Chapter I: Have Seen an End of All Perfection, 252 (3)

"Please not to forget what befell our relative."

It was in vain that he attempted to imitate this example of self-command. Distracted with fear for his father, he searched for him in scenes of the utmost danger, wildly repeating his name. A soldier raised over his head a sword dripping with blood. Ere it fell, a man in a black habit took his arm through his, and with some exertion of strength led him onward. They entered less populous streets, where carnage seemed not to have extended, before he perfectly recovered his recollection. Then he would have disengaged himself, but his arm was detained, as strongly as if it were pinioned. "Let me seek my father!" he exclaimed. "Be silent!" said his conductor, with a voice of power that made him tremble. At length he knocked at the massive gate of a monastery. The porter admitted them, and they passed to an inner cell. Affected by his passionate bursts of grief, and exclamations of 'Father, dear father!' his protector said, 'Thank God, my son, that thy own life is saved. I ventured forth amid scenes of horror, hoping to bring to this refuge a brother, whom I loved as my own soul. I found him lifeless and mangled. Thou wert near, and methought thou didst resemble him. Thy voice had his very tone, as it cried, 'Father, father!' My heart yearned to be as a father to thee. And I have led thee hither through blood and death. Poor child, be comforted, and lift up thy soul to God.'"

"Was it not very strange, that a Catholic should be so good?"

"There are good men among every sect of Christians, my child. We should never condemn those who differ from us in opinion, if their lives are according to the Gospel. This ecclesiastic was a man of true benevolence. Nothing could exceed his kindness to him whose life he had saved. It was ascertained that he was not only fatherless but an orphan, for the work of destruction, extending itself into many parts of the kingdom, involved his family in its wreck. The greatest attention was paid to his education, and his patron instructed him in the sciences, and particularly from the study of history he taught him the emptiness of glory without virtue, and the changeful nature of earthly good. He made him the companion of his walks, and by the innocent and beautiful things of nature, sought to win him from that melancholy which is so corrosive to intellect, and so fatal to peace. He permitted him to take part in his works of charity, and to stand with him by the beds of the sick and dying, that he might witness the power of that piety which upholds when flesh and heart fainteth.

During his residence here, the death of Charles IX. took place. He was a king in whom his people and even his nearest friends had no confidence. After the savage massacre of St. Bartholomew, which was conducted under his auspices, he had neither satisfaction nor repose. He had always a flush and fierceness upon his countenance, which it had never before worn. Conscience haunted him with a sense of guilt, and he could obtain no quiet sleep. He seemed to be surrounded by vague and nameless terrors. He fancied that he heard groans in the air, and suffered a strange sickness which forced blood from all the pores of his body.

He was attended in his illness by a faithful old nurse, to whom, notwithstanding she was a Huguenot, he affectionately trusted. One who has described the close of his life, says, that two nights before his death, she was sitting near him on a chest, almost overcome with the drowsiness of fatigue. She was aroused by hearing the king bitterly moan and weep. As she softly approached his bed, he exclaimed, through sighs and sobs, so interrupting his voice that it was difficult to understand him,

"Ah! my nurse, my dear nurse, what blood! what murders! Alas! what evil counsels have I followed! Oh my God! pardon me! and have mercy on me, if thou canst. What shall I do? I am lost! I see it but too well."

The pitying nurse answered with tears.

"Sire! let the guilt rest on those who counselled you to it. For if you consented not in your heart to those murders, and are repentant, trust that God will not charge them to you, but will cover them with the mantle of his Son's great love, to whom alone you should turn."

He listened mournfully to her words, and taking from her hand a handkerchief, his own being saturated with tears, gave a sign that she should retire, and take a little rest.

His attachment to this pious nurse was strongly contrasted with his shrinking aversion whenever his mother approached him. He viewed her as the instigator to that horrible massacre which troubled his conscience, and her presence greatly distressed him. This miserable monarch died on the 30th of May, 1574, at the age of 23, having sinned much and suffered much, though his years were few.

He was succeeded by his brother Henry III., against whom, and Catharine, the Queen-mother, three powerful armies were opposed, one led by the King of Navarre, one by the Prince of Conde, and the other by the Duke of Anjou. The tidings of these civil wars penetrated into the seclusion of the religious house where my grandfather had already passed three years in quiet study. They kept alive the martial spirit which he inherited, and quickened his desire to partake in their tumultuous scenes. At length he communicated to his patron his discontentment with a life of inaction, and his irrepressible wish to mingle again with the world. Unusual paleness settled on the brow of the venerable man, as he replied,

"I have long seen that thy heart was not in these quiet shades, and I have lamented it. Yet thus it is with the young: they will not be wise from the experience of others. They must feel with their own feet, the thorns in the path of pleasure. They must grasp with their own hand, the sharp briers that cling around the objects of their ambition. They must come trusting to the world's broken cisterns, find the dregs from her cup cleaving in bitterness to their lip, and feel her in their bosom, ere they will believe."

The youth enlarged with emotion on his gratitude to his benefactor. He mentioned the efforts he had made to comply with his desires, and lead a life of contemplative piety, but that these efforts were overpowered by an impulse to mingle in more active pursuits, and to visit the home of his ancestors.

"Go, then, my son, and still the wild throbbings of thy heart over the silent beds of those who wake no more till the resurrection morn. Think not that I have read thy nature slightly, or with a careless glance. The spirit of a warrior slumbers there. Thou dost long to mix in the battle. I have marked, in thy musings, the lightning of thine eye shoot forth, as if thou hadst forgotten Him who said: 'Vengeance is mine.' Would that thou hadst loved peace. Go; yet remember, that 'he who taketh the sword shall perish by the sword.' As for me, my path on earth is short, or I should more deeply mourn thy departure. Thou hast been but too dear to me; and when thou art gone, my spirit shall cast from its wings the last cumbrance of earthly love."

He gave him his benediction with great tenderness and solemnity, and the parting was tearful and affectionate. But the young traveller soon dismissed his sorrow, for the cheering influence of the charms of nature, and the gladness of liberty.

The genial season of spring diffused universal beauty. The vales spread out their green mantles to catch the showers of blossoms, with which every breeze covered them. Luxuriant vines lifted up their fragrant coronets. Young lambs playfully cropped the tender leaves. Quiet kids stood ruminating by the clear streams. Music was in all the branches. The father-bird cheered his companion, who, patient on her nest, brooded their future hopes.

"Surely," thought he, "the peasant is the most happy of men, dwelling in the midst of the innocence and beauty of creation."

Then, with the inconsistency natural to youth, he would extol the life of the soldier, its energy, hardihood, and contempt of danger; forgetting that, in this preference of war, he was applauding the science of all others the most hostile to nature and to man.

In the midst of such reflections he reached the spot of his nativity. The home of his ancestors was in the possession of others, a new and lordly race. Strange eyes looked upon him, where the voice of his parents was wont to welcome his returning steps with delight. He could not endure the grief in which none participated, and this solitude among scenes which his childhood loved. He sought to shake off at once his sorrow and his loneliness, and enlisted as a volunteer in the Protestant army. He flattered himself that religion dictated the measure: yet sometimes, in a sleepless hour, the monition of his distant benefactor would come mournfully, "He that taketh the sword shall perish by the sword." His first exploit in arms was at the siege of Ville-Franche, in Perigord, in the year 1576. He continued to follow the fortunes of the King of Navarre, and to endure without shrinking the dangers and privations of a soldier, with scarcely any intervals of peaceful life, until the battle of Coutras, where he fell, covered with wounds. This severe combat took place on the morning of October 20th, 1587. There, the King of Navarre, who, you remember, was afterwards Henry the Great, of France, distinguished himself by a daring courage. He first forced the ranks of the enemy. He seized several prisoners with his own hand. Conspicuous by the plume of white feathers in his lofty helmet, he was continually singled out as a mark, and yet escaped uninjured. Perceiving the Prince of Conde and the Count de Soissons, in the most exposed parts of the field, he exclaimed, 'All that I shall say to you, is, that you are of the house of Bourbon, and please God, I will show you that I am your elder brother.' The victory of the Protestants was complete. The contest lasted scarcely an hour, yet 5000 of their opponents were left dead upon the field. They were led on by the Duke de Joyeuse, who with his haughty brother, St. Sauveur, were drawn lifeless from among heaps of slain, their brows still fierce and frowning, as if they hated that death which could thus level all distinctions. I have mentioned that our ancestor fell in this engagement. He was not thirty years old, and left a wife and infant son, to mourn his untimely departure."

"Is it then from our grandmother that you learned all the circumstances of his story?"

"All these and many more. She was never weary of relating the changes of his life, and the sorrows of her early widowhood. Deeply did she impress on the mind of her son, and of his offspring, the evils of war, and the blessings of peaceful Christianity. Under his roof she dwelt, cherished and venerated, till the children of the third generation rose up to call her blessed. Never shall I forget with what emotions of grief and reverence he laid his hand upon her dying eyes, and wept at her tomb. The piety and love of peace which she had early instilled into his heart, rendered his home the abode of tranquillity, and domestic happiness. His industry, and correct judgment restored competence to a family, which the desolations of war had impoverished, and almost annihilated. Our paternal residence, even now, seems to rise up before me, visible and distinct, as in a picture. Uniting simplicity with comfort, it stood on a gentle slope of ground. In front, a row of chestnuts reared a canopy of lofty shade. Here the traveller sometimes rested, refreshing himself with the water of a little fountain, which, clear as crystal, oozed into a rustic limestone reservoir. In the rear of our residence, rose a hill where our goats found herbage. There they might sometimes be seen, maintaining so slight a footing on projecting cliffs, that they seemed to hang suspended by the mouth from the slight branch they were cropping. The tall poplars, which were interspersed among the foliage, conveyed to us the pensive murmur of approaching storms, and around their trunks, mossy seats were constructed, where we sometimes sat, watching the chequered rays of the moon, and singing our simple provincial melodies. Stretching at the foot of this hill, was the small domain whence we drew our subsistence. Diligence and economy made it fully equal to our wants, and to the claims of charity. Over the roots of the filbert, fig, and mulberry, crept the prolific melon. The gourd, supporting itself by their trunks, lifted its yellow globes into the air like orbs of gold, while still higher rose the aspiring vine, filling its glowing clusters for the wine-press. Our fields of wheat gave us bread, and the bearded oat rewarded the faithful animal that gathered in our harvest. Bees, hastening with busy hum to their sheltered cells, provided the luxury of our evening repast. The olive yielded us its treasures, and furnished an emblem of the peace that pervaded our abode. A genial soil made our labours light, and correct principles converted those labours into happiness. Our parents early taught their large family of twelve children, that indolence was but another name for vice and disgrace; that he, who for his subsistence rendered no return of usefulness, was unjust to society, and disobedient to God. So our industry commenced in infancy. In our hive there were no drones. We early began to look with pity on those whose parents neglected to teach them that well-directed industry was bliss. Among us there were no servants. With the first beams of morning, the band of brothers were seen cheerfully entering on their allotted employments. Some broke the surface of the earth, others strowed seeds or kernels of fruits, others removed the weeds which threatened to impede the harvest. By the same hands was our vintage tended, and our grain gathered into the garner. Our sisters wrought the flax which we cultivated, and changed the fleece of our flocks into a wardrobe for winter. They refreshed us after our toil with cakes flavoured with honey, and with cheeses, rivalling in delicacy those of Parma. They arranged in tasteful baskets of their own construction, fresh fruits or aromatic herbs, or rich flowers for the market. They delighted sometimes to mingle in our severer labours; and when we saw the unwonted exertion heightening the bloom of their cheeks, or placed in their hair the half-blown wild rose, to us, who had seen nothing more fair, they were perfect in grace and beauty. Sometimes at twilight, or beneath the soft evening air of summer, we mingled in the dance, to the music of our flute and viol. Our parents and our grandmother seated near, enjoyed the pastime, and spoke of their own youth, and of the goodness of the Almighty Sire. Often, assembled in our pleasant parlour, each read in turn to the listening auditory, histories of what man has been, or fictitious representations of what he might be, from the pages of the moral painter or the poet. The younger ones received regular lessons in the rudiments of education, and the elder ones, in succession, devoted a stated portion of each day to the pursuit of higher studies, under the direction of their parents. When the family circle convened in the evening, he was the happiest who could bring the greatest amount of useful and interesting information to the general stock. The acquisition of knowledge, which to indolent minds is so irksome, was to us a delightful recreation from severer labours. The exercise which gave us physical vigour, seemed also to impart intellectual energy. The application to which we were inured gave us the more entire control of our mental powers, while the almost unvaried health that we enjoyed preserved elasticity of spirits, and made all our pleasures more sweet. Such was our mode of life, that we were almost insensible to inconvenience from the slight changes of the seasons. In any temporary indisposition or casualty, our mother was our ministering angel. Her acquaintance with the powers of the medicinal plants, that filled her favourite part of the garden, and still more, her intimate knowledge of the little diversities in our constitutions, usually produced a favourable result. She also perfectly understood the slight shades in our disposition and character, and by thus tracing the springs of action to their minuter sources, advanced with more certainty to the good ends of education. Mingled with her love, was a dignity, a decision that commanded our respect. Without this, the parental relation loses its influence, and sacrifices that attribute of authority with which it was invested by the Eternal. Piety was taught us by the example of our parents. We were early led to consider the morning and evening orison and the Sabbath, as periods in which we were invited to mingle our thoughts with angels; and that he who was negligent or indifferent to them, forfeited one of the highest privileges of his nature.

Thus happy was our domestic government. It mingled the pastoral and patriarchal features. I have never seen any system more favourable to individual improvement, and the order, harmony, and prosperity of the whole.

But I am forgetting, dear child, that you must be wearied with my wandering tale and numerous reflections. It is so pleasant to recall the days of childhood, and the images of my parents and brothers and sisters, that I may have taken an old man's privilege too freely, and talked beyond your patience."

"How much I am indebted to you, my dear grandfather, for your kind evening's entertainment. I hope I shall profit from the moral of your story, as well as from the pleasure of listening to it. I trust I shall learn to love peace, and industry, and piety."

"Strive to do so, my dear boy, and ask God's help, and you will be sure to be happy. Obey your parents, and respect all who are wiser and better than yourself, whether rich or poor. This will lay the foundation of that virtue and subordination to the laws of the land, which make a good citizen.

Should you live to be old, like me, you will view objects differently from what you do now. You will stand upon an isthmus, between the _things that have been, and the things that are_. On one hand, will come up the waves of memory, bold and strong; on the other, the little billows of hope, like such bubbles as children play with. Experience will be there, gathering riches even from rocks and quicksands. Then, when you look back, like me, and find your dear parents gone, you will wish that you might for one moment recall them from the grave, to render them your undying offering of gratitude, not for that indulgence which blinded their eye to your faults, and gave you the weak gratification of an hour, perhaps, at the expense of an eternity, but for that salutary discipline which uprooted error, established good habits, and taught that 'fear of God which maketh wise unto salvation.'"

The Old Watch.

My Father's watch! Thy face is dear,
And still thou speak'st to me
The self-same words that met my ear,
When in old times of joyous cheer
I gladly climb'd his knee.

For oft as to his side I clung,
Thou wert mine own to hold,
Though to my simple mind, thy tongue
Uttering "_tick, tick_", to old and young
Seem'd mystery untold.

And still thy wondrous movements too
Amaz'd my gazing eye,
Thy hands that to their purpose true
Their undeclining circles drew,
Were magic strange and high.

But thou from days of toil and care,
That manhood's powers employ,
Didst duly point him home to share
The garden-walk, the fireside chair,
The feast of social joy.

When those whom most he loved were nigh,
And with beguiling flight,
The downy-pinioned hours swept by,
Thou, with a calm, unswerving eye
Didst note their numbers right.

And he, who knew so well to test
Of time, the fleeting prize,
Did on thy meek monitions rest
And take their wisdom to his breast,
And gird him for the skies.

But now, no more serenely sweet
He turns to thee for aid,
Yet still thy bloodless heart doth beat.
Though summon'd to a lone retreat
His own in dust is laid.

My Father's Friend! what memories bless'd
Thy lingering accents wake,
Here, in my sacred casket rest,
Or slumber on my filial breast,
Most honour'd for his sake.

Entertaining Books.

The age in which we live abounds with entertaining books. Stories of every description, some of them containing good lessons, are exceedingly numerous. Those of the better class furnish food for fancy and feeling.

Fiction has its peculiar attractions, and so has truth. Imagination can scarcely devise more strange events, more striking characters, or more romantic results, than occur on the pages of history. The entertainment derived from true books is the most valuable, because it is the most worthy of being remembered. The mind rests upon it with satisfaction. It accords with its native tastes. The child as soon as it can speak, says, "Please to tell me a _true_ story." Those who are most familiar with unfolding infancy, agree, that incidents simplified from the Scriptures, delight it, though they may be frequently repeated.

So, from the great storehouse of history, the young may entertain and enrich themselves at the same time. By extending their acquaintance through past ages and distant nations, the powers of thought expand themselves, an acquaintance with illustrious characters is formed, and knowledge gained which will be profitable through life, both for reflection and conversation.

Some have objected, that a wide range of history may give the young mind a premature introduction to the vices and follies that disgrace mankind. Yet thus to study them on the map of man, and to form a correct opinion of good and evil, and to deepen the love of virtue, and the hatred of vice, by the force of selected examples, might prepare the young better to understand character, and resist temptation, in the actual struggle of life. The entertainments of history may be as safe as those of fiction, and more salutary. If they sometimes reveal the whirlpools of ambition or the abysses of cruelty, they change the scene, and present the quiet waters of peace fertilizing the valleys, and the pure rose of virtue blooming in the wilderness. Examples of true greatness, generosity, and piety, if less frequent than those of an opposite nature, borrow force from contrast, and may therefore make a deeper impression, and awaken a stronger desire of imitation.

The entertainments of history aid in acquiring a knowledge of human nature. We there see what man has been from the beginning, and what motives or temptations have moved him to good or to evil. Great care should be taken to form a correct judgment, and to measure by a true standard of excellence those whom the world has called illustrious.

Especially, should opinions be cautiously formed, of those whose fame rests only upon military exploits. Though the pride, cruelty, and revenge, that stain many of those whom the Old World applauded as heroes, are in a measure palliated because they were heathen, still _we_ are bound to judge of right and wrong, as Christians. When we think of the misery, mourning, and death, that marked their course upon the earth, we cannot but wonder by what rule of equity, "_one_ murder should make a _villain_, and _many, a hero_!"

To purchase a single conquest, how many eyes have wept, how many bosoms been pierced, how many hearts broken. If victories, and triumphs, and trophies, dazzle the eye, look at their dark reverse: torrents of blood flowing, widows and orphans plunged in despair, throngs of unprepared souls driven into the presence of their Maker.

The patriotism that dares danger for the preservation of liberty, the firmness that repels the encroachments of tyranny, the courage that protects those whose lives are entrusted to its care, differ from the ambition that is willing to build its glory on contention, suffering, and death. This spirit is at war with His precepts, at whose birth the harps of angels breathed the song of "Peace on earth, and good-will to men."

History may be read by the young with a resolution of transcribing into their own character, whatever it exhibits that is "just, lovely, and of good report." Thus will its pages not only afford rational entertainment, but be subservient to usefulness and piety in this life, and to the happiness of that which is to come.

The New Year.

Who, with smiles, and wishes fair,
Through drifted snows and branches bare,
Comes, and liberal-handed brings
Countless gifts, and pleasant things,
Many a cake, and many a kiss,
Gilded toys, and sports of bliss,
Pictured books, with covers gay:
Who thus crowns our holiday?
While the sleigh-bells' merry peal
Rings, and glides the skater's heel?
The glad New Year.

Who, a tablet in his breast
Hides, with characters impress'd,
Mystic signs, and tints that show
Chance, and change of joy and woe,
Wreaths of hope in darkness laid
Boasted wealth a winged shade,
Brows that fade in youthful bloom,
Empty cradle, open tomb:
Who, alas! such course shall tread
Ere his farewell words are said?
The sad New Year.

Who, of those that never stray
Wilfully, from Duty's way,
Seek for knowledge, prize the truth,
Wisdom gain in early youth,
With a pure, and peaceful mind
Live in love with all mankind,
And a Saviour's precepts dear,
Treasure in His holy fear:
Who, of such leaves record high
On the pages of the sky?
The bless'd New Year.

Cyrus.

Cyrus is among the most interesting characters described in ancient history. He seemed fitted by nature, as well as by education, for the exalted sphere that was allotted him. He is usually considered as the founder of the Persian empire, and was born about 600 years before the Christian era. He was beautiful in person, and still more admirable for the amiable qualities of his mind. His early training inured him to study, the endurance of fatigue, and the control of his appetites and passions. In his first twelve years of life, he was said to surpass all of his own age in knowledge, and a frank, noble dignity of carriage.

At this early period, he was sent to the court of his grandfather, Astyages, the Median king, where he remained for five years. There, the temptations of luxury and self-indulgence, by which he was surrounded, had no power to draw him from temperance and simplicity. He was ever anxious to make peace between those who differed, and to obtain pardon for such as had offended. So gentle, generous, and beneficent was he, as to become the idol of the people among whom he dwelt.

In his expedition into Assyria with his father, though still but a youth, he discovered great judgment, courage, and presence of mind. Military talents and skill, were in those times held essential to every illustrious man, and these he eminently possessed. After his conquest of Babylon and marriage with a Median princess, three kingdoms were united under his sway: Persia, Media, and Assyria. When he was peacefully settled in his great empire, he busied himself with framing laws for its prosperity and repose. "For a king," said he, "should be the shepherd of his people, and exercise vigilance and care over his flock."

This sentiment reminds us of the prophecy of Isaiah, uttered more than a century before the birth of this prince, and 170 years before the fall of Babylon, which it also predicts: "That saith of Cyrus, he is my shepherd, and shall perform all my pleasure."

Prosperity crowned his efforts for the good of his people; and unbroken health, the reward of temperance and tranquillity of spirit, enabled him to persevere in these efforts. Yet he kept in his secret heart, a fear, founded on the changes of this mortal life, and the frailty of man, which restrained all pride, and kept him as humble as he was active and powerful. Of him it might have been said, as it was of our own Washington, that true merit was the foundation of his greatness.

Therefore, he affected no self-importance, but was affable to all, and repaid by cordial attachment. Cicero asserts that during the whole period of his reign, he was never heard to speak a rough or angry word. Xenophon speaks of him, as exhibiting the "model of a perfect government." Herodotus modifies this praise, and charges him with some faults. But the most exalted characters are subject to error, and the purest may be misunderstood or misrepresented. Even patriarchs, prophets, and apostles, have taught us by their own failings, the infirmity of our nature, and we should not require or expect perfection in others, until we are able to give an example of it ourselves.

When Cyrus approached death, he called around him his children and chief officers, gave them solemn and excellent advice by which to regulate their future conduct, and, thanking Heaven for all its blessings, calmly resigned his breath.

Cambyses, his successor, supplied mournful proof of the contrast that may exist between the son and the father. He was barbarous both at home and abroad, and put to death his own brother, from malignant envy, because he was able to shoot with a larger bow than himself. We will turn from the contemplation of such wickedness, to some of the last words of the great Cyrus to his children, which are here presented in a poetical garb:

Behold, I die! Restore my form
To dust, to darkness, and the worm:
For from the earth it first arose.
And there, at last, it finds repose.

Yet when this breath forsakes the clay,
Think ye the spirit shall decay?
No, no, my sons! Its mystic flight
Hath ever mock'd your keenest sight,
Even when it deign'd with mortal care
This prison of the flesh to share:
So, when stern Death my frame shall blot,
It lives, though you perceive it not.

Believe you trace through yonder sky
Your disembodied father's eye,
And be your motives pure and high:
But dread the ages yet unborn
Who stamp your deeds with praise or scorn:
Dread more than all, the Powers who seal
That sentence, man can ne'er repeal.

Rome and its Rulers.

The magnificent city of Rome was at first a rude hamlet of ruder people. Its earliest buildings were upon the Palatine Hill, near the Tiber. In process of time, it extended itself over the six adjacent eminences. Hence the name that it sometimes bears of the "seven-hilled city."

Two brothers, Romulus and Remus, were its founders, 752 years before the birth of Christ. They were twins, and trained up in the humble and hardy habits of a shepherd's life. But from feeding their peaceful flocks they aspired to rule men.

Romulus reared a wall around a portion of the new settlement, in which he took pride. Remus, in sport, or contempt, jumped over it, saying that he had given proof it would afford no protection against invaders. Romulus, forgetting the love he should have borne to his twin-brother, in a transport of rage struck him dead upon the spot. Thus, to the first king of Rome, as to the first-born of Eden, might have been said, "The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto thee from the ground." He who gave his own name to the Mistress of the World, left that name stained with the crime of fratricide.

The kings of Rome were the same in number as the hills on which she seated herself. The seventh, and last, was Tarquinius Superbus. After the abolition of the royal sway she had various forms of government. Sometimes her rulers bore the title of Consuls, Dictators, Tribunes, Ediles, and Questors. Then the supreme power was vested in Emperors, of whom there were fifty-five. Some of these were fearful examples of every vice. The excess of luxurious indulgence and pitiless cruelty darken their names in history.

Among this mass of shameless rulers, five appeared in regular succession, who, by their comparatively virtuous course, have obtained the honourable distinction of the "good Emperors." The first of this line was Nerva, who began his reign in the year 96 after the Christian era, when he was himself quite advanced in age. He was a native of Spain, and the first foreigner who had been permitted to wear Rome's imperial purple. He was welcomed with great joy, for the people had just been suffering from the monstrous barbarities of Domitian. Nerva was a man of gentle temper, and like Numa Pompilius, the second king, who had reigned about eight centuries before him, a true lover of peace. With paternal care he used the public money for the public good, instead of wasting it in mad extravagance, like his predecessors. Unfortunately, his sway was short, only about sixteen months, when he fell a victim to a sudden fever, at the age of sixty-six. His memory was gratefully embalmed, for his justice and generosity, and the tranquillity he had given to the empire.

Trajan, his successor, was also born in Spain. In his youth he had been the pupil of Plutarch, the philosopher, who after his elevation thus addressed him in an affectionate speech "Continue the command of your passions. Make virtue the scope of all your actions. You have it in your power to render me the most honoured of men, by continuing your present course of conduct. If you follow my instructions, I shall glory in having given them. If you neglect them, this address shall be my testimony, that you have not erred through the counsel or authority of Plutarch."

The Emperor did not disregard the motives set before him by his revered teacher. The principles that had been impressed on his boyhood, were as a guiding helm amid the cares of state. He carefully improved his time, was moderate in expense, and modest amid pomp and power. Among his public works was a noble bridge over the Danube, whose massy ruins are still seen by the traveller. He adorned the city of Rome with splendid and substantial buildings, and delighted to draw men of merit from obscurity. His faults were, great fondness for war, and persecuting the Christians, which his strong attachment to the heathen ritual in which he had been educated made him consider as a duty, or a proof of sincerity. He died, during an absence from home, of apoplexy, at the age of sixty-three, having reigned nineteen years.

Adrian, the fifteenth Roman Emperor, began his reign in 117. He had received an excellent education. He was an eloquent speaker, and wrote well, both in prose and poetry. One of his greatest virtues was, that he truly loved peace. He treated those who were in humble stations with kindness. He said that the chief ruler of a nation should be "like the sun, giving warmth to the lowly vales as well as to the mountains." He travelled to France, to Germany, and to Holland; not to make war, but to show himself friendly to their inhabitants. From thence he went to England, and built a wall from Cumberland to Northumberland, to assist in protecting that part of the island from the natives of the north, who were unfriendly and barbarous. He visited Spain and Athens, showing kindness to the people, and went also to many parts of Asia and Africa. He made just laws, and favoured men of learning. He had so remarkable a memory, that he could repeat the substance of a book after once reading it, and he knew the name of every soldier in the Roman army. Though he had so many virtues, he had also great faults. He committed some acts of cruelty, and was very unkind to the Jews. He banished them from their beloved city Jerusalem, and forbade them to come even in sight of it, or to enter it, except one day in the year. In his last sickness he became impatient of pain, and even entreated those around him to take away his life. He cried out, "How miserable a thing it is to seek death and not to find it!" Being a heathen, he had not the comfort of hope in another life. Just before he expired, he composed some verses addressed to his soul, expressing uncertainty with regard to its immortality. He died at the age of sixty-two, having reigned twenty-two years.

Titus Antoninus Pius was one of the most faultless of the good emperors. As his father died in his childhood, his mother and grandfather conducted his education. To them, as well as to all aged persons, he habitually paid great respect. In his youth, his temper was so mild and affectionate, that he gained the love of all with whom he associated. After he became Emperor, he distributed among the poor the greater part of the revenue from his own estates. He completed a magnificent tomb for his predecessor Adrian, repaired many of the edifices of ancient Greece, and built a wall in Britain, between the rivers Esk and Tweed. He laboured to prevent wars, and uttered the noble sentiment,

"I had rather save the life of one citizen than to destroy a thousand enemies."

He was friendly to the Christians, and showed them favour. He sought to be a peace-maker between all contending persons, and to set a consistent example of moral excellence. In these respects he has been compared both to Nerva and to Numa, the latter of whom preserved the blessings of peace to the people during his whole reign of forty-three years. Marcus Antoninus reigned somewhat more than half as long, namely, twenty-two years. During a residence at one of his country-seats, he was attacked by a fever which proved fatal to him at the age of seventy-four. He was loved and lamented by the whole empire, over which he had ruled as a father, seeking the welfare of his children.

Marcus Aurelius is a favourite with historians, and has been ranked among the greatest of the good emperors. He made his predecessor, who was his father-in-law, his model in the affairs of government. He took pleasure in praising his virtues, and thus affectionately mentions some of them, in a work of which he was the author:

"I have much observed his meekness, and his constancy without wavering, in those things which after due deliberation he had determined. I remember his freedom from all vanity, his patient industry, his readiness to hear any man that had aught to say tending to the common good. How readily and impartially would he give every man his due. How modestly would he condescend to other men, as though he was an ordinary man himself. How accurately would he examine and consult, and how patiently would he hear others. Neither would he hastily give over the search of difficult matters, or be easily satisfied with sudden notions and opinions. How carefully would he preserve his friends, never treating them with neglect, or growing weary of them.

I love to remember his contented mind, his cheerful countenance, his care to foresee things afar off, and to give orders without noise or clamour. How was all flattery repressed by him, and how carefully did he observe all things necessary to the government, and keep an account of all the common expenses. And when he was reproached by some for this very strictness, how patiently did he bear it. He was neither studious to please men, nor ambitious of popular applause, but sober in all things, every where observant of that which was fitting. In those things which conduce to ease and convenience, of which his great fortune allowed him a plentiful supply, he was without pride or boasting. He freely enjoyed them when they were present, and when they were absent, was never uneasy for the want of them. He was commended as a man that could not endure to be flattered, but was able to govern both himself and others. He honoured all true philosophers, without upbraiding those who were not so. In his conversation he was sociable and delightful. How gently would he yield to those who had any peculiar talent, such as eloquence, or knowledge of the laws, or ancient customs, and how heartily he endeavoured that everyone might, according to their excellence, be regarded and esteemed. How constant was he in his attention to business; and after his great fits of headache, how fresh and vigorous would he return to his wonted affairs. In all things having respect unto men, only as men, and to the equity of things, and not unto the glory that might follow."

Marcus Aurelius still further evinced his gratitude and reverence for Antoninus Pius, by erecting to his memory a beautifully sculptured marble column, more than a hundred feet in height, and surmounted by his statue, which may still be seen at Rome, though more than 1700 years old.

He was a lover of knowledge. Through his whole life he laboured to obtain it. After he became an emperor, he used to go, and sometimes on foot, to the house of a man of wisdom, named Apollonius, that he might take lessons of him. He valued intellectual riches more than gold or power. Among all the cares of state, he found time for it, saying that it was his desire to learn as long as he lived.

He was particularly attached to the study of philosophy, and used to call it his mother, to prove his affection. He established schools for it, both at Rome and Athens. He often gave lectures in that science to the people, deeming it no derogation from imperial dignity to instruct and elevate the public mind. Especially, when about to be absent from the city, for any length of time, he thus addressed his people, that if he never returned, their last remembrance of him might be connected with precepts of virtue.

His principal faults were allowing the Christians to be persecuted, and being often engaged in war, though his principles revolted against it, and he considered it a calamity. He died at Vindobona, where the city of Vienna, in Austria, now stands, after the sickness of a week, on March 17th, 180; having lived fifty-nine years, and reigned nineteen. He was so much beloved, that many kept his image or statue in their houses, offering it flowers and incense, as one of their heathen gods.

The two last of these Emperors were called Antonines. Their united periods of sway amounted to forty-one years, and Rome never enjoyed greater happiness than during their sovereignty. Afterwards, it declined both in prosperity and virtue.

The reigns of the five good Emperors extended over a period of eighty-four years, just the length of one of the revolutions of the planet Herschel around the sun. With a single one of his years he measured out the earthly span of all these mighty monarchs. Ere he returned to his annual goal, they had risen, and flourished, and fallen.

A hoary-headed man might have seen the whole of their imperial sway. An aged English statesman, Sir John Mason, outlived five of his own sovereigns. In looking back upon so long a life, he said that he had received favours from them all, and been promoted to many honours, but that religion and hope in heaven were the truest riches, and all things else forsook him, but his God, his duty, and his prayers.

The study of history is salutary to the young mind. To know what has been done in all countries, since man was placed upon the earth, is a laudable curiosity, and an ennobling pursuit. To form a correct opinion of the characters thus presented us, affords useful exercise to the judgment. Those who have delighted only to shed blood, and to build their fame on the misery of mankind, should not be admired though the world may pronounce them heroes.

In reading of the truly wise and good, we should strive to imbibe their spirit and tread in their steps. The highest end of knowledge is to advance in goodness and piety, and to make the heart and life more acceptable to God.

The Ploughing of the Sword.

"They shall beat their swords into Plough-shares." Isaiah, II,
4.

The ploughing of the Sword
Breaks up the greensward deep,
And stirs the old foundations
Where the baleful passions sleep;
The quiet beauty of the vales
It rudely rends away,
And turns the roots of the riven flowers
To the scorching eye of day.

And then, they madly sow
The seeds of bitter strife,
Ambition, wrath, revenge,
And stern contempt of life.
They wildly scatter o'er the land
Dissension, pain, and care,
And fright away the birds of peace
That fain would carol there.

Now call the reapers forth,
With the thundering cannon's roar,
Hark! to the rush of an armed host
Like the surge on a rocky shore,
With tramp and clang, the warrior's heel
Doth the red wine-press tread,
And heavily roll the loaded wains
With their burdens of the dead.

They reap with murderous sickle,
Mid the shrill trumpet's cry,
Till the mightiest and the lowest,
In equal ruin lie.
Till the screaming vulture whets his beak,
Where the blood-pools blot the green,
And the gaunt hyena prowls at night
His dire repast to glean.

They store their carnage spoil
In History's garner wide,
A reeking overflowing crop
Of crime, and woe, and pride,
The widow's pang, the orphan's tear
The exulting tyrant's might,
And the cry of souls for ever lost,
As they take their fearful flight.

Oh! mourning Mother Earth,
Lift up thy heart and pray
That the ploughing of the sword
Be for ever done away,
And thine own meekly-cultur'd fields
With nodding corn be dress'd,
To feed thy children, ere they take
Their slumber in thy breast.

And thou, terrific Sword!
Whose ministry accurs'd
Doth waste the span of mortal life
That was so brief at first,
God speed the day when promis'd Peace
Shall reign from shore to shore,
And thou, into a plough-share beat,
Convulse the world no more.

The Good and Bad Emperor.

Marcus Aurelius Antoninus was the seventeenth Emperor of Rome, and began his reign on the 2nd of March, 161 years before the Christian era. Besides these three names, he had several others, _Annius Verus_, after his grandfather; _Elius_, which was given him by the Emperor Adrian; _Verissimus_, from his constant regard to truth; and _Philosophos_, from his love of wisdom.

In early childhood he was instructed by his mother, who took great pains to teach him not to do wrong, or to think unkindly of any person. She would not permit him to be dainty in his food, or to partake in luxuries that might be hurtful to his health; and though he saw much to tempt his taste, he regarded the restrictions of his mother. She also counselled him not to be proud, but to relieve the poor whenever he had opportunity. By his respect and obedience to her, he began life with the elements of virtue and happiness.

His grandfather also conducted a part of his education, in childhood. He listened reverently to his words, and followed all his directions. Thus, he began to honour and love the aged, and to bow down before them. In one of the wise books which he wrote in manhood, the very first sentences are expressive of gratitude to these his earliest teachers.

"Of my grandfather, I learned to be gentle and meek, and to refrain from all anger and passion. Of my mother, I learned to be religious and bountiful, to forbear not only to do, but to intend any evil; to content myself with a spare diet, and to fly all the excesses that come from great wealth."

Not content with the high moral training of his immediate instructors, he was careful to imitate whatever he saw that was praiseworthy in the conduct of others. "Of my brother," he writes, "I have learned to be kind and loving to all of my house and family, bountiful and liberal in the largest measure, always to hope for the best, and to believe that my friends love me."

As he grew older, masters were called in to direct his studies. Two of these were from Greece, and he acquired the language of that classic clime with great accuracy. Junius Rusticus, his instructor in philosophy, he says, "taught me to write letters simply, and without affectation, to be easily reconciled to those who had offended me, as soon as any of them would be content to seek unto me again; also, to read with diligence, and never to be content with light and superficial knowledge."

He was particularly partial to that department of philosophy which teaches the regulation of the temper and conduct. Such excellence did he attain in its principles and their exemplification, that he was permitted to assume, at the age of twelve, the philosophical gown. His rapid progress in knowledge, and preeminence for truth and integrity, gained him the favour of the Emperor Adrian, who was a patron of learning and virtue. Among other distinctions, he appointed him prefect of the city, when only fifteen years old. It was an office of power and importance, comprising the superintendence of buildings, and navigation, and the judging of causes, as a chief magistrate, if the Emperor should be absent from the city. In this responsible station, he acquitted himself with justice and dignity, not at all vain of his elevation, but improving every opportunity to advance in knowledge.

Amid the pressure of his public offices and private studies, he did not overlook the domestic affections. To his sister Annia Corneficia, he showed the utmost tenderness. He liked to impart his knowledge to her, and to have her enjoy the new ideas that he gathered. After the death of their father, he became her watchful protector, and the paternal estate having been left to him, he presented it to her, rejoicing at having it in his power to make her so valuable a gift. His generosity was equalled by his gratitude. When he became Emperor of Rome, he remembered all who had done him services, and recompensed them. Especially to his teachers, his regard was unbounded. His obligations to them he frequently mentioned, and said the knowledge with which they had stored his mind was more precious than the wealth of an empire. While they lived, he loaded them with benefits. When they died, he paid to their memories the tribute of affectionate respect. He laid chaplets of flowers on their tombs, and caused their statues to be made of gold, which he kept in his domestic chapel.

In this feature of attachment to his instructors he resembled Alexander the Great, who was never weary of testifying gratitude to his master, Aristotle. Comparing it to the affection for his father, he said, "I am indebted to Philip for _living_, and to Aristotle for _living well_." He rebuilt and beautified Stagyra, after it had been destroyed, because it was the native place of Aristotle, and enclosed a copy of Homer's poems, to which this beloved preceptor had written notes, in a gold box, carrying it wherever he went with his armies, and laying it under his head every night, when he retired to rest. In a letter to his teacher, he says, "I had rather surpass the rest of men in the knowledge of sublime and excellent things, than in greatness and extent of power."

More truly great was Alexander in this sentiment, than in his renown as a warrior. And surely, in the beautiful sentiment of gratitude to our instructors in knowledge and virtue, we, who are Christians, ought not to suffer ourselves to be surpassed by the followers of false gods.

When Marcus Aurelius was raised to the highest office in the Empire, he felt it incumbent on him to be the father of his people. He strove to do good to all. He laboured to frame just laws. He directed the courts to take a longer time for the transaction of business, that they might not be tempted, through haste, to neglect the causes of the poor. So great was his own industry and patience, that he not unfrequently gave ten days to the study of a case whose decision was important or difficult.

He showed great respect for the opinion of the Senate, and never took any portion of the revenue for public expenses without their permission. He evinced much prudence in the use of what they entrusted to him. Once, when the claims of the nation were peculiarly pressing, he said to his wife, the Empress Faustina,

"I will sell the furniture of my palace, and you can dispose of your richest clothing, rather than burden our people to part with more than they can spare."