and buckler, forth he came, a beautiful defiance on his brow! Bloody and brief the fight. "He has it!" cried the people; "habet! habet!" But still he lowered not his arm, until, at length, I held him, gashed and fainting, in my power. I looked around upon the Podium, where sat your senators and men of state, to catch the signal of release- of mercy. But not a thumb was reversed. To crown your sport, the vanquished man must die! Obedient brute that I was, I was about to slay him, when a few hurried words - rather a welcome to death than a plea for life-told me he was a Thracian. I stood transfixed. The arēna vanished. I was in Thrace, upon my native hills! The sword dropped from my hands. I raised the dying youth tenderly in my arms. O, the magnanimity of Rome! Your haughty leaders, enraged at being cheated of their death-show, hissed their disappointment, and shouted, "Kill!" I heeded them as I would heed the howl of wolves. Kill him?--They might better have asked the mother to kill the babe, smiling in her face. Ah! he was already wounded unto death; and amid the angry yells of the spectators, he died. That night I was scourged for disobedience. I shall not forget it. Should memory fail, there are scars here to quicken it.

Well; do not grow impatient. Some hours after, finding myself, with seventy fellow-gladiators, alone in the amphitheatre, the laboring thought broke forth in words. I said, I know not what. I only know that, when I ceased, my comrades looked each other in the face, and then burst forth the simultaneous cry, "Lead on! Lead on! O Spartacus!" Forth we rushed, seized what rude weapons chance threw in our way, and to the mountains speeded. There, day by day, our little band increased. Disdainful Rome sent after us a handful of her troops, with a scourge for the slave Spartacus. Their weapons soon were ours. She sent an army; and down from old Vesuvius we poured, and slew three thousand. Now it was Spartacus, the dreaded rebel!

A larger army, headed by the prætor, was sent, and routed; then another still. And always I remembered that fierce cry, riving my heart, and calling me to "kill!" In three pitched battles have I not obeyed it? And now affrighted Rome sends her two Consuls, and puts forth all her strength by land and sea, as if a Pyrrhus or a Hannibal were on her borders!

Envoys of Rome! To Lentulus and Gellius bear this message: "Their graves are measured!" Look on that narrow stream, a silver thread, high on the mountain's side. Slenderly it winds, but soon is swelled by others meeting it, until a torrent, terrible and strong, it sweeps to the abyss, where all is ruin. So Spartacus comes on! So swells his force, small and despised at first, but now resistless! On, on to Rome we come! The gladiators come! Let opulence tremble in all his palaces! Let oppression shudder to think the oppressed may have their turn! Let cruelty turn pale at thought of redder hands than his! Oh! we shall not forget Rome's many lessons. She shall not find her training was all wasted upon indocile pupils. Now, begone! Prepare the Eternal City for our games!

43. MARULLUS TO THE ROMAN POPULACE.-Shakspeare.

Wherefore rejoice that Cæsar comes in triumph?
What conquest brings he home?

What tributaries follow him to Rome,

To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels?

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
Oh, you hard hearts! you cruel men of Rome!
Knew ye not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climbed up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The life-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome;
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,

That Tiber trembled underneath her banks
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in her concave shores?

And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out a holiday?

And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?

Begone! Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude!

44. WILLIAM TELL ON SWITZERLAND.-J. S. Knowles.

Once Switzerland was free! With what a pride
I used to walk these hills,-look up to heaven,
And bless God that it was so! It was free
From end to end, from cliff to lake 'twas free!
Free as our torrents are, that leap our rocks,
And plow our valleys, without asking leave;
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow
In very presence of the regal sun!

How happy was I in it, then! I loved
Its very storms. Ay, often have I sat

In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake,
The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge
The wind came roaring.—I have sat and eyed
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head,
And think I had no master save his own.

You know the jutting cliff, round which a track
Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow

To such another one, with scanty room
For two a-breast to pass? O'ertaken there

By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along,
And while gust followed gust more furiously,

As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink,

And I have thought of other lands, whose storms

Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just

Have wished me there; - the thought that mine was free

Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head,

And cried in thralldom to that furious wind,

Blow on! This is the land of liberty!

45. WILLIAM TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.-J. S. Knowles.

Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again!
I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit ín your echoes answer me,

And bid your tenant welcome to his home
Again! O sacred forms, how proud you look!

-

How high you lift your heads into the sky!
How huge you are! how mighty, and how free!
Ye are the things that tower, that shine,—whose smile
Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms,
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear

Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty,

I'm with you once again! I call to you

With all my voice! I hold my hands to you,
To show they still are free. I rush to you
As though I could embrace you!

Scaling yonder peak,

I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow
O'er the abyss: - his broad-expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will,
That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively
I bent my bow; yet kept he rounding still
His airy circle, as in the delight

Of measuring the ample range beneath

And round about; absorbed, he heeded not

The death that threatened him. I could not shoot-
'Twas liberty!-I turned my bow aside,

And let him soar away!

46. DANGEROUS LEGISLATION, 1849.-J. McDowell.

MR. CHAIRMAN: When I pass by the collective | parties in this case, and recall the partícular ones; when I see that my own state is as deeply implicated in the trouble and the danger of it as any other, and shares, to the full, with all of her southern | colleagues, in the most painful apprehensions of its issue; when I see this, I turn involuntárily, and with unaffected | deference of spírit, and ask,

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Whát, in this exigent moment to Virgínia, will Massachusetts dò?

Will you, too, (I speak to her as present in her represéntatives)—

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will you, too, forgetting | all the past, put forth a hand | to smite C and to m

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her | ignominiously upon the cheek? In your own early day of deepest extremity and distress-the day of the Boston | Port Bill when your beautiful | capital was threatened with extínction, and England was collecting her gigantic | power to sweep your liberties | LC back 1 LO

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awáy, Virgínia, caring for no | ódds and counting no | cóst, bravely, |

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generously, instantly, I stepped forth for your deliverance. dressing her through the justice | of your cause | and the agonies | 1 Ꭱ Ꮎ

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of your condition, | you asked for her heart. She gave it; with

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scarce the reservation of a thròb, she gave it freely and gave it àll. w m tr RC to

You called upon her for her blood; - she took her children from her

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bosom, and offered thèm.

(p) But in all thís | she felt and knew that she was more than your political | ally—more than your political friend. She felt and knew that she was your near, natural born | relation-such in virtue

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of your common | descént, but such | far more still | in virtue of the

higher attributes of a congenial and kindred nature. Do not be startled at the idea of common | quàlities between the American

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Cavalier and the American Roundhead. A heroic and unconquer

able will, differently dirécted, is the pervasive and master cement in

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the character of both. (f) Nourished by the same | spírit, sharing as twin- | sisters in the struggle of the heritage of the same | revolútion, what is there in any demand of national | faith, or of constitu

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tional duty, or of public | morals, | which should separate them nòw?

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(ƒ) Give us but a pârt of that devotion which glowed in the heart

of the younger | Pitt, and of our own elder | Adams, who, in the

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midst of their âgonies, forgot not the countries they had lived for,