a mother. This circumstance, of course, rendered detection almost certain; but, by a ready stratagem, it was evaded, and the twin-sons, who first looked upon the world in the gloom of unnatural solitude, were educated by their heroic mother, whose life had been perilled for their own. These, she fondly hoped, would become additional promoters of her plea for her husband's pardon at the court of Vespasian; but before she could carry out fresh preparations in favour of Sabinus, treachery or cupidity had done its work. In the year 78, Eponina and her unfortunate companions were dragged in fetters to Rome. Probably, and we say this in justice to the character of the emperor, he would have yielded to the eloquence of a mother whose Spartan fortitude commanded his sympathy and admiration. As she presented her children, and prostrated herself at his feet, while, with impassioned eloquence, she mitigated her husband's crime, and faithfully depicted his sufferings and her own, the heart of the Roman, for an instant, trembled. What man worthy of the name, could resist such an address as that, the fragments of which have reached us?

"Not till these boys could join their tears to those of their mother, did I seek, oh, Cæsar! to disarm your wrath against him whom it is now your opportunity to pardon, and thereby gild your diadem with clemency, the brightest gem of conquest. By a coincidence in which the Fates them

selves seem to strengthen our appeal, this is the first day when, coming, as it were, from a tomb, they behold the sun, and seek your pity to warm into life the emotions so long buried in darkness and sorrow." Finding that, whilst all around were moved, the countenance of the emperor remained impassive, she redoubled her earnest prayers; but in vain. The cold, iron policy which, in this age, contaminated Roman councils, whilst it yet did not confirm the strength of the imperial authority, prevailed; so that, abandoning all hope of forgiveness from one whose fame this act of cruelty has for ever tarnished, Eponina rose from her knees, and changed at once her attitude and address.

"I am resolved, then, as you refuse to hearken to the voice of magnanimity, that your tyranny shall have two victims. Depend upon this truth, that not in vain have I so long contemplated peril. You shall see how I scorn death when life is deprived of the only boon it can bestow. More happy than a tyrant surrounded with unsafe splendour and insecure tranquillity, have I been with my husband and my children, though banished from the light of day. For them I have forgotten pain, to him I now sacrifice life, and die, leaving our oppressor to the vengeance of the immortal Gods!"

According to Plutarch, Vespasian's death, and the extirpation of his whole family, attested the anger of Heaven towards an act which all historians condemn

as one of narrow-minded vengeance and impolitic cruelty. In this respect, we may remark, that the characteristics of woman's reputed vindictiveness and man's magnanimity, are powerfully transformed; Vespasian appearing a pitiful parallel of Fulvia, whilst Eponina develops the majestic fortitude of Socrates or Julius. But "man is the sport of circumstances;" and it is to be hoped that, had all the concomitant details been made known to us, some extenuation might be found for what, otherwise, appears a crime of the darkest tyranny. As to our heroine, in her case "that domestic worth that shuns too strong a light," as Lord Lyttleton observes, partook of what is woman's not unfrequent excellence, an undeviating rectitude of principle, which shrunk not, when called upon, from the boldest avowal, and the most uncompromising dedication to duty. Her soul was the spell and light of each path the sharers of her captivity pursued. She has written her fame in one of the brightest pages of female constancy, and realized, more than most, in character and conduct, the description given by our great magician, Byron.

"Herself a billow in her energies

To bear the bark of others' happiness,

Nor feel a sorrow till their joy grew less."

Gertrude, Baroness von der art.

"Dark lowers our fate,

And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us;
But nothing, till that latest agony

Which severs thee from nature, shall unloose

This fix'd and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-house,

In the terrific face of armed law:

Yea, on the scaffold, if it needs must be,

I never will forsake thee!"

JOANNA BAILLIE.