1859–61; Irish History and Irish Character, Lond., 1861; | awed by the shade of the vanquished, the The Empire, Oxford, 1863; Does the Bible Sanction American Slavery? 1863 (in favor, as are others of his publications, of the Federal Government of the United States); A Plea for the Abolition of Tests in the University of Oxford, 1864; England and America, Bos ton, 1865; Speeches and Letters, from Jan., 1863, to Jan., 1865, on the Rebellion, New York, 1865, 2 vols.; The Civil War in America, Lond., 1866; Three English Statesmen (Pym, Cromwell, and Pitt), Lond., 1867. "I am a great advocate of culture of every kind, and I say, Smith, or Professor Rogers, who, in addition to profound classical learning, have a vast knowledge of mod when I find a man like Professor Goldwin ern affairs, and who, as well as scholars, are profound thinkers; these are men whom I know to have a vast superiority over me, and I bow to them with reverence."-RICHARD COEDEN: Speech at Rochdale, Nov. 23, 1864.] Marcus Cato was the one man whom, living and dead, Cæsar evidently dreaded. The Dictator even assailed his memory in a brace of pamphlets entitled "AntiCato," of the quality of which we have one or two specimens in Plutarch, from which we should infer that they were scurrilous and slanderous to the last degree; a proof even that Cæsar could feel fear, and that in Cæsar, too, fear was mean. Dr. Mommsen throws himself heartily into Cæsar's antipathy, and can scarcely speak of Cato without something like a loss of temper. The least uncivil thing which he says of him, is that he was a Don Quixote, with Favonius for his Sancho. The phrase is not a happy one, since Sancho is not the caricature but the counterfoil of Don Quixote; Quixote being spirit without sense, and Sancho sense without spirit. Imperialism, if it could see itself, is in fact a world of Sanchos, and it would not be the less so if every Sancho of the number were master of the whole of physical science and used it to cook his food. Of the two court-poets of Cæsar's successor, one makes Cato preside over the spirits of the good in the Elysian fields, while the other speaks with respect, at all events, of the soul which remained unconquered in a conquered world, "Et cuncta terrarum subacta præter atrocem animum Catonis.' Paterculus, an officer of Tiberius and a thorough Cæsarian, calls Cato a man of ideal virtue (homo virtuti simillimus"), who did right not for appearance sake, but because it was not in his nature to do wrong. When the victor is thus over vanquished could hardly have been a "fool." Contemporaries may be mistaken as to the merits of a character, but they cannot well be mistaken as to the Sallust, the partisan of Marius and Cæsar, space which it occupied in their own eyes. atorial party, speaks of Cæsar and Cato who had so much reason to hate the senas the two mightiest opposites of his time, and in an elaborate parallel ascribes to Cæsar the qualities which secure the success of the adventurer; to Cato those which make up the character of the patriot. It is a mistake to regard Cato the younger as merely an unseasonable repetition of Cato the elder. His inspiration came not from a Roman form, but from a Greek school of philosophy, and from that school which, with all its errors and absurdities, and in spite of the hypocrisy of many of its professors, really aimed highest in the formation of character; and the practical teachings and aspirations of which, embodied in the reflections of Marcus Aurelius, it is impossible to study without profound respect for the force of moral conception and the depth of moral insight which they sometimes display. Cato went to Greece to sit at the feet of a Greek teacher in a spirit very different from the national pride of his ancestor. It is this which makes his character interesting, that it was an attempt at all events to grasp and hold fast by the high rule of life, in an age when the whole moral world was sinking into a vortex of scoundrelism, and faith in morality, public or private, had been lost. Of course the character is formal, and in some respects even grotesque. But you may trace formalism, if you look close enough, in every life led by a rule; in everything between the purest spiritual impulse on the one side, and abandoned sensuality on the other. Attempts to revive old Roman simplicity of dress and habit in the age of Lucullus were no doubt futile enough; but after all, this is but the symbolical garb of the Hebrew prophet. We are in ancient Rome, not in the smoking-room of the House of Commons. We are among the countrymen, too, of Savonarola. The character, as painted by Plutarch, who seems to have drawn from the writings of contemporaries, is hard of course, but not cynical. Cato was devoted to his brother Cæpio, and themselves, fancying, it seems, that thereby they themselves, after their measure, play the Cæsar. The policy which Cato when Cæpio died, forgot all his Stoicism in the passionate indulgence of his grief, and all his frugality in lavishing gold and perfumes on the funeral. Cæsar in Anti-conceived was simply that of purifying Cato accused him of sifting the ashes for the gold, which, says Plutarch, is like charging Hercules with cowardice. Where the sensual appetites are repressed, whatever may be the theory of life, the affections are pretty sure to be strong, unless they are nipped by some such process as is undergone by a monk. Cato's resignation of his fruitful wife to a childless friend, revolting as it is to our sense, betokens less any brutality in him than the coarseness of the conjugal relations at Rome. Evidently the man had the power of touching the hearts of others. His soldiers, though he gave them no largesses and indulged them in no license, when he leaves them, strew their garments under his feet. His friends at Utica linger, at the peril of their lives, to give him a sumptuous funeral. He affected conviviality, like Socrates. He seems to have been able to enjoy a joke, too, at his own expense. He can laugh when Cicero ridicules his Stoicism in a speech; and when in a province he meets the inhabitants of a town turning out, and thinks at first that it is in his own honor, but soon finds that it is in honor of a much greater man, the confidential servant of Pompey, at first his dignity is outraged, but his anger soon gives place to amusement. That his public character was perfectly pure, no one seems to have doubted; and there is a kindliness in his dealings with the dependents of Rome, which shows that had he been an emperor he would have been such an emperor as Trajan, a man whom he probably resembled, both in the goodness of his intentions and in the limited powers of his mind. Impracticable, of course, in a certain sense he was; but his part was that of a reformer, and to compromise with the corruption against which he was contending, would have been to lose the only means of influence, which, having no military force and no party, he possessed-that of the perfect integrity of his character. He is said by Dr. Mommsen to have been incapable even of conceiving a policy. By policy I suspect is meant one of those brilliant schemes of ambition with which some literary men are fond of identifying | and preserving the Republic. So far, at all events, he had an insight into the situation, that he knew that the real malady of the state was want of public spirit, which he did his best to supply. And the fact is, that he did more than once succeed in a remarkable way in stemming the tide of corruption. Though every instinct bade him struggle to the last, he had sense enough to see the state of the case, and to advise that, to avert anarchy, supreme power should be put into the hands of Pompey, whose political superstition, if not his loyalty, there was good reason to trust. When at last civil war broke out, Cato went into it like Falkland, crying Peace!" he set his face steadily against the excesses and cruelties of his party; and when he saw the field of Dyrrhacium covered with his slain enemies, he covered his face and wept. He wept, a Roman over Romans, but humanity will not refuse the tribute of his tears. After Pharsalus he cherished no illusion, as Dr. Mommsen himself admits; and though he determined himself to fall fighting, he urged no one else to resistance; he felt that the duty of an ordinary citizen was done. His terrible march over the African desert showed high powers of command, as we shall see by comparing it with the desert march of Napoleon. Dr. Mommsen ridicules his pedantry in refusing, on grounds of loyalty, to take the commander-in-chief over the head of a superior in rank. Cato was fighting for legality, and the spirit of legality was the soul of his cause. But besides this, he had never himself crossed his sword with an enemy; and by declining the nominal command he retained the whole control. He remained master to the last of the burning vessel. Our morality will not approve of his voluntary death; but our morality would give him a sufficient sanction for living, even if he was to be bound to the car of the conqueror. Looking to Roman opinion, he probably did what honor dictated; and those who prefer honor to life are not so numerous that we can afford to speak of them with scorn.-Macmillan's Magazine, April, 1868. THE DUKE OF SUFFOLK'S FARE- | but shall be best and truest to you. And WELL LETTER TO HIS SON. [John Fenn, an English antiquarian, who published in 1787 to 1795 five quarto volumes of Original Letters Written During the Reigns of Henry VI., Edward if any other body would stir you to the contrary, to flee the counsel in any wise, for ye shall find it naught and evil. Furthermore, as far as father may and can, I charge you in any wise to flee the IV., and Richard III. These letters, known as "The company and counsel of proud men, of Paston Letters," from the family in Norfolk, by whom and to whom most of them were written, are highly curious and interesting, exhibiting matters of State and the private manners of a remarkable age in English history. Mr. Fenn has elucidated them with copious notes and connecting links. Their authenticity was called in question, notably by Herman Merivale, in the Fortnightly Review, but their genuine character and veracity have been established beyond doubt by James Gairdner, the historian of several periods of English history. A modern edition of Fenn's Paston Letters was recently published.] My dear and only well-beloved son-I beseech our Lord in heaven, the Maker of all the world, to bless you, and to send you ever grace to love Him and to dread Him; to the which as far as a father may charge his child, I both charge you and pray you to set all spirits and wits to do, and to know His holy laws and commandments, by the which ye shall with His great mercy pass all the great tempests and troubles of this wretched world. And that also wittingly, ye do nothing for love nor dread of any earthly creature that should displease Him. And thus as any frailty maketh you to fall, beseccheth His mercy soon to call you to Him again with repentance, satisfaction, and contrition of your heart never more in will to offend Him. Secondly, next Him, above all earthly thing, to be true liegeman in heart, in will, in thought, in deed, unto the king our aldermost high and dread sovereign lord, to whom both ye and I be so much bound to; charging you as father can and may, rather to die than be the contrary, or to know anything that were against the welfare or prosperity of his most royal person, but that, as far as your body and life may stretch, ye live and die to defend it, and to let his Highness have knowledge thereof in all the haste ye can. Thirdly, in the same wise, I charge you, my dear son, alway, as ye be bounded by the commandment of God, to do, to love, to worship your lady and mother, and also that ye obey alway her commandments, and to believe her counsels and advices in all your works, the which dreaded not, covetous men, and of flattering men, the more especially and mightily to withstand them, and not to draw nor to meddle with them, with all your might and power. And to draw to you and to your company good and virtuous men, and such as be of good conversation, and of truth, and by them shall ye never be deceived, nor repent you of. Moreover, never follow your own wit in no wise, but in all your works, of such folks as I write of above, asketh your advice and counsel, and doing thus, with the mercy of God, ye shall do right well, and live in right much worship and great heart's rest and ease. And I will be to you as good lord and father as my heart can think. And last of all, as heartily and as lovingly as ever father blessed his child in earth, I give you the blessing of our Lord and of me, which of his infinite mercy increase you in all virtue and good living. And that your blood may, by His grace, from kindred to kindred multiply in this earth to His service, in such wise as, after the departing from this wretched world here, ye and they may glorify Him eternally among His angels in heaven. Written of mine hand the day of my departing from this land. Your true and loving father.-The Paston Letters. SEA-WEED. [Cornelius George Fenner, an American poet and Unitarian preacher, born at Providence, R. I, in 1822; died in Cincinnati, in 1847. His Poems of Many Moods appeared in Boston in 1846. The following poem is selected as evincing a fine faculty of poetic thought and expression.] A weary weed, tossed to and fro, Drearily drenched in the ocean brine Soaring high and sinking low, Lashed along without will of mine; Sport of the spoom of the surging sea, Flung on the foam afar and anear; Mark my manifold mystery; Growth and grace in their place appear. I bear round berries gray and red, Rootless and rover though I be; White and hard in apt array; Gracefully grow I, night and day. Hearts there are on the sounding shore, Like this weary weed of the sea; The eternal type of the wondrous whole: Growth unfolding amid unrest, Grace informing with silent soul. THE FIGHT AT LEXINGTON. [Thomas Dunn English, an American journalist, poet, and dramatist, born in 1819, in Philadel phia, and became a practicing physician in 1856, in the vicinity of New York, and was afterwards admitted to the bar. He wrote several novels, not widely known, and a score or more of plays which were produced upon the stage. As a critic, humorist, and writer for the press, his writings have given him popularity, while his lyric poems have made him a wider fame. His poems were published in 1855.] Only labor dull and cheerless in the work be fore him seeing, As the warp and woop uniting brought the figures into being. Roared the fire before the bellows; glowed the forge's dazzling crater; Rang the hammer on the anvil, both the lesser and the greater; Fell the sparks around the smithy, keeping rhythm to the clamor, To the ponderous blows and clanging of each unrelenting hammer; While the diamonds of labor, from the curse of Adam borrowed, Glittered in a crown of honor on each ironbeater's forehead. Through the air there came a whisper, deep ening quickly into thunder, How the deed was done that morning that would rend the realm asunder; How at Lexington the Briton mingled causeless crime with folly, And a king endangered empire by an ill considered volley. Then each heart beat quick for vengeance, as the anger-stirring story Told of brethren and of neighbors lying corses stiff and gory. Tugged the patient, panting horses, as the Stops the plough and sleeps the shuttle, stills coulter keen and thorough, the blacksmith's noisy hammer, By the careful farmer guided, cut the deep Come the farmer, smith, and weaver, with a and even furrow; wrath too deep for clamor; Soon the mellow mould in ridges, straightly But their fiercely purposed doing every glance pointing as an arrow Lay to wait the bitter vexing of the fierce, remorseless harrow, they give avouches, As they handle rusty firelocks, powder-horns and bullet-pouches; Lay impatient for the seeding, for the growing As they hurry from the workshops, from the and the reaping, fields, and from the forges, All the richer and the readier for the quiet Venting curses deep and bitter on the latest of winter sleeping. the Georges.... At his loom the pallid weaver, with his feet I was but a beardless stripling on that chilly upon the treddles, April morning, Watched the threads alternate rising, with the When the church-bells backward ringing, to lifting of the heddlesthe minute-men gave warning; Not admiring that, so swiftly, at his eager But I seized my father's weapons-he was fingers urging, dead who one time bore themFlew the bobbin-loaded shuttle 'twixt the fila- And I swore to use them stoutly, or to nevermore restore them; ments diverging, Bade farewell to sister, mother, and to one than either dearer, And his picked and chosen soldiers, who had never shrunk in battle, Then departed as the firing told of red-coats Hurried quicker in their panic when they drawing nearer. On the Britons came from Concord-'twas a name of mocking omen; heard the firelocks rattle. Tell it not in Gath, Lord Percy, never Ascalon let hear it, Concord never more existed 'twixt our people That you fled from those you taunted as de void of force and spirit; That the blacksmith, weaver, farmer, leaving forging, weaving, tillage, Fully paid with coin of bullets base marauders for their pillage; They, you said, would fly in terror, Britous and their bayonets shunning; The loudest of the boasters proved the foremost in the running. . . When to Hardy's Hill their weary, waxing. On the day the fight that followed, neighbor fainter footsteps brought them, met and talked with neighbor; There again the stout Provincials brought the First the few who fell they buried, then re wolves to bay and fought them; And though often backward beaten, still returned the foe to follow, turned to daily labor. Glowed the fire within the forges, ran the plough-share down the furrow, and toil was thorough; Making forts of every hill-top and redoubts Clicked the bobbin-shuttle-both our fight of every hollow. Hunters came from every farm-house, joining If we labored in the battle, or the shop, or eagerly to chase themforge, or fallow, They had boasted far too often that we ne'er Still came an honest purpose, casting round would dare to face them. ... our deeds a halo. With nine hundred came Lord Percy, sent by Though they strove again, these minions of startled Gage to meet them, Germaine and North and Gower, They could never make the weakest of our band before them cower; Neither England's bribes nor soldiers, force of arms, nor titles splendid, From the fences, walls, and roadsides drifts of Could deprive of what our fathers left as leaden hail appalling; rights to be defended. |