ing burnt all the ships she possessed there, she was obliged to abandon her design.

Changing, therefore, her resolution, she thought only of gaining Octavius, whom she looked upon as her conqueror, and to make him a sacrifice of Antony, whose misfortunes had rendered him indifferent to her. Such was the princess's disposition. Though she loved even to madness, she had still more ambition than love; and the crown being dearer to her than her husband, she entertained. thoughts of preserving it at the price of Antony's life. But concealing her sentiments from him, she persuaded him to send ambassadors to Octavius, to negotiate a treaty of peace with him. She joined her ambassadors with his; but gave them instructions to treat separately for herself. Octavius would not so much as see Antony's ambassadors. He dismissed Cleopatra's with a favorable answer. He passionately desired to make sure of her person and treasures; her person to adorn his triumph, her treasures to enable him to discharge the debts he had contracted upon account of this war. He therefore gave her reason to conceive great hopes, in case she would sacrifice Antony to him.

Octavius knowing how important it was to him not to leave his victory imperfect, marched in the beginning of the spring into Syria, and from thence. sat down before Pelusium. He sent to summon the governor to open the gates to him; and Seleucus, who commanded there for Cleopatra, having received secret orders upon that head, surrendered the place without awaiting a siege. The rumor of this treason spread in the city. Cleopatra, to clear herself of the accusation, put the wife and children of Seleucus into Antony's hands, in order that he might revenge his treachery by putting them to death.

Adjoining to the temple of Isis she had caused tombs and halls to be erected, superb as well for their beauty and magnificence, as their loftiness and extent. Thither she ordered her most precious. effects and moveables to be carried, gold, silver, jewels, ebony, ivory, and a large quantity of perfumes and aromatic wood; as if she intended to raise a funeral pile, upon which she would consume herself and her treasures. Octavius, alarmed for the latter, and apprehending lest her despair should induce her to burn them, despatched every day some person to her, to give her great hopes of the most

kind and generous treatment, but nevertheless continued to advance towards the city by great marches. Upon arriving there, he encamped near the Hippodrome. He was in hopes of making himself master of the city immediately, by means of the intelligence which he held with Cleopatra, upon which he relied no less than upon his army.

Antony was ignorant of that princess's intrigues, and, being unwilling to believe what was told him of them, prepared for a good defence. He made a rigorous sally; and after having severely handled the besiegers, and warmly pursued to the gates of their camp a detachment of the horse which had been sent against him, he returned victorious into the city. This was the last effort of expiring valor; for, after this exploit, his fortitude and sense of glory abandoned him, or were never after of any service to him.

Cleopatra's treason opened Antony's eyes, and made him, when too late, give credit to what his friends had told him of the queen's perfidy. In this extremity he was for signalizing himself by an extraordinary act of valor, capable, in his opinion, of doing him abundance of honor. He sent to challenge Octavius to a single combat. Octavius made answer, that if Antony was weary of life, there were other ways to die besides the one proposed. Antony, seeing himself ridiculed by Octavius, and betrayed by Cleopatra, returned into the city, and was a moment after abandoned by all his cavalry. Seized with rage and despair, he then flew to the palace, with design to avenge himself upon Cleopatra, but failed to find her there.

That artful princess, who had foreseen what happened, to escape the rage of Antony, had retired into the quarter where stood the tombs of the kings of Egypt, which was fortified with strong walls, and the gates of which she had ordered to be closed. She caused Antony to be told, that, preferring an honorable death to a shameful captivity, she had killed herself in the midst of her ancestors' tombs, where she had also chosen her own sepulchre. Antony, too credulous, did not give himself time to examine a piece of news which he ought to have suspected after all Cleopatra's other infidelities; and horrified with the idea of her death, passed immediately from excess of rage to the most violent transports of grief, and thought only of following her to the grave.

Having taken this melancholy resolution, he shut himself up in his apartment with a slave; and having caused his armor to be taken off, he commanded him to plunge his dagger into his breast. But the slave, full of affection, respect, and fidelity for his master, stabbed himself with it, and fell dead at his feet. Antony, looking upon this action as an example for him to follow, thrust his sword into his body, and fell upon the floor, in a torrent of his blood, which he mingled with that of his slave. At that moment, an officer of the queen's guards came to let him know that she was alive. He no sooner heard the name of Cleopatra pronounced, than he opened his dying eyes; and being informed that she was not dead, he suffered his wound to be dressed, and afterwards caused himself to be carried to the fort where she had shut herself up. Cleopatra would not permit the gates to be opened to give him entrance, for fear of some surprise; but she appeared at a high window, from whence she threw down chains and cords. Antony was made fast to these, and Cleopatra, assisted by two women, who were the only persons she had brought with her into the tomb, drew him up.

Never was there a more piteous sight. Antony, all bathed in his blood, with death painted on his face, was dragged up in the air, turning his dying eyes, and extending his feeble hands towards Cleopatra, as if to conjure her to receive his last breath; whilst she, with her features distorted and her arms strained, pulled the cords with her whole strength; the people below, who could give her no further aid, encouraging her with their cries.

When she had drawn him up to her, and had laid him on a bed, she tore her clothes upon him; and beating her breast, and wiping the blood from his wound, with her face close to his, she called him her prince, her lord, her dearest spouse. Whilst she made these mournful exclamations, she cut off Antony's hair, according to the superstition of the Pagans, who believed that it gave relief to those who died a violent death.

Antony, recovering his senses, and seeing Cleopatra's affliction, said to her, to comfort her, that he thought himself happy since he died in her arms; and that, as to his defeat, he was not ashamed of it, it being no disgrace for a Roman to be overcome by Romans. He afterwards advised her to save her life and kingdom, provided she

could do so with honor; to be upon her guard against the traitors of her own court, as well as the Romans in the train of Octavius, and to trust only Proculeius. He expired with these words.

Not doubting but that Octavius intended to make her serve as an ornament to his triumph, she had no other thoughts than to avoid that shame by dying. She well knew that she was observed by the guards who had been assigned her, who, under the color of doing her honor, followed her everywhere; and in addition, her time was short, Octavius being about to depart. The better, therefore, to cajole him, she sent to desire that she might go to pay her last duty at the tomb of Antony, and take her leave of him. Octavius having granted her that permission, she went thither accordingly to bathe the tomb with her tears, and to assure Antony, to whom she addressed her discourse as if he had been present before her eyes, that she would soon give him a more certain proof of her affection.

After that fatal protestation, which she accompanied with sighs and tears, she caused the tomb to be covered with flowers, and returned to her chamber. She then went into a bath, and from the bath to table, having ordered it to be served magnificently.

When she arose from table, she wrote a letter to Octavius; and having made all quit her chamber except her two women, she shut the door, sat down upon a couch, and asked for a basket of figs which a peasant had lately brought. She placed it by her, and a moment after lay down as if she had fallen asleep. This was but the effect of the aspic, which was concealed amongst the fruit, and which had stung her in the arm that she had held to it. The poison immediately communicated itself to the heart, and killed her without pain, or its workings being perceived by anybody.

The guards had orders to let nothing pass without a strict examination: but the disguised peasant, who was one of the queen's faithful servants, played his part so well, and there seemed so little appearance of deceit in a basket of figs, that he was suffered to enter. Thus all the precautions of Octavius were ineffectual.

She died at thirty-nine years of age, of which she had reigned twenty-two from the death of her father.

After Cleopatra's death, Egypt was reduced into

a province of the Roman empire, and governed by a præfect sent thither from Rome. The reign of the Ptolemies in Egypt, if we date its commencement from the death of Alexander the Great, had continued two hundred and ninety-three years, from the year of the world 3681 to 3974.

THE GENIUS AND NATIONAL CHARACTER OF THE ROMANS.

System of Roman Education.-A virtuous but rigid severity of manners was the characteristic of the Romans under their kings, and in the first ages of the Republic. The private life of the citizens, frugal, temperate, and laborious, had its influence on their public character. The patria potestas gave to every head of a family a sovereign authority over all the members that composed it; and this power, felt as a right of nature, was never abused. Plutarch has remarked, as a defect of the Roman laws, that they did not prescribe, as those of Lacedæmon, a system and rules for the education of youth. But the truth is, the manners of the people supplied this want. The utmost attention was bestowed in the early formation of the mind and character. The excellent author of the dialogue De Oratoribus (whether Quintilian or Tacitus) presents a valuable picture of the Roman education in the early ages of the Commonwealth, contrasted with the less virtuous practice of the more refined. The Roman matrons did not abandon their infants to mercenary nurses. They esteemed those duties sacred, and regarded the careful nurture of their offspring, the rudiments of their education, and the necessary occupations of their household, as the highest points of female merit. Next to the care bestowed in the instilment of virtuous morals, a remarkable degree of attention seems to have been given to the language of children, and to the attainment of a correctness and purity of expression. Cicero informs us, that the Gracchi, the sons of Cornelia, were educated non tam in græmio quam in sermone matris. That urbanity which characterized the Roman citizens showed itself particularly in their speech and gesture.

The attention to the language of the youth had another source. It was by eloquence, more than by any other talent, that the young Roman could rise to the highest offices and dignities of the state. The studia forensia were, therefore, a principal ob

Plutarch informs us,

ject of the Roman education. that among the sports of the children of Rome, one was the pleading of causes before a mock tribunal, and accusing and defending a criminal in the usual forms of judicial procedure.

The exercises of the body were likewise particularly attended to; whatever might harden the temperament, and confer strength and agility. These exercises were daily practiced by the youth, under the eye of their elders, in the Campus Martius.

At seventeen the youth assumed the manly robe. He was consigned to the care of a master of rhetoric, whom he attended constantly to the forum, or to the courts of justice; for to be an accomplished gentleman, it was necessary for a Roman to be an accomplished orator. The pains bestowed on the attainment of this character, and the best instructions for its acquisition, we learn from the writings of Cicero, Quintilian, and the younger Pliny.

PROGRESS OF LITERATURE AMONG THE ROMANS.

Before the intercourse with Greece, which took place after the Punic wars, the Roman people were utterly rude and illiterate. As among all nations. the first appearance of the literary spirit is shown in poetical composition, the Roman warrior had probably, like the Indian or the Celtic, his war songs, which celebrated his triumphs in battle. Religion, likewise, employs the earliest poetry of most nations; and if a people subsists by agriculture, a plentiful harvest is celebrated in the rustic song of the husbandman. The Versus Fescennini mentioned by Livy were probably of the nature of poetical dialogue, or alternate verses sung by the laborers, in a strain of coarse merriment and raillery. This shows a dawning of the drama.

About the 390th year of Rome, on occasion of a pestilence, Ludiones (drolls or stage-dancers) were brought from Etruria, qui ad tibicinis modos saltantes, haud indecoros motus more Tusco dabant. Livy tells us, that the Roman youth imitated these performances, and added to them rude and jocular verses, probably the Fescennine dialogues. It was not, however, till the year 514 A.U.C. that the regular drama was introduced at Rome from Greece by Livius Andronicus. The earliest Roman plays were, therefore, we may presume, translations from the Greek.

Of the early Roman drama, Ennius was a great ornament, and from his time the art made rapid advancement. The comedies of Plautus, the contemporary of Ennius, with great strength and spirit of dialogue, display a considerable knowledge of human nature, and, though rather adapted to the taste of the lower orders, from their indelicacy, yet, owing to the purity of the Latin in which they are written, they are read at this day with pleasure; many passages, indeed, are to be found in them favorable not only to morality but religion.

Cæcilius improved so much on the comedy of Plautus, that he is mentioned by Cicero as perhaps the best of the Roman comic writers. Of his compositions we have no remains. His patronage fostered the rising genius of Terence, whose first comedy, the Andria, was performed A.U.C. 587. The merit of the comedies of Terence lies in that nature and simplicity which are observable alike in the structure of his fables, in the delineation of his characters, and in the delicacy and purity of the sentiments of his pieces, the subjects, however, not being always so unexceptionable as his language. They are deficient in comic energy, and are not calculated to excite ludicrous emotions. Being, as well as those of Plautus, chiefly borrowed from the Greek of Menander and Apollodorus, they furnish no description of Roman manners.

The Roman comedy was of four different species; the Comœdia Togata or Prætextata, the Comœdia Tabernaria, the Atellana, and the Mimi. The first admitted serious scenes and personages, and was of the nature of the modern sentimental comedy. The second was a representation of ordinary life and manners. The Atellana were pieces where the dialogue was not committed to writing, but the subject of the scene was prescribed, and the dialogue filled up by the talents of the actors. The Mimi were pieces of comedy of the lowest species; farces, or entertainments of buffoonery; though sometimes admitting the serious, and even pathetic.

The Roman tragedy kept pace in its advancement with the comedy. The best of the Roman tragic poets were Actius and Pacuvius, of whom we have no remains. The tragedies published under the

name of Seneca are generally esteemed the work of different hands. They are none of them of super

lative merit.

Velleius Paterculus remarks, that the era of the perfection of Roman literature was the age of Cicero; comprehending all of the preceding times whom Cicero might have seen, and all of the succeeding who might have seen him. Cicero, Quintilian, and Pliny, celebrate, in high terms, the writings of the elder Cato, whose principal works were historical, and have entirely perished. We have his fragments, De Re Rustica, in which he was imitated by Varro, one of the earliest of the good writers among the Romans, and a man of universal erudition. Of the variety of his talents we may judge, not only from the splendid eulogium of Cicero, but from the circumstance of Pliny having recourse to his authority in every book of his Natural History.

Sallust, in order of time, comes next to Varro. This writer introduced an important improvement on history, as treated by the Greek historians, by applying (as Dionysius of Halicarnassus says) the science of philosophy to the study of facts. Sallust is, therefore, to be considered as the father of philosophic history; a species of writing which has been so successfully cultivated in modern times. He is an admirable writer for the matter of his compositions, which evince great judgment and knowledge of human nature, but by no means commendable for his style and manner of writing. He affects singularity of expression, an antiquated phraseology, and a petulant brevity and sententiousness, which has nothing of the dignity of the historical style. His exordiums are too long, and he will never be forgiven for the injustice with which he treated the character of Cicero, with whose divorced wife, Terentia, he had united himself in marriage. He had composed a history of Rome, which is lost.

Cæsar has much more purity of style than Sallust, and more correctness and simplicity of expression; but his Commentaries, wanting that amplitude of diction and fulness of illustration which is essential to history, are rather of the nature of annals. The principal beauty of the Commentaries is, that they make us acquainted with the author; the force of his genius, the depth of his designs, and the extent and variety of his plans, are to be traced in almost every page.

In all the requisites of an historian, Livy stands unrivalled among the Romans; possessing consummate judgment in the selection of facts, perspicuity of arrangement, sagacious reflection, sound views of policy, with the most copious, pure, and eloquent expression. It has been objected, that his speeches derogate from the truth of history; but this was a prevalent taste with the ancient writers; and as those speeches are always known to be the composition of the historian, the reader is not deceived. The prodigies he relates must also be referred to the circumstances of the times. The ancient world

believed such things, and had not the means we have of judging properly of their utter incredibility. As to the style of Livy, though in general excellent, we sometimes perceive in it, and most commonly in the speeches, an affectation of the pointed sentences (the vibrantes sententiola) and obscurity of the declaimers, which. evinces the pernicious influence acquired by those teachers at Rome since the time of Cicero and Sallust. It is truly melancholy to think, how small a portion of so great a work has escaped the ravages of time; but Velleius Paterculus affords us assistance, when we are compelled to relinquish Livy.

In the decline of Roman literature, Tacitus is an historian of no common merit. He successfully cultivated the method pointed out by Sallust, of applying philosophy to history. In this he displays great knowledge of human nature, and penetrates, with singular acuteness, into the secret springs of policy, and the motives of actions. But his fault is, that he is too much of a politician, drawing his characters after the model of his own mind; ever assigning actions and events to pre-conceived schemes and design, and allowing too little for the operation of accidental causes, which often have the greatest influence on human affairs. Tacitus, in his style, professedly imitated that of Sallust; adopting all the ancient phraseology, as well as the new idioms introduced into the Roman language by that writer. To his brevity and abruptness he added most of the faults of the declaiming school. His expression, therefore, though extremely forcible, is often enigmatically obscure; the very worst property that style can possess.

Among the eminent Roman poets (after the dramatic) Lucretius deserves first to be noticed. He has great inequality, being at some times ver

bose, rugged, and perplexed, and at others display. ing all the elegance as well as the fire of poetry. This may be in great part attributed to his subject. Philosophical disquisition is unsuitable to poetry. It demands a dry precision of thought and expression, rejecting all excursive fancy and ornament of diction. That luxuriance of imagery, which is the soul of poetry, is raving and impertinence when applied to philosophy. His celebrated poem founded on the precepts of Epicurus, was undoubtedly calculated to produce a gloomy scepticism in regard to some of the first principles of religion, whether natural or revealed; but in declaiming against various disorders and passions of the human mind he appears the friend of virtue.

Catullus, the contemporary of Lucretius, is the earliest of the Roman lyric poets. His epigrams are pointed and satirical, but too licentious,-the common fault of the times; his Idyllia, tender, natural, and picturesque. He flourished in the age of Julius Cæsar. He was the countryman and friend of Cornelius Nepos.

In the succeeding age of Augustus, poetry attained to its highest elevation among the Romans. Virgil, Horace, Ovid, and Tibullus, were all contemporaries. Virgil is allowed the same rank among the Roman poets, as Homer among the Greek. If Homer excels him in the sublime, he surpasses the Greek in the tender and the elegant. The transcendent merits of Homer are sullied by occasional defects; Virgil is the model of a correct taste. The difference of manner in the Bucolics, the Georgics, and the Eneid, shows that Virgil was capable of excelling in various departments of poetry; and such is the opinion of Martial, who affirms, that he could have surpassed Horace in Lyric Poetry, and Varius in Tragedy.

Horace excels as a lyric poet, a satirist, and a critic. In his Odes there is more variety than in those of either Anacreon or Pindar; and he can alternately display the sublimity of the one, and the jocose vein of the other. His Satires have that characteristic slyness and obliquity of censure, associated with humor and pleasantry, which strongly distinguish them from the stern and cutting sarcasm of Juvenal. Horace, indeed, though a satirist of no common stamp, scems to have possessed a de-. gree of candor and equity, which rendered him indulgent towards human frailties. As a critic, his