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more confidence to be placed, as things stood, either in hospitality or friendship; for there were found but a very few that did not betray those that fled to them for shelter. And thus the servants of Cornutus deserve the greater praise and admiration, who, having concealed their master in the house, took the body of one of the slain, cut off the head, put a gold ring on the finger, and showed it to Marius's guards, and buried it with the same solemnity as if it had been their own master. This trick was perceived by nobody, and so Cornutus escaped, and was conveyed by his domestics into Gaul.

Marcus Antonius, the orator, though he too, found a true friend, had ill-fortune. The man was but poor and a plebeian, and as he was entertaining a man of the greatest rank in Rome, trying to provide for him with the best he could, he sent his servant to get some wine of a neighbouring vintner. The ser vant, carefully tasting it and bidding him draw better, the fellow asked him what was the matter, that he did not buy new and ordinary wine as he used to do, but richer and of a greater price; he, without any design, told him, as his old friend and acquaintance that his master entertained Marcus Antonius, who was concealed with him. The villanous vintner, as soon as the servant was gone, went himself to Marius, then at supper, and being brought into his presence, told him, he would deliver Antonius into his hands. As soon as he heard it, it is said, he gave a great shout, and clapped his hands for joy, and had very nearly risen up and gone to the place himself; but, being detained by his friends, he sent Annius, and some soldiers with him, and commanded him to bring Antonius's head to him with all speed. When they came to the house, Annius stayed at the door, and the soldiers went up stairs into the chamber; where, seeing Antonius, they endeavored to shuffle off the murder from one to another; for so great it seems were the graces and charms of his oratory, that as soon as he began to speak and beg his life, none of them durst touch or so much as look upon him; but hanging down their heads, every one fell a weeping. When their stay seemed something tedious, Annius came up himself and found Antonius discoursing, and the soldiers astonished and quite softened by it, and calling them cowards, went himself and cut off his head.

Catulus Lutatius, who was colleague with Marius, and his partner in the triumph over

the Cimbri, when Marius replied to those that interceded for him and begged his life, merely with the words, "he must die," shut himself up in a room, and making a great fire, smothered himself. When maimed and headless carcasses were now frequently thrown about and trampled upon in the streets, people were not so much moved with compassion at the sight, as struck into a kind of horror and consternation. The outrages of those that were called Bardyei, was the greatest grievance. These murdered the masters of families in their own houses, abused their children, and ravished their wives, and were uncontrollable in their rapine and murders, till those of Cinna's and Ser torius's party, taking counsel together, fell upon them in the camp and killed them every man.

In the interim, as if a change of wind was coming on, there came news from all parts that Sylla, having put an end to the war with Mithridates, and taken possession of the provinces, was returning into Italy with a great army. This gave some small respite and intermission to these unspeakable calamities. Marius and his friends believing war to be close at hand, Marius was chosen consul the seventh time, and appearing on the very calends of January, the beginning of the year, threw one Sextus Lucinus, from the Tarpeian precipice; an omen, as it seemed, portending the renewed misfortunes both of their party and of the city. Marius, himself, now worn out with labor and sink ing under the burden of anxieties, could not sustain his spirits, which shook within him with the apprehension of a new war and fresh encounters and dangers, the formida ble character of which he knew by his own experience. He was not now to hazard the war with Octavius or Merula commanding an inexperienced multitude or seditious rabble; but Sylla himself was approaching, the same who had formerly banished him, and since that, had driven Mithridates as far as the Euxine Sea.

Perplexed with such thoughts as these, and calling to mind his banishment, and the tedious wanderings and dangers he underwent, both by sea and land, he fell into despondency, nocturnal frights, and unquiet sleep, still fancying that he heard some one telling him, that

-the lion's lair

Is dangerous, though the lion be not there.

Above all things fearing to lie awake, he

gave himself up to drinking deep and besotting himself at night in a way most unsuitable to his age; by all means provoking sleep, as a diversion to his thoughts. At length, on the arrival of a messenger from the sea, he was seized with new alarms, and so what with his fear for the future, and what with the burden and satiety of the present, on some slight predisposing cause, he fell into a pleurisy, as Posidonius the philosopher relates, who says he visited and conversed with him when he was sick, about some business relating to his embassy. Caius Piso, an historian, tells us that Marius, walking after supper with his friends, fell into a conversation with them about his past life, and after reckoning up the several changes of his condition, that from the beginning had happened to him, said, that it did not become a prudent man to trust himself any longer with fortune; and thereupon, taking leave of those that were with him, he kept his bed seven days, and then died.

Some say his ambition betrayed itself openly in his sickness, and that he ran into an extravagant frenzy, fancying himself to be general in the war against Mithridates, throwing himself into such postures and motions of his body as he had formerly used when he was in battle, with frequent shouts and loud cries. With so strong and invincible a desire of being employed in that business had he been possessed through his pride and emulation. Though he had now lived seventy years, and was the first man that ever was chosen seven times consul, and had an establishment and riches sufficient for many kings, he yet complained of his ill fortune, that he must now die, before he had attained what he desired. Plato, when he saw his death approaching, thanked the guiding providence and fortune of his life, first, that he was born a man and a Grecian, not a barbarian or a brute, and next, that he happened to live in Socrates's age. And so indeed they say Antipater of Tarsus, in like manner, at his death, calling to mind the happiness that he had enjoyed, did not so much as omit his prosperous voyage to Athens; thus recognizing every favor of his indulgent fortune with the greatest acknowledgments, and carefully saving all to the last ia that safest of human treasure-chambers, the memory. Unmindful and thoughtless persons, on the contrary, let all that occurs to them slip away from them as time passes on. Retaining and preserving nothing, they lose the enjoyment of their present prosperity

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by fancying something better to come; whereas by fortune we may be prevented of this, but that cannot be taken from us. Yet they reject their present success, as though it did not concern them, and do nothing but dream of future uncertainties; not indeed unnatu rally; as till men have by reason and educa tion laid a good foundation for external su perstructures, in the seeking after and gath ering them they can never satisfy the unlimi ted desires of their mind.

At

Thus died Marius on the seventeenth day of his seventh consulship, to the great joy and content of Rome, which thereby was in good hopes to be delivered from the calamity of a cruel tyranny; but in a small time they found, that they had only changed their old and worn-out master for another young and vigorous; so much cruelty and savageness did his son Marius show in murdering the noblest and most approved citizens. first, being esteemed resolute and daring against his enemies, he was named the son of Mars, but afterwards, his actions betray. ing his contrary disposition, he was called the son of Venus. At last, besieged by Sylla in Praeneste, where he endeavored in many ways, but in vain, to save his life, when on the capture of the city there was no hope of escape, he killed himself with his own hand.

HORACE.

PLUTARCH.

[PIERRE CORNEILLE, a celebrated French dramatist, born at Rouen, 1606, died at Paris, 1684, Educated by the Jesuits, Corneille became an advocate, but devoted himself to literature, writing comedies and tragedies with prolific pen. His great dramatic composition, “ Le Cid," owes its subject to Spain, but the treatment was thoroughly French. "Cinna" and "Horace" are among his finest classic tragedies. Corneille had the admiration of all the great men of his age, and received a pension of 2.000 livres from Louis XIV. His dramas are singu larly unequal, but some of them exhibit great powez The following is from his tragedy of Horace :

HORACE

Ah! what are those audacious words I hear?
Can my degenerate Sister then retain
Love for a public Foe whom I have slain?
This guilty passion to revenge aspires,
But govern better thy unjust desires;
Remove my blushes, and thy flame suppress,
And be in love alone with my success:
Let these great trophies thy delight confine.

CAMILLA.

Give me, Barbarian, then, a heart like thine;
And since my thoughts I can no more disclaim
Restore my Curtius, or excuse my flame;
All my delight, with his dear life is fled,
I lov'd him living, and lament him dead,
If thou the Sister seek'st thou left'st behind,
An injur'd Mistress only thou wilt find
Who like a Fury, still must thee pursue
And still reproach thee with his murther too,
Inhuman Brother! who forbid'st my tears,
To whom my rescue such a joy appears,
Who of thy cruel slaughter growing vain,
Would'st have me kill my Curtius o'et again:
May such incessant sorrows follow thee.
That thou may'st be reduc'd to envy me,
And by some wretched action soon defame,
Thy so ador'd and yet so brutish name.

HORACE.

O, Heavens! who ever saw such raging love!
Believ'st thou nothing can my temper move?
And in my blood can I this shame permit?
Love, love that blow which so ennobles it;
And the remembrance of one man resign,
To th' interests of Rome if not to mine.

CAMILLA.

To Rome the only object of my hate!
To Rome whose quarrel caused my Lover's Fate!
To Rome where thou wert born, to thee so dear,
Whom I abhor 'cause she does thee revere;
May all her neighbors in one knot combine,
Her yet unsure foundations t'undermine;
And if Italian Forces seem too small,
May East and West conspire to make her fall;
And all the nations of the barbarous World,
To ruin her o'er Hills and Seas be hurl'd:
Nor these loath'd Walls may her own fury spare,
But with her own hands her own bowels tear;
And may Heaven's anger kindled by my wol,
Whole deluges of fire upon her throw;
May my eyes see her Temple overturn'd,
These Houses ashes, and thy Laurels burn'd;
See the last gasp which the last Roman draws,
And die with joy for having been the cause.

CORNEILLE-Translated by Sir John Denham.