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the reach. Longinus was seated near a massy central column, to which he was bound by a chain; his friends were around him, with whom he appeared to have been engaged in earnest conversation. He rose as I approached him, and saluted me with that grace that is natural to him, and which is expressive, not more of his high breeding, than of an inward benevolence that goes forth and embraces all who draw near him. Although,' said he, I am forsaken of that which men call fortune, yet I am not forgotten by my friends. So that the best things remain. Piso, I rejoice truly to These whom you behold are pupils and friends whom you have often met at my house, if this dim light will allow you to distinguish them."

see you.

Cleoras, a favourite disciple of the doomed philosopher, having asked what it is in his case that enables Longinus to meet misfortune and death without shrinking; and if it be not indifference, what else is it? the philosopher replies,—

I know that you ask this question, not because you have never heard from me virtually at least its answer, but because you wish to hear from me at this hour, whether I adhere with firmness to the principles I have ever inculcated respecting death, and whether I myself derive from them the satisfactions I have declared them capable to impart. It is right and well that you do so. And I on my part take pleasure in repeating and reaffirming what I have maintained and taught. But I must be brief in what I say, more so than I have been in replying to your other inquiries, Cleoras and Bassus, for I perceive by the manner in which the rays of the sun shoot through the bars of the window, that it is not long before the executioner will make his appearance. It affords me then, I say, a very especial satisfaction to declare, in the presence of so many worthy friends, my continued attachment and hearty devotion to the truths I have believed and taught, concerning the existence of a God, and the reality of a future and immortal life. Upon these two great points I suffer from no serious doubts; and it is from this belief that I now derive the serenity and peace which you witness. All the arguments which you have often heard from me in support of them, now seem to me to be possessed of a greater strength than ever; I will not repeat them, for they are too familiar to you, but only reaffirm them, and pronounce them, as, in my judgment, affording a ground for our assurance in the department of moral demonstration, as solid and sufficient as the reasonings of Euclid afford in the science of geometry."

It is behind these and such like principles and points of belief that he entrenches himself, and finds security from the shafts of fear and despair :

"I, Cleoras, look upon death as a release, not from a life which has been wholly evil, for I have, through the favour of the gods, enjoyed much, but from the dominion of the body, and the appetites which clog the soul, and greatly hinder it in its efforts after a perfect virtue and a true felicity. It will open a way for me into those elysian realms in whose reality all men have believed, a very few excepted, though few or none could prove it. Even as the great Roman could call that O gloVOL. 111. (1838.) No. I.

E

rious day,' that should admit him to the council of the gods, and the society of the great and the good who had preceded him, so can I, in like manner, designate the day and hour which are now present. I shall leave you whom I have known so long; I shall be separated from scenes familiar and beloved through a series of years: the arts and the sciences, which have ministered so largely to my happiness, in these forms of them I shall lose; the very earth itself, venerable to my nind for the events which have passed upon it, and the genius it has nurtured and matured, and beautiful, too, in its array of forms and colours, I shall be conversant with no more. Death will divide me from them all. But it will bear me to worlds and scenes of a far exceeding beauty. It will introduce me to mansions inconceivably more magnificent than anything which the soul has experience of here. Above all, it will bring me into the company of the good of all ages, with whom I shall enjoy the pleasures of an uninterrupted intercourse. It will place me where I shall be furnished with ample means for the prosecution of all those inquiries which have engaged me on earth, exposed to none or fewer of the hindrances which have here thronged the way. All knowledge and all happiness will then be attainable. Is death to be called an evil, or is it to be feared or approached with tears and regrets, when such are to be its issues?'

It is reasonable to suppose, that, in spite of all these strongholds, the philosopher's fortitude and reliances might sometimes appear to waver; and Cleoras wishes to learn if it be not so? Longinus does not deny that such is the case, but describes his doubts and fears as mere flitting shadows; asserting, at the same time, that, according to the constitution of human nature, so long as his soul is clothed with flesh and blood, it must be the case, at intervals, but that the inner principle is always the conqueror,-begging of his surrounding friends and disciples, that if he should for a moment, even after all that he has now said, exhibit signs of fear, they would not set it down to a practical and final confession of error of doctrine; for he tells them that virtue and immortality are coeval and eternal. conversation proceeds,

The

"I here asked Longinus if he was conscious of having been influenced in any of his opinions by Christianity. I know,' I said, that in former conversations you have ever objected to that doctrine. Does your judgment remain the same?' I have not read the writings of the Christians, yet am I not wholly ignorant of them, since it were impossible to know with such familiarity the Princess Julia, and not arrive at some just conception of what that religion is. But I have not received it. Yet even as a piece of polished metal takes a thousand hues from surrounding objects, so does the mind; and mine may have been unconsciously coloured and swayed by the truths of Christianity, which I have heard so often stated and defended. Light may have fallen upon it from that quarter as well as from others. I doubt not that it has. For although I cannot myself admit that doctrine, yet am I now, and have ever been, persuaded of its excellence, and that upon such as can admit it, it must exert a power altogether beneficial. But let us now, for the little time that remains, turn to other things.""

It does not appear to us that the author has been successful in this latter passage, if he wished to preserve the consistency of Longinus or the strength of his philosophy. The judgment seems to assent, why not the heart of such a disciplined character, to truths which have appeared to him in times past excellent? But we are not upon a treatise on divinity, but a novel; therefore let us see how the scene concludes, how the noble nature about to be assailed and dissolved meets its fate ;

"He then went out in company with the guard and soldiers, we fol.. lowing in sad procession. The place of execution was in front of the camp, all the legions being drawn around to witness it, Aurelian himself being present among them. Soon as he came in sight of that fatal place, and of the executioner standing with his axe lifted upon his shoulder, Longinus suddenly stopped, his face became pale and his frame trembled. He turned and looked upon us who were immediately behind him, and held up his hand, but without speaking, which was as much as to say, 'you perceive that what I said was very likely to happen has come to pass, and the body has obtained a momentary triumph.' He paused, however, not long, making then a sign to the soldiers that he was ready to proceed. After a short walk from that spot, we reached the block and executioner. 'Friend,' said he now to the executioner, ‘I hope your axe is sharp, and that you are skilful in your art; and yet it is a pity if you have had so much practice as to have become very dexterous in it.' Ten years' service in Rome,' he replied, may well make one so, or he must be born with little wit. Distrust not my arm, for it has never failed yet. One blow, and that a light one, is all I want, if it be, as it ought, a little slanting. As for this edge-feel it if thou wilt-it would do for thy beard.' Longinus had now divested himself of whatever parts of his garments would obstruct the executioner in his duty, and was about to place his head in the prescribed place, when he first turned to us and again held out his hands, which now trembled no longer. You see,' said he, in a cheerful voice, that the soul is again supreme. Love and cultivate the soul, my good friends, and you will then be universal conquerors, and throughout all ages. It will never betray you. Now, my new friend, open for me the gates of immortality, for you are, in truth, a celestial porter.' So saying, he placed himself as he was directed to do, and at a single blow, as he had been promised, the head of Longinus was severed from the body. Neither the head nor the body was delivered to the soldiers, or allowed to be treated with disrespect. This favour we had obtained of Aurelian. So, after the executioner had held up the head of the philosopher, and shown it to the soldiers, it was, together with the body, given to our care, and by us sent to Palmyra."

These passages will serve to convey a highly favourable opinion of the work. They are certainly not after the manner of ordinary romancers. It will also be conceded that they are full of instruction and gratifying interest. and a spec

Piso has said that Aurelian was present in the camp

tator.

Here is a sketch of him, and a testimony as to the character of the Roman soldiery.

66

Strange that such a sacrifice as this, which is about to be made, can be thought to be necessary. It is not necessary; nor can Aurelian himself in his heart deem it so. It is a peace-offering to the bloodthirsty legions, who-well do I know it, for I have been of them-love no sight so well as the dying throes of an enemy. It is, I am told, with an impatience hardly to be restrained within the bounds of discipline, that they wait for the moment when their eyes shall be feasted with the flowing blood and headless trunks of the brave defenders of Palmyra. I see that this is so, whenever I pass by a group of soldiers, or through the camp. Their conversation seems to turn upon nothing else than the vengeance due to them upon those who have thinned their ranks of one-half their numbers, and who, themselves shielded by their walls, looked on and beheld in security the slaughter which they made. They cry out for the blood of every Palmyrene brought across the desert. My hope for Gracchus is small. Not more, however, because of this clamour of the legions, than on account of the stern and almost cruel nature of Aurelian himself. He is himself a soldier. He is one of the legions. His sympathies are with them, one of whom he so long has been, and from whom he sprang. The gratifications which he remembers himself so often to have sought, and so dearly to have prized, he is willing to bestow upon those who he knows feel as he once did. He may speak of his want of power to resist the will of the soldiers; but I almost doubt his sincerity since nothing can equal the terror and reverence with which he is regarded throughout the army-reverence for his genius, terror for his passions, which, when excited, rage with the fury of a madman, and wreak themselves upon all upon whom the least suspicion falls, though among his most trusted friends. To this terror, as you well know, his bodily strength greatly adds."

The death of Gracchus, the Roman Palmyrene and the Minister of Zenobia, furnishes an equally powerful though different picture. The account given by himself of his life and his philosophy is particularly striking, and is loftily drawn. Our readers will probably consider him to have been an Epicurean and a Stoic subtilly blended. The condemned minister and philosopher says,

Piso, it is the simple truth when I say that I anticipate the hour and the moment of death with the same indifference and composure that I do any the most common event. I have schooled myself to patience. Acquiescence in the will of the gods-if gods there are-or, which is the same thing in the order of events, is the temper which, since I have reflected at all, I have cultivated, and to which I can say I have fully attained. I throw myself upon the current of life, unresisting, to be wafted whithersoever it will. I look with desire neither to this shore nor the opposite, to one part or another; but wherever I am borne and permitted to act, I Not that one allotment. straightway find there and in that my happiness. is not in itself preferable to another, but that there being so much of life

;

over which man has no control, and cannot, if he would, secure his felicity, I think it wiser to renounce all action and endeavour concerning it; receiving what is sent or happens with joy if it be good, without complaint if it be evil. In this manner have I secured an inward calm, which has been as a fountain of life. My days, whether they have been dark ones or bright, as others term them, have flowed along a smooth and even current. Under misfortune, I believe I have enjoyed more from this my inward frame than many a son of prosperity has in the very height of his glory. That which so disturbs the peace of multitudes, even of philosophers, the prospect of death, has occasioned me not one moment's disquiet. It is true I know not what it is: do I know what life is? but that is no reason why I should fear it. One thing I know, which is this, that it will come, as it comes to all, and that I cannot escape it. It may take me where it will, I shall be content. If it be but a change, and I live again elsewhere, I shall be glad; especially if I am then exempt from evils in my condition which assail me here if it be extinction of being, it will but resemble those nights when I sleep without dreaming-it will not yield any delights, but it will not bring affright or torment. I desire not to entertain, and I do not entertain, either hope or fear. I am passive. My will is annihilated. The object of my life has been to secure the greatest amount of pleasure, that being the best thing of which we can conceive. This I have done by acting right. I have found happiness, or that which we agree to call so, in acting in accordance with that part of my nature which prescribes the line of duty. Not in any set of philosophical opinions, not in expectations in futurity, not in any fancies or dreams, but in the substantial reality of virtuous action. I have sought to treat both myself and others in such a way, that afterward I should not hear from either a single word of reproach. In this way of life I have for the most part succeeded, as any one can who will apply his powers as he may if he will. I have at this hour, which it maybe is the last of my life, no complaints to make or hear against myself. So, too, in regard to others. At least I know not that there is one living whom I have wronged, and to whom I owe the least reparation. Now, therefore, by living in the best manner for this life on earth, I have prepared myself in the best manner for death and for another life, if there be one. If there be none, still what I have enjoyed I have enjoyed; and it has been more than any other manner of life could have afforded. So that, in any event, I am like a soldier armed at all points. To me, Piso, to die is no more than to go on to live. Both are events. To both I am alike indifferent. I know nothing about either. As for the pain of death, it is not worthy a moment's thought, even if it were considerable. But it appears to me that it is not. I have many times witnessed it; and it has ever seemed that death, so far from being represented by any word signifying pain, would be better expressed The nearer death, the nearer by one that should stand for insensibility.

apathy. There is pain which often precedes it, in various forms of sickness. But this is sickness, not death. Such pains we often endure and recover; worse often than apparently are endured by those who die."

Amid all his exertions to portray antiquity, and an eventful period in its history, to embody character, to do justice to celebrated personages, and to picture countries, manners, and society,-and