AGAINST EXCESSIVE GRIEF..

he sends for another of the same kind, yet I rise from the table in a rage, and say: "My friend is become my enemy, and he has done me the greatest wrong in the world." Have I reason, madam, or good grace in what I do? or would it become me better to eat of the rest that is before me, and think no more of what had happened, and could not be remedied?

teem; and to be grounded upon entertainment rather than use in the many offices of life. Nor would it pass from any person besides your ladyship to say you lost a companion and a friend of nine years old; though you lost one, indeed, who gave the fairest hopes that could be of being both in time and everything else that is estimable and good. But yet that itself is very uncertain, considering the chances of time, the infec tion of company, the snares of the world, and the passions of youth; so that the most excellent and agreeable creature of that tender age might, by the course of years and accidents, become the most miserable herself; and a greater trouble to her friends by living long, than she could have been by dying young.

Christianity teaches and commands us to moderate our passions; to temper our affections towards all things below; to be thankful for the possession, and patient under the loss, whenever He who gave shall see fit to take away. Your extreme fondness was perhaps as displeasing to God before as now your extreme affliction is; and your loss may have been a punishment for your faults in the manner of enjoying what Yet, after all, madam, I think your loss so you had. It is at least pious to ascribe all great, and some measure of your grief so the ill that befalls us to our own demerits, deserved, that, would all your passionate rather than to injustice in God. And it be- complaints, all the anguish of your heart, do comes us better to adore the issues of His anything to retrieve it; could tears water providence in the effects, than to inquire into the lovely plant, so as to make it grow again the causes; for submission is the only way after once it is cut down; could sighs furof reasoning between a creature and its Mak- nish new breath, or could it draw life and er; and contentment in His will is the great spirits from the wasting of yours, I am sure est duty that we can pretend to, and the best your friends would be so far from accusing remedy we can apply to all our misfortunes. your passion, that they would encourage it Passions are perhaps the stings without as much, and share it as deeply, as they which, it is said, no honey is made. Yet I could. But alas! the eternal laws of the think all sorts of men have ever agreed they creation extinguish all such hopes, forbid all ought to be our servants, and not our mas- such designs; nature gives us many chil ters; to give us some agitation for entertain-dren and friends to take them away, but ment or exercise, but never to throw our reason out of its seat. It is better to have no passions at all, than to have them too violent; or such alone as, instead of heightening our pleasures, afford us nothing but vexation and pain.

In all such losses as your ladyship's has been, there is something that common na ture cannot be denied; there is a great deal that good nature may be allowed. But all excessive and outrageous grief or lamentation for the dead was accounted, among the ancient Christians, to have something heathenish; and, among the civil nations of old, to have something barbarous; and therefore it has been the care of the first to moderate it by their precepts, and of the latter to restrain it by their laws. When young children are taken away, we are sure they are well, and escape much ill, which would in all appearance have befallen them if they had stayed longer with us. Our kindness to them is deemed to proceed from common opinions or fond imaginations, not friendship or es

takes none away to give them to us again. And this makes the excesses of grief to be universally condemned as unnatural, because so much in vain; whereas nature does nothing in vain ; as unreasonable, because so contrary to our own designs; for we all design to be well and at ease, and by grief we make ourselves troubles most properly out of the dust, whilst our ravings and complaints are but like arrows shot up in the air at no mark, and so to no purpose, but only to fall back upon our own heads and destroy our selves.

Perhaps, madam, you will say this is your design, or, if not, your desire; but I hope you are not so far gone, or so desperately bent. Your ladyship knows very well your life is not your own, but His who lent it you to manage and preserve in the best way you can, and not to throw it away, as if it came from some common hand. Our life belongs, in a great measure, to our country and our family; therefore, by all human law, as well as divine, self-murder has ever been agreed

THE CUSTOMS CORDON.

upon as the greatest crime; and it is punished here with the utmost shame, which is all that can be inflicted upon the dead. But is the crime much less to kill ourselves by a slow poison than by a sudden wound? Now, if we do it, and know we do it, by a long and continual grief, can we think ourselves in nocent? What great difference is there, if we break our hearts or consume them, if we pierce them or bruise them; since all terminates in the same death, as all arises from the same despair? But what if it does not go so far; it is not, indeed, so bad as it might be, but that does not excuse it. Though I do not kill my neighbor, is it no hurt to wound him? or to spoil him of the conveniences of life? The greatest crime is for a man to kill himself; is it a small one to wound himself by anguish of heart, by grief, or despair, to ruin his health, to shorten his age, to deprive himself of all the pleasure, ease, and enjoyment of life? ...

With an iron palisado has inclosed round about;
But without live folk whom entrance to this garden
could make glad;

bad.

Black and yellow lists go stretching round our borders

grim and tight;

Custom-house and beadle-watchers guard our frontiers sit by day before the tax-house, lurk by night i' th'

day and night,—

long damp grass,

Silent, crouching on their stomachs, lowering round on all that pass;

That no single foreign dealer, foreign wine, tobacco

bale,

Foreign silk, or foreign linen, slyly steal within their

pale;

That a guest, than all more hated, set not foot upon
Thought, which in a foreign soil in foreign light, has

our earth,

Whilst I had any hope that your tears would ease you, or that your grief would con- And a guest who loves sweet scenery cannot be so very sume itself by liberty and time, your ladyship knows very well I never accused it, nor ever increased it by the common formal ways of attempting to assuage it: and this, I am sure, is the first office of the kind I ever performed, otherwise than in the most ordinary forms. I was in hopes what was so violent could not be long; but when I observed it to grow stronger with age, and increase like a stream the further it ran; when I saw it draw out to such unhappy consequences, and threaten not less than your child, your health and your life, I could no longer forbear this endeavor. Nor can I end it without begging of your ladyship, for God's sake, for your own, for that of your children and friends, your country and your family, that you would no longer abandon yourself to so disconsolate a passion; but that you would at length awaken your piety, give way to your prudence, or, at least, rouse up the invincible spirit of the Percies, which never yet shrunk at any disaster; that you would sometimes remember the great honors and fortunes of your family, not always the losses; cherish those veins of good humor that are so natural to you, and sear up those of ill, that would make you so unkind to your children and to yourself; and, above all, that you would enter upon the cares of your health and your life. For my part, know nothing that could be so great an honor and a satisfaction to me, as if your ladyship would own me to have contributed

I

had its birth!

Finally the watch grows weary, when the ghostly hour

draws near;

For in our good land how many from all spectres shrink

With the smugglers must he travel,-he whom nothing | which he had taken, Caius Marcius Coriolhides from sight;

CORIOLANUS.-CINCINNATUS.

[Henry George LIDDELL, D. D., born in England in 1811, studied at the Charter House; graduated at Christ Church, Oxford, in 1833, with the highest honors; was head-master of Westminster school; chaplain extraordinary to the Queen (1862); became dean of Christ Church in 1855, and vice-chancellor in 1870; translated (with Dean Scott)," Passow's Greek Lexicon ;" and wrote

"History of Rome, " from the earliest times to the

establishment of the Empire (1855).]

LEGEND OF CORIOLANUS AND THE VOLSCIANS.

anus.

Now it happened, soon after this, that there was a great dearth at Rome, and that Gelon, the Greek king of Syracuse, sent ships laden with corn to relieve the distress of the citizens. It was debated in the Senate how this corn should be distributed. Some were for giving it away to the poorer sort; some were for selling it at a low price; but Coriolanus, who was greatly enraged at the concessions that had been made to the Plebeians, and hated to see them protected by their new officers, the Tribunes, spoke vehemently against these proposals, and said: "Why do they ask us for corn? They have got their Tribunes. Let them go back to the Sacred Hill, and leave us to rule alone. Or let them give up their Tribunes, and they shall have the corn." This insolent language wrought up the Plebeians to a height of fury against Caius Marcius, and they would have torn him in pieces; but their Tribunes persuaded them to keep their hands off, and then cited him before the Comitia to give account of his conduct. The main body of the Patricians were not inclined to imperil themselves by supporting Coriolanus; so, after some violent struggles, he declined to stand his trial, but left Rome, shaking the dust from his feet against his thankless countrymen (for so he deemed them), and vowing that they should bitterly repent of having driven Caius Marcius Coriolanus into exile.

He made his way to Antium, another Latin city which had become the capital of the Volscians, and going to the house of Attius Tullius, one of the chief men of the nation, he seated himself near the hearth by the household gods, a place which among the Italian nation was held sacred. When Tullius entered, the Roman rose and greeted his former enemy: "My name (he said) is Caius Marcius; my surname Coriolanus

Caius Marcius was a youth of high patrician family, being of the blood of the Sabine king, Ancus Marcius; and he was brought up by his mother Volumnia, a true Roman matron, noble and generous, proud and stern, implacable towards enemies, unforgiving towards the faults of friends. Caius grew up with all the faults and virtues of his mother, and was soon found among the chief opponents of the Plebeians. He won a civic crown of oak for saving a fellow citizen at the battle of Lake Regillus, when he was seventeen years of age. But he gained his chief fame in the Volscian wars. For the Romans, being at war with this people, attacked Corioli, a Latin city which then had fallen into the hands of the Volscians. But the assailants were driven back by the garrison; when Caius Marcius rallied the fugitives, turned upon his pursuers," and, driving them back in turn, entered the gates along with them; and the city fell into the hands of the Romans. For this brave conduct he was named after the city

the only reward now remaining for all my services. I am an exile from Rome, my country; I seek refuge in the house of my enemy. If you will use my services, I will serve you well; if you would rather take vengeance on me, strike, I am ready."

Tullius at once accepted the offer of the banished lord ;" and determined to break the treaty which there then was between his people and the Romans. But the Volscians were afraid to go to war. So Tullius had. recourse to fraud. It happened that one

Atinius, a Plebeian of Rome, had been wished for peace they must restore all the warned in a dream to go to the Consuls, lands and places that had been taken from and order them to celebrate the Great the Volscians, and must admit these people Games over again, because of some defect to an equal league, and put them on an equal in their first celebration. But he was afraid footing with the Latins. The deputies could and would not go. Then his son fell sick not accept these terms, so they returned to and died; and again he dreamt the same Rome. The Senate sent them back, to ask dream; but still he would not go. Then for milder terms; but the haughty exile he was himself stricken with palsy; and so would not suffer them to enter his camp. he delayed no longer, but made his friends carry him on a litter to the Consuls. And they believed his words, and the Great Games were celebrated again with increased pomp; and many of the Volscians, being at peace with Rome came to see them. Upon this Tullius went secretly to the Consuls, and told them that his countrymen were thronging to Rome, and he feared they had mischief in their thoughts. Then the Consuls laid this secret information before the Senate; and the Senate decreed that all Volscians should depart from Rome before sunset. This decree seemed to the Volscians to be a wanton insult, and they went home in a rage. Tullius met them on their way home at the fountain of Ferentina, where the Latins had been wont to hold their councils of old; and he spoke to them and increased their anger, and persuaded them to break off their treaty with the Romans. So the Volscians made war against Rome, and chose Attius Tullius their countryman and Caius Marcius the Roman to be their commanders.

The army advanced against Rome, ravaging and laying waste all the lands of the Plebeians, but letting those of the Patricians remain untouched. This increased the jealousy between the Orders, and the Consuls found it impossible to raise an army to go out against the enemy. Coriolanus took one Latin town after another, and even the Volscians deserted their own general to serve under his banners. He now advanced and encamped at the Cluilian Foss, within five miles of the city.

Nothing was now to be seen within the walls but consternation and despair. The temples of the gods were filled with suppliants; the Plebeians themselves pressed the Senate to make peace with the terrible Coriolanus. At length this great council agreed to send five men, chiefs among the Patricians, to turn away the anger of their countryman. He received them with the utmost sternness; said that he was now general of the Volscians, and must do what was best for his new friends; that if they

Then went forth another deputation, graver and more solemn than the former,-the Pontiffs, Flamens, and Augurs, all attired in their priestly robes, who besought him, by all that he held sacred, by the respect he owed to his country's gods, to give them assurance of peace and safety. He treated them with grave respect, but sent them away without relaxing any of his demands. It seemed as if the glory of Rome were departing, as if the crown were about to be transferred to the cities of the Volscians. But not so was it destined to be. It chanced that as all the women were weeping and praying in the temples, the thought arose among them that they might effect what Patricians and Priests had alike failed to do. It was Valeria, the sister of the great Valerius Poplicola, who first started the thought, and she prevailed on Volumnia, the stern mother of the exile, to accompany the mournful train. With them also went Virgilia, his wife, leading her two boys by the hand, and a crowd of other women. Coriolanus beheld them from afar, as he was sitting on a raised seat among the Volscian chiefs, and resolved to send back them also with a denial. But when they came near, and he saw his mother at the head of the sad procession, he sprang from his seat, and was about to kiss her. But she drew back with all the loftiness of a Roman matron, and said: "Art thou Caius Marcius, and am I thy mother? or art thou the general of the Volscian foe, and I a prisoner in his camp? Before thou kissest me, answer me that question." Caius stood silent, and his mother went on: "Shall it be said that it is to me-to me alone-that Rome owes her conqueror and oppressor? Had I never been a mother, my country had still been free. But I am too old to feel this misery long. Look to thy wife and little ones; thou art enslaving thy country, and with it thou enslavest them." The fierce Roman's heart sunk before the indignant words of her whom he had feared and respected from his childhood; and when his wife and children hanging about him added their soft

70

TWO ROMAN LEGENDS.

prayers to the lofty supplications of his mother, he turned to her with bitterness of soul, and said: "O my mother, thou hast saved Rome, but destroyed thy son!"

So he drew off his army, and the women went back to Rome and were hailed as the saviours of their country. And the Senate ordered a temple to be built on the spot where Coriolanus had yielded, and dedicated to "Woman's Fortune" (Fortuna Muliebris); and Valeria was the first priestess of the temple.

But Coriolanus returned to dwell among the Volscians; and Tullius, who had before become jealous of his superiority, excited the people against him, saying that he had purposely spared their great enemy the city of Rome, even when it was within their grasp. So he lost favour, and was slain in a tumult; and the words he had spoken to his mother were truly fulfilled.

LEGEND OF CINCINNATUS AND THE EQUIANS.

In the course of the Equian wars, Minucius, one of the Consuls of the year 458 B. C., suffered himself to be cut off from Rome in a narrow valley of Mount Algidus, and it seemed as if hope of delivery there was none. However, five horsemen found means to escape and report at Rome the perilous condition of the Consul and his army. Then the other Consul referred the matter to the Senate, and it was agreed that the only man who could deliver the army was L. Quinctius Cincinnatus. Therefore this man was named Dictator, and deputies were sent to acquaint him with his high dignity.

Now this Lucius Quinctius was called Cincinnatus, because he wore his hair in long curling locks (cincinni); and, though he was a Patrician, he lived on his own small farm, like any plebeian yeoman. This farm was beyond the Tiber in the Vatican district; and here he lived contentedly with his wife Racilia.

Three years before he had been reduced to poverty by the necessity of paying the bailmoney forfeited by his son Kæso, a wild and insolent young man, who despised the Plebeians and hated their Tribunes; like Coriolanus he was impeached by one of the Tribunes for acts of insolence and violence against the people. His father interceded for him, and was likely to have prevailed, when one Volscius Fictor alleged that his brother, an old and sickly man, had been

attacked by Kaso and a party of young Patricians by night in the Suburra, and had died of the treatment then received. The indignation of the people rose high; and Kæso, again like Coriolanus, fled from Rome. Next year all Rome was alarmed by finding that the Capitol had been seized by an enemy during the night. This enemy was Appius Herdonius, a Sabine, and with him was associated a band of desperate men, exiles and runaway slaves. The Consul, P. Valerius, collected a force, and took the Capitol; but he was himself killed in the assault, and L. Quinctius Cincinnatus, father of the banished Kæso, was chosen to succeed him. When he heard the news of his elevation, he turned to his wife and said: "I fear, Racilia, our little field must remain this year unsown." Then he assumed the robe of state, and went to Rome. Now it was believed that Kæso had been concerned in the desperate enterprise that had just been defeated. Perhaps he fell in the assault of the Capitol; at all events, he is heard of no more. His father was very bitter against the Tribunes and their party, to whom he attributed his son's disgrace, and he used all the power of the Consulate to thwart the Tribunes. At the end of his year of office, however, when the Patricians wished to continue him in the consulship, he warned them against setting an example of violating the constitution, and returned to his rustic life as if he had never left it.

It was two years after these events, that the deputies of the Senate, who came to invest him with the ensigns of dictatorial power, found him working on his little farm. He was clad in his tunic only; and as the deputies advanced, they bade him put on his toga, that he might receive the commands of the Senate in seemly disguise. So he wiped off the dust and sweat, the signs of labour, and bade his wife fetch his toga, and asked anxiously whether all was right or no. Then the deputies told him how the army was beset by the Equian foe, and how the Senate looked on him as the saviour of the state. A boat was provided to carry him over the Tiber; and when he reached the other bank, he was greeted by the Senate, who attended him to the City, while he himself walked in state, with his four-and-twenty lictors.

Next day Cincinnatus chose L. Tarqui tius as his Master of the Horse. This man was a Patrician, but, like the Dictator himself, was poor,-so poor, that he could not