by the dismay of the other wing. Neither could they withstand his attack, and the river intercepting them behind, prevented a this, in their retreat, some, shamefully throwing away their arms, plunged desperately into the water, and the rest, hesitating on the bank, irresolute whether to fight or fly, were overpowered and cut off. Never before had the Romans been engaged in so desperate an action. by treachery, under the mask of allies. The Fidenatians, a Roman colony, being assured of the concurrence of the Veientians, and receiving from the Albans a positive engage-precipitate flight. As soon as they reached ment to desert to their side, were prevailed on to take arms and declare war. Fidena having thus openly revolted, Tullus, after summoning Mettius and his army from Alba, marched against the enemy, and passing the Anio, pitched his camp at the conflux of the rivers. Between that place, and Fidenæ, the Veientians had crossed the Tiber, and, in the line of battle, they composed the right wing near the river, the Fidenatians being posted on the left towards the mountains. Tullus drew up his own men facing the Veientians, and posted the Albans opposite to the troops of the Fidenatians. The Alban had not more resolution than fidelity, so that, not daring either to keep his ground, or openly to desert, he filed off slowly towards the mountains. When he thought he had proceeded to a sufficient distance, he ordered the whole line to halt, and being still irresolute, in order to waste time, he employed himself in forming the ranks: his scheme was to join his forces to whichever of the parties fortune should favour with victory. At first, the Romans who stood nearest were astonished at finding their flank left uncovered, by the departure of their allies, and, in a short time, a horseman at full speed brought an account to the King that the Albans were retreating. Tullus, in this perilous juncture, vowed to institute twelve new Salian priests, and also to build temples to Paleness and Terror; then, rebuking the horseman with a loud voice, that the enemy might hear, he ordered him to return to the fight, telling him, that "there was no occasion for any uneasiness; that it was by his order the Alban army was wheeling round, in order to fall upon the unprotected rear of the Fidenatians." He commanded him, also, to order the cavalry to raise their spears aloft; and, this being performed, intercepted, from a great part of the infantry, the view of the Alban army retreating; while those who did see them, believing what the King had said, fought with the greater spirit. The fright was now transferred to the enemy, for they had heard what the King had spoken aloud, and many of the Fidenatians understood the Latine tongue, as having been intermixed with Romans in the colony. Wherefore, dreading lest the Albans might run down suddenly from the hills, and cut off their retreat to the town, they betook themselves to flight. Tullus pressed them close, and after routing this wing composed of the Fidenatians, turned back with double fury against the Veientians, now disheartened When all was over, the Alban troops, who had been spectators of the engagement, marched down into the plain, and Mettius congratulated Tullus on his victory over the enemy. Tullus answered him, without shewing any sign of displeasure, and gave orders that the Albans should, with the favour of fortune, join their camp with that of the Romans, and appointed a sacrifice of purification to be performed next day. As soon as it was light, all things being prepared in the usual manner, he commanded both armies to be summoned to an assembly. The heralds, beginning at the outside, summoned the Albans first; and they, struck with the novelty of the affair, and wishing to hear the Roman king delivering a speech, took their places nearest to him: the Roman troops, under arms, pursuant to directions previously given, formed a circle round them, and a charge was given to the centurions to execute without delay such orders as they should receive. Then Tullus began in this manner; " 'If ever, Romans, there has hitherto occurred, at any time, or in any war, an occasion that called on you to return thanks, first, to the immortal gods, and, next, to your own valour, it was the battle of yesterday: for ye had to struggle not only with your enemies, but, what is a more difficult and dangerous struggle, with the treachery and perfidy of your allies for I will now undeceive you; it was not by my order that the Albans withdrew to the mountains, nor was what ye heard me say, the issuing of orders, but a stratagem, and a pretext of having given orders, to the end that while ye were kept in ignorance of your being deserted, your attention might not be drawn away from the fight; and that, at the same time, the enemy, believing themselves to be surrounded on the rear, might be struck with terror and dismay: but the guilt which I am exposing to you, extends not to all the Albans: they followed their leader, as ye would have done, had I chosen that the army should make any movement from the ground which it occupied. Mettius there was the leader of that march, the same Mettius was the schemer of this war. Mettius it was who broke the league between the The gray barns looking from their hazy hills, On the dull thunder of alternate flails. All sights were mellowed and all sounds subdued, His winter log with many a muffled blow. The embattled forests, erewhile armed with gold, Now stood like some sad, beaten host of old, Withdrawn afar in Time's remotest blue. On somber wings the vulture tried his flight; The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew,— His alien horn, and then was heard no more. Romans and Albans. May others dare to THE CLOSING SCENE. THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. LIVY. THOMAS BUCHANAN READ, an American painter and poet, born in Pennsylvania, 1822, died in New York, 1872. Many volumes of his poems have appeared from 1847 to 1867, and he edited in 1848 a collection of the "Female Poets of America." Within the sober realm of leafless trees, The russet year inhaled the dreamy air; Where erst the jay, within the elm's tall crest, Made garrulous trouble round her unfledged young; Where sang the noisy martins of the eves, An early harvest and a plenteous year; Where every bird that waked the vernal feast To warn the reaper of the rosy east ; All now was sunless, empty, and forlorn. Alone, from out the stubble, piped the quail; Made echo in the distance to the cottage-loom. There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers; Amid all this-in this most dreary air, Amid all this, the center of the scene, The white-haired matron, with monotonous tread, She had known Sorrow. He had walked with her, While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom, Re-gave the sword, but not the hand that drew Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on, At last the thread was snapped,-her head was bowed; Life dropped the distaff through her hands serene; And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud, While death and winter closed the autumn scene. THE LAST DAYS OF THE EMPEROR OTHO. C. CORNELIUS TACITUS, the great Roman historian, whose birth is of uncertain date, wrote in the first cen tury of the Christian era. He acquired great reputation both as an orator and as an author. His "Agricola" is a charming biography of his father-in-law. His "Manners of the Germans," "History" and "An nals" constitute his other works, all of which evince a powerful mind, and a skill in condensation sufficiently rare among historians ancient or modern. Otho, in the mean time having taken his resolution, waited, without trepidation, for an account of the event. First, rumors of a melancholy character reached his ears; soon after, fugitives, who escaped from the field, brought sure intelligence that all was lost. The fervor of the soldiers staid not for the voice of the emperor; they bade him summon up his best resolution: there were forces still in reserve, and in their prince's cause they were ready to suffer and dare the utmost. Nor was this the language of flattery: impelled by a kind of frenzy and like men possessed, they were all on fire to go to the field and restore the state of their party. The men who stood at a distance stretched forth their hands in token of their assent, while such as gathered round the prince clasped his knees; Plotius Firmus being the most zealous. This officer commanded the prætorian guards. He implored his master not to abandon an army devoted to his interest; a soldiery who had undergone so much in his cause. "It was more magnanimous," they said, "to bear up against adversity, than to shrink from it; the brave and stren uous sustained themselves upon hope, even against the current of fortune, the timorous and abject only allowed their fears to plunge them into despair." While uttering these words, accordingly as Otho relaxed or stiffened the muscles of his face, they shouted or groaned. Nor was this spirit confined to the prætorians, the peculiar soldiers of Otho; the detachment sent forward by the Moesian legions brought word that the same zeal per vaded the coming army, and that the legions had entered Aquileia. Whence it is evident that a fierce and bloody war, the issue of which could not have been foreseen by the victors or the vanquished, might have been still carried on. Otho himself was averse to any plans of prosecuting the war, and said: "To expose to further perils such spirit and such virtue as you now display, would, I deem, be paying too costly a price for my life. The more brilliant the prospects which you hold out to me, were I disposed to live, the more glorious will be my death. I and Fortune have made trial of each other; for what length of time is not material; but the felicity which does not promise to last, it is more difficult to enjoy with moderation. Vitellius began the civil war; and he originated our contest for the princedom. It shall be mine to establish a precedent by preventing a second battle for it. By this let posterity judge of Otho. Vitellius shall be blest with his brother, his wife, and children. I want no revenge, nor consolations. Others have held the sovereign power longer; none have resigned it with equal fortitude. Shall I again suffer so many of the Roman youth, so many gallant armies, to be laid low, and cut off from the commonwealth? Let this resolution of yours to die for me, should it be necessary, attend me in my departure; but live on yourselves. Neither let me long obstruct your safety, nor do you retard the proof of my constancy. To descant largely upon our last moments is the act of a dastard spirit. Hold it as an eminent proof of the fixedness of my pur. pose, that I complain of no man: for to arraign gods or men, is the part of one who fain would live." Having thus declared his sentiments, he talked with his friends, addressing each in courteous terms, according to his rank, his age, or dignity, and endeavored to induce all, the young in an authoritative tone, the old by entreaties, to depart without loss of time, and not aggravate the resentment of the conquerors by remaining with him. His countenance serene, his voice firm, and endeavoring to repress the tears of his friends as uncalled-for, he ordered boats or carriages for those who were willing to depart. Papers and letters, containing strong expressions of duty toward himself, or ill-will toward Vitellius, he committed to the flames. He distributed money in presents, but not with the profusion of a man quitting the world. Then, observing his brother's son, Salvius Cocceianus, in the bloom of youth, and distressed and weeping, he even comforted him, commending his duty, but rebuking his fears: "Could it be supposed that Vitellius, finding his own family safe, would refuse, inhumanly, to return the generosity shown to himself? By hastening his death," he said, "he should establish a claim upon his clemency; since, not in the extremity of despair, but at a time when the army was clamoring for another battle, he had made his death an offering to his country. For himself, he had gained ample renown, and left to his family enough of lustre. After the Julian race, the Claudian, and the Servian, he was the first who carried the sovereignty into a new family. Wherefore he should cling to life with lofty aspirations, and neither forget at any time that Otho was his uncle, nor remember it overmuch." After this, his friends having all withdrawn, he reposed awhile. When lo! while his mind was occupied with the last act of his life, he was diverted from his purpose by a sudden uproar. The soldiers, he was told, were in a state of frenzy and riot, threatening destruction to all who offered to depart, and directing their fury particularly against Verginius, whom they kept besieged in his house, which he had barricaded. Having reproved the authors of the disturbance, he returned, and devoted himself to bidding adieu to those who were going away, until they had all departed in security. Toward the close of day he quenched his thirst with a draught of cold water, and then ordered two poniards to be brought to him. He tried the points of both, and laid one under his head. Having ascertained that his friends were safe on their way, he passed the night in quiet, and, as we are assured, even slept. At the dawn of day he applied the weapon to his breast, and fell upon it. On hearing his dying groans, his freedmen and slaves, and with them Plotius Firmus, the prætorian præfect, found that with one wound he had dispatched himself. His funeral obsequies were performed without delay. This had been his earnest request, lest his head should be cut off and be made a public spectacle. He was borne on the shoulders of the prætorian soldiers, who kissed his hands and his wounds, amidst tears and praises. Some of the soldiers slew themselves at the funeral pile: not from any consciousness of guilt, nor from fear; but in emulation of the bright example of their prince, and to show their affection. At Bedriacum, Placentia, and other camps, numbers of every rank adopted that mode of death. A sepulchre was raised to the memory of Otho, of ordinary structure, but likely to endure. Such was the end of Otho, in the thirtyseventh year of his age. He was born in the municipal city of Ferentum. His father was of consular rank; his grandfather of prætorian. By the maternal line his descent was respectable, though not equally illustrious. The features of his character, as well in his earliest days as in the progress of his youth, have been already delineated. By two actions, one atrocious and detestable, the other great and magnanimous, he earned an equal degree of honor and infamy among posterity. THE LITTLE MAN ALL IN GREY. JEAN PIERRE DE BERANGER, a French lyric poet, born 1790, died 1857, was one of the most widely popular of French writers. An ardent Republican, his political verses brought him fine and imprisonment, but his independence resisted alike persecution and blandishments. The light spirit, gayety and bonhommie of his poems produce the happiest effects by the most simple and inimitable touches. In Paris a queer little man you may see, Rosy and round as an apple is he, And merry both night and day! "Ma foi! I laugh at the world," says he, "I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!" What a gay little man in grey! He runs after the girls, like a great many more, He sings, falls in love and in dǝbt o'er and o'er, Or keeps out of the bailiff's way. "Ma foi! I laugh at the world," says he,"I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!" What a gay little man in grey! When the rain comes in through the broken panes, Goes to bed content, and never complains, Blows his frost-bitten fingers, and merrily feigns Not to care for a fire to-day! Ma foi! I laugh at the world," says he, "I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!" What a gay little man in grey! The prettiest wife one need wish to possess But the world will talk and I must confess That her lovers perchance may pay. Still her husband looks on. "Ma foi!" says he,"I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!" What a gay little man in grey ! Now racked by the gout on his comfortless bed And the priest, with his book and his shaven head, Comes and talks of the devil, the grave, and the dead, Till the sick man's patience is wholly fled, And he frightens the priest away! "Ma foi! I laugh at the devil," says he,"I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!" What a gay little man in grey! TRANSLATED BY AMELIA B. EDWARDS. ana. French left the pretty appellation of LouisiA thousand other rivers tributaries of the Mississippi, the Missouri, the Illinois, the Arkansas, the Wabache, the Tennessee-enrich it with their mud and fertilize it with their waters. When all these rivers have been swollen by the deluges of winter, uprooted trees, forming large portions of forests torn down by tempests, crowd about their sources. In a short time the mud cements the torn tree together, and they become inchained by creepers which, taking root in every direction, bind and consolidate the debris. Carried away by the foaming waves, the rafts descend to the Mississippi; which, taking possession of them, hurries them down towards the Gulf of Mexico, throws them upon sand-banks, and so increases the number of its mouths. At intervals the swollen river raises its voice whilst passing over the resisting heaps, and spreads its overflowing waters around the colonnades of the forests, and the pyramids of the Indian tombs; and so the Mississippi is the Nile of these deserts. But grace is always united to splendor in scenes of nature: while the midstream bears away towards the sea the dead trunks of pine-trees and oaks, the lateral currents on either side convey along the shores floating A PICTURE OF WILD NATURE ON THE islands of pistias and nénuphars, whose yel MISSISSIPPI. FRANÇOIS AUGUSTE DE CHATEAUBRIAND, a distinguished French writer, born 1769, died 1848. He visited the United States at the age of twenty-two, and from the primeval forests of the south was drawn the inspiration of some of his most romantic works. His " Atala," (1801), “Genius of Christianity," (1802), "The Martyrs," (1809), and “Journey from Paris to Jerusalem," (1811), are the most valuable of his voluminous works. His style is highly poetical, and his descriptions of natural scenery are eminently fine. France formerly possessed in North America a vast empire, extending from Labrador to the Floridas, and from the shores of the Atlantic to the most distant lakes of Upper Canada. Four great rivers, deriving their sources from the same mountains, divided these immense regions: the River St. Lawrence, which is lost to the east in the gulf of that name; the Western River, whose waters flow on to seas then unknown; the river Bourbon, which runs from south to north into Hudson Bay; and the Mississippi, whose waters fall from north to south into the Gulf of Mexico, The last-named river, in its course of more than a thousand leagues, waters a delicious country called by the inhabitants of the United States the New Eden, to which the VOL. I. low roses stand out like little pavilions. Green serpents, blue herons, pink flamingoes, and baby crocodiles embark as passengers on these rafts of flowers; and the brilliant colony unfolding to the wind its golden sails, glides along slumberingly till it arrives at some retired creek in the river. The two shores of the Mississippi present the most extraordinary picture. On the western border vast savannahs spread away farther than the eye can reach, and their waves of verdure, as they recede, appear to rise gradually into the azure sky, where they fade away. In these limitless meadows herds of three or four thousand wild buffaloes wander at random. Sometimes cleaving the waters as it swims, a bison, laden with years, comes to repose among the high grass on an island of the Mississippi, its forehead ornamented with two crescents, and its ancient and slimy beard giving it the appearance of a god of the river, throwing an eye of satisfaction upon the grandeur of its waters, and the wild abundance of its shores. Such is the scene upon the western border; but it changes on the opposite side, which forms an admirable contrast with the other shore. Suspended along the course of the waters, grouped upon the rocks and upon the mountains, and dispersed in the valleys trees of every form, of every colour, and of 7 |