You all did see that on the Lupercal

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Bear with me;

My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar.

And I must pause till it come back to me.”

"Cit. Mark'd ye his words? He would not take the crown, Therefore 't is certain he was not ambitious."

"2d Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weeping." He holds up before them Cæsar's will, hinting at its liberal provisions for their benefit, but withholding its reading:

"It will inflame you, it will make you mad:

'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;
For if you should, O, what would come of it!"

thus whetting their interest to the edge of expectancy, and subtly inciting them to fury.

With Cæsar's robe in hand, he then reënacts the terrible tragedy, with vivid intensity and dramatic power:

"You all do know this mantle: I remember
The first time ever Cæsar put it on;

'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent;
That day he overcame the Nervii :-

Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through:
See what a rent the envious Casca made:

Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd;
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no:
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel:
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all:

For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,

Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms,

Quite vanquished him: then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's statua,

Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.

O, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
O, now you weep; and, I perceive, you feel
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops.

Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors." The people are inflamed; and we blame them not. They cry,

"Revenge! About.-seek!-burn!-fire!-kill! — slaylet not a traitor live!"

Finally, and in climax, he reads them Cæsar's will; reciting his munificent provisions for their welfare with telling power, maddening them beyond control; and they rush forth, an infuriated mob, to wreak vengeance upon the conspirators.

Antony stands back serenely triumphant, his purpose accomplished:

"Now let it work: mischief, thou art afloat,
Take thou what course thou wilt:

Fortune is merry,

And in this mood will give us anything:'

Word is brought him, that

"Brutus and Cassius

Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome,"

when, with exultant complacency, he remarks:

"Belike they had some notice of the people,

How I had moved them."*

* As with Brutus', so with Antony's speech: Bacon has given us sufficient data to enable us to comprehend the nature and source of the power of the one, as well as of the weakness of the other. Indeed, this interpretation of "Action" in eloquence might almost be termed distinctively Baconian; for while our ideas upon the subject have been general and somewhat confused, with him it was a clearly-cut, definite conception.

He gave it remarkable exemplification, in an account of the

action of an "actor," in inciting the people to a like fury, in ancient times:

“And it is not amiss to observe also how small and mean faculties gotten by education, yet when they fall into great men or great matters, do work great and important effects; whereof we see a notable example in Tacitus of two stage-players, Percennius and Vibulenus, who by their faculty of playing, put the Pannonian armies into an extreme tumult and combustion. For there arising a mutiny amongst them, upon the death of Augustus Cæsar, Blæsus, the lieutenant, had committed some of the mutineers; which were suddenly rescued; whereupon Vibulenus got to be heard speak, which he did in this manner: These poor innocent wretches, appointed to cruel death, you have restored to behold the light. But who shall restore my brother to me, or life unto my brother? that was sent hither in message from the legions of Germany to treat of the common cause, and he hath murdered him this last night by some of his fencers and ruffians, that he hath about him for his executioners upon soldiers. Answer, Blæsus, what is done with his body? The mortalest enemies do not deny burial. When I have performed my last duties to the corpse with kisses, with tears, command me to be slain besides him; so that these my fellows, seeing us put to death for no crime, but only for our good meaning and our true hearts to the legions, may have leave to bury us.' With which speech he put the army into an infinite fury and uproar; whereas truth was, he had no brother, neither was there any such matter, but he played it merely as if he had been upon the stage."-Advancement of Learning, Second Book.

And again, in his Essay, Of Boldness, he says: "It is a trivial grammar-school text, but worthy a wise man's consideration. Question was asked of Demosthenes, what was the chief part of an orator? He answered, Action: what next?-Action: what next again?-Action. He said it that knew it best, and had by nature himself no advantage in that he commended. A strange thing, that that part of an orator which is but superficial, and rather the virtue of a player, should be placed so high above those other noble parts of invention, elocution, and the rest; nay almost alone, as if it were all in all. But the reason is plain. There is in human nature generally more of the fool than of the wise; and therefore, those faculties by which the foolish part of men's minds is taken are most potent."

CHAPTER IX.-CONTINUED.

BUT though the conspirators have thus escaped with their lives, an inexorable Nemesis still pursues them. Dissensions arise among them; for theirs is a combination of inherently discordant elements, containing within itself the seeds of destruction. They are unequally yoked together, and a quarrel is inevitable. Cassius' unscrupulousness and his corrupt methods of raising money make him odious to the high-minded Brutus ; who, nevertheless, angry because some of this money is not sent to him, in his extremity, to pay his legions:

is

"For I can raise no money by vile means:

By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood by drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash

By any

indirection."

Cassius, by a supreme effort, conquers peace, and love is restored. But again the victor is vanquished: for Brutus immediately assumes the mastery, and in the blindness that is upon him, orders the fatal movement upon the enemy at Philippi.

Meanwhile, the work of disorganization in Cassius' character is subtly progressing. This Epicurean, whose school "rejected both the necessity of Fate and the fear of the gods," scorning divination, is now changing, becoming superstitious. On the morning of the decisive battle, his mind is filled with gloomy forebodings; oppressed by silent whisperings of coming disaster, forerunners of his impending fate:

"This is my birthday; as this very day

Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala:
Be thou my witness that, against my will,
As Pompey was, am I compelled to set
Upon one battle all our liberties.

You know that I hold Epicurus strong,
And his opinion: now I change my mind,
And partly credit things that do presage.
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign
Two mighty eagles fell; and there they perch'd,
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands,
Who to Philippi here consorted us;

This morning are they fled away, and gone;
And in their steads do ravens, crows, and kites,
Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us,
As we were sickly prey; their shadows seem
A canopy most fatal, under which

Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost."

Through the influence of Messala, he resolves to be constant: but nevertheless, this rein thus given to the imagination, drawing him towards despair, this under-current of ominous feeling, is sweeping him off his moorings and loosening his hold upon life, even before he is subjected to the final, fatal strain in the hour of battle.

The hand of Nemesis presses heavily upon Brutus also ; and its touch is scorching. The smouldering flame within himself, that burst forth in his murderous act, has recoiled upon his household, in a consuming fire. Tidings are brought him that Portia, his devoted wife, himself, his part,' by virtue of

"that great vow

Which did incorporate and make us one,"

in her anxiety and her grief, had become mad, and that in her madness she had killed herself:

"with this she fell distract,

And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire."

But Brutus bears this blow with heroic resolution. He