O liberty!-O sound once delightful to every Roman ear!-O sacred privilege of Roman citizenship!-once sacred!-now trampled upon!But what then!-Is it come to this? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture with fire and red hot plates of iron, and at last put to the infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, nor the tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty, and sets mankind at defiance.

I conclude with expressing my hopes, that your wisdom and justice, fathers, will not, by suffering the atrocious and unexampled insolence of Caius Verres to escape due punishment, leave room to apprehend the danger of a total subversion of authority, and the introduction of general anarchy and confusion.

CICERO'S ORATIONS.

JUSTICE.

(Verbatim from Boileau.)

Once (says an author, where I need not say) Two travellers found an oyster in their way; Both fierce, both hungry, the dispute grew strong,

While scale in hand, dame Justice pass'd along,

Before her each with clamour pleads the laws; Explain'd the matter, and would win the causé. Dame Justice weighing long the doubtful right, Takes, opens, swallows it before their sight. The cause of strife removed so rarely well, "There take" says Justice,“ take you each a shell."

We thrive at Westminster on fools like you, "Twas a fat oyster-live in peace-Adieu."

РОРЕ.

ELEGY ON The Death of an unfortuNATE YOUNG LADY.

What beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight shade,

Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade;
"Tis she!-but why that bleeding bosom gored?
Why dimly gleams the visionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it in heaven a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender or too firm a heart?
To act a lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reversion in the sky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
Why bade ye else, ye powers! her soul aspire
Above the vulgar flight of low desire?
Ambition first sprang from your blest abodes ;
The glorious fault of angels and of gods:
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breasts of kings and heroes glows.
Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age;
Dull sullen prisoners in the body's cage;
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years,
Useless, unseen, as lamps in sepulchres;

Like eastern kings, a lazy state they keep,
And close confined to their own palace sleep."
From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
Fate snatched her early to the pitying sky,
As into air the purer spirits flow,

And separate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the soul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redeem ber race.

But thou, false guardian of a charge too good,
Thou mean deserter of thy brother's blood!
See on those ruby lips the trembling breath,
Those cheeks now fading at the blast of death!
Cold is that breast, which warm'd the world
before!

And those love-darting eyes must roll no more! Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball,

Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall:

On all the line a sudden vengeance waits,

And frequent hearses shall besiege your gates: There passengers shall stand, and pointing say (While the long funerals blacken all the way) Lo! these were they, whose souls the furíes steel'd,

And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unfamented pass the proud away,

The gaze of fools and pageant of a day!
So perish all whose breasts ne'er learned to glow
For others' good, or melt at others' woe..
What can atone (Oh ever injured shade !)
Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?
No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear,
Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful
bier;

By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed,

By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned,
By strangers honour'd and by strangers mourn'd!
What though no friends in sable weeds appear,
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe

To midnight dances, and the public show?
What though no weeping loves thy ashes grace,
Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face?

What though no sacred earth allow thee room, Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb? Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be dress'd,

And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast: There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow, There the first roses of the year shall blow ; While angels with their silver wings o'ershade The ground now sacred by the reliques made. So, peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame. How lov'd, how honour'd once, avail thee not, To whom related, or by whom begot;

A heap of dust alone remains of thee,

"Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be. Poets themselves must fall, like those they sung

Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue.

E'en he, whose soul now melts in mournful lays,
Shall shortly want the generous tear he pays;
Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part,
And the last pang shall tear thee from his heart.
Lifes' idle business at one gasp be o'er,
The muse forgot, and belov'd no more!

POPE.

PRIDE.

Pride was not made for man, as he is a sinful, an ignorant, and a miserable being. There is nothing in his understanding, in his will, or in his present condition, that can tempt any considerate creature to pride or vanity.

These three very reasons why he should not be proud, are not withstanding the reasons why he is so. Were he not a sinful creature, he would not be subject to a passion which arises from the depravity of his nature; were he not an ignorant creature, he would see that he has nothing to be proud of; and were not the whole species miserable, he would not have those wretched objects of comparison before his eyes, which are the occasions of this passion, and which make one man value himself more than another.

A wise man will be contented that his glory be deferred till such time as he shall be truly glorified; when his understanding shall be cleared; his will rectified, and his happiness assured; or, in other words, when he shall be neither sinful, nor ignorant, nor miserable..

ADDISON.

ALFRED THE GREAT.

He knew how to conciliate the most enterprising spirit with the coolest moderation; the most obstinate perseverance, with the easiest flexibility; the most severe justice, with the greatest lenity; the greatest rigour in command, with the greatest affability of deportment; the highest capacity and inclination for science, with the most shining talents for action..