as having borne arms against him in his African cam-greatest orator in Rome to the greatest paign. Cicero himself had been on the side of those against whom Cæsar fought -and Cæsar was the judge. It would be difficult to imagine a position more difficult or more embarrassing. The advocate began by "making out what case he could for his client." Clearly there The other works of Cicero are all on was little enough to be said. Then with ethical and philosophical subjects. His that unerring instinctive perception of famous essay on old age, and that on what is best, which is sometimes the friendship, are of a less profound charresult of consummate skill and dexterity, acter than the philosophical discussions and sometimes the merest dictate of na- on the true ends of life (“De Finibus Boture, he suddenly threw down his argu-norum et Malorum"), the disputations ment and spoke direct to the judge on the bench, who was at the same time the offended person:

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conqueror; and though these old Romans were little affected by sentiment, and quite unused to decide any practical questions by such a plea, yet the appeal was successful, and Ligarius was pardoned.

upon the nature of God, upon death, upon immortality, and upon the connection between virtue and happiness, of which the reader will here find an excellent I have pleaded many causes, Cæsar, Some of these thoughts are summary. but I never yet used language of this sort very remarkable in their elevation and "Pardon him, sirs, he has offended; he has purity. They are full of that profound made a false step; he did not think to do it; uncertainty which belonged to their age, he never will again." This is language we and which indeed hangs over all ages, use to a father. To the court it must be"He did not do it; he never contemplated it; tion deeply that silence which gives so ever ready to reappear when men questhe evidence is false; the charge is fabricated.' If you tell me you sit but as the judge of the little reply. So noble and spiritual, howfact in this case, Caesar-if you ask me when ever, are many of the sentiments uttered and where he served against you-I am silent. by the old Roman, to whom the ancient I will not now dwell upon the extenuating gods of Greece were fables, and who was circumstances which even before a judicial too early for Christianity, even had it been tribunal might have their weight. We take likely that his pride would have stooped this course before a judge, but I am here to a faith so humbly introduced, that we pleading to a father. I have erred, I have done wrong, I am sorry; I take refuge in your tion of soul and wistful intuition which can only wonder and admire the elevaclemency; I ask forgiveness for fault. I pray you, pardon me. There is nothing formed a religious atmosphere about so popular, believe me, sir, as kindness, of those great spirits groping towards the all your many virtues, none wins men's ad. God they divined, with a devotion more

my

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disinterested, more genuine than our own. I and rabble of life! For I shall go my way,
Erasmus speaks of Cicero as fit to be a not only to those great men of whom I spoke,
canonized saint. Petrarch says of him but to my own son Cato, than whom was
that "you would fancy sometimes it was
never better man born, nor more full of dutiful
not a pagan philosopher, but a Christian affection; whose body I laid on the funeral
pile- -an office he should rather have done
apostle who was speaking;" and the
for me. But his spirit has never left me; it
beautiful passages translated-and very still looks fondly back upon me, though it has
well translated by Mr. Collins, may gone assuredly into those abodes where he
persuade the reader that these high tes- knew that I myself shall follow. And this,
timonies scarcely go too far. There is my great loss, I seemed to bear with calm-
something extremely touching even in ness; not that I bore it undisturbed, but that
the origin of these works. Some of them I still consoled myself with the thought that
were written to distract his mind under the separation between us could not be for
the great grief of his life-the death of long. And if I err in this, in that I believe
his daughter Tullia; the others to solace the spirits of men to be immortal, I err will-
him in his scarcely less grief for Rome, of mine uprooted so long as I live. But if,
ingly; nor would I have this mistaken opinion
when he saw great Cæsar's great despot- after I am dead, I shall have no conscious-
ism, which he had risked his soul to cut
ness, as some curious philosophers assert,
short, transferred into the inferior hands; then I am not afraid of dead philosophers
of Antony. It gives a deeper interest | laughing at my mistake.

to the philosopher's searching demand,

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What is death? when we remember that We are transported into another cen-
this piteous question to which Chris-tury and a changed atmosphere by the
tianity itself gives but a broad general next group of Roman writers to whom we
From the last struggles
answer, and none of those details for are introduced.
which the soul yearns was that of a of the falling Republic, dying hard under
father whose child had gone away from the desperate championship of such men
him into the unknown. "To me," he as Pompey, Cicero, and the band of tragic
says, "when I consider the nature of the but ineffectual conspirators who killed
soul, there is far more difficulty and ob-great Cæsar; and the subdued tranquil-
scurity in forming a conception of what lity, as of a sea stilled after a storm, of
the soul is while in the body-in a dwell- the age of Augustus, full of all the softer
ing where it seems so little at home
pipings of peace and lays of poets,
than of what it will be when it has es- plunge at once into the misery and deg-
caped into the free atmosphere of heaven, radation that followed under such rulers
To illustrate
which seems its natural abode." What as Nero and Domitian.
taught him so elevated and spiritual a
this period, we have Tacitus the historian,
conception? Somehow or other, Cicero Pliny, whom we may call the familiar
had found out that this soul was the thing nal the satirist; so that by means of so
commentator and social critic, and Juve-
most worth attention of anything in the
world. Poor soul! in this advanced age many different expositors, each helping
it has fallen into disrepute, like many ought to have it in our power to form a
out the picture made by the other, we
other things, and is less interesting or
important than the lobe of the ear and the sufficiently just idea of the condition of
ball of the thumb-of all the changes Rome. The works of Tacitus, with one
between our time and Cicero's, one of exception, are historical. His Agric-
the most wonderful, surely.
ola" gives us the life of a good general
the old heroic Roman strain, whose suc-
and brave man, with something in him of
cess in pushing the Roman legions along
the rugged northern coasts of our own
island, gives him a special interest to
ourselves, if, indeed, any interest can be
strong which lies so far in the dim past,
and concerns ancestors so unrecogniz-
able as the Scots or Picts, who gave the
Roman general enough to do even in our
dear humdrum and placid Kingdom of
Fife. The subject of the "Germany" is
sufficiently indicated by its title; it is an
account of that great midland continental
country, out of the glooms of which there

We will give but one other passage
from the essay on old age
a very fa-
mous one, for which again we are in-
debted to Mr. Collins:

It likes me not to mourn over departing
life as many men, and men of learning, have
done. Nor can I regret that I have lived,
since I have so lived as that I may trust I was
not born in vain; and I depart out of life as
out of a temporary lodging, not as out of my
home. For Nature has given it to us as an
inn to tarry at by the way, not as a place to
abide in. Oh glorious day! when I shall set
out to join that blessed company and assembly
of disembodied spirits, and quit this crowd

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