pledges against time and fortune, is that which will make him the spoil of both. The books themselves may no longer die; but their spirit does: and they become like old men whose bodies have outlived their minds, a spectacle more piteous than death itself.

ΕΙ

2. It is really curious to look into the index of such learned writers as Jeremy Taylor,. Cudworth, or Leibnitz, and to see the havoc which has been made on the memory of the greater part of the writers they cite, and who still exist, though no longer to be cited; of men who were their great contemporaries or imme diate predecessors, and who are quoted by them just as Locke or Burke is quoted by us. Of scarcely one in ten of these grave authorities has the best-informed student of our day read ten pages. The very names of vast numbers have all but perished; at all events, have died out of familiar remembrance. Let the student, who flatters himself that he is not ill-informed, glance over the index of even such a work as Hallam's "History of European Literature,' designed only to record the more memo- and ask himself of how many of the authors there mentioned he has read so much as even five pages. It will be enough to chastise all ordinary conceit of extensive attainments, and, perhaps, as effectually as anything, teach a man that truest kind of knowledge, the knowledge of his own ignorance.

rable names,

3. But, without a gibe,50 the destiny of the honest writer, even though but moderately successful, and much more if long and widely popular, is surely glorious and enviable. It may be true that he is to die, for we do not count the record of a name, when the works are no longer read, as anything better than an epitaph, and even that may vanish; yet to come into contact with other minds, even though for limited periods, - - to move them by a silent influence, to coöperate in the construction of character, to mould the habits of thought, to promote the dominion of truth and virtue, to exercise a spell over those one has never seen and never can see, in other climes, at the extremity of the globe, and when the hand that wrote it is still forever, is surely a most wonderful and even awful prerogative. It comes nearer to the idea of the immediate influence of spirit on spirit than anything else with which this world presents us. It is of a purely moral nature; it is also silent as the dew, invisible as the wind!

EI

4. We can adequately conceive of such an influence only by imagining ourselves, under the privilege of Gyges, to gaze, invis ible, on the solitary reader as he pores over a favorite author and watch in his countenance, as in a mirror, the reflection of the page which holds him captive; now knitting his brow over a

Wherein my letters (praying on his side
Because I knew the man) were slighted off.

Brutus. You wronged yourself, to write in such a case.
Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet
That every nice offence should bear its comment.
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemned to have an itching palm;
To sell and mart your offices for gold,
To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last!
Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
And chas'tisement doth therefore hide its head.

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember! Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?

3. DESCRIPTION OF SATAN.

He, above the rest

In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower; his form had not yet lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than archangel ruined, and the excess
Of glory obscured: as when the sun, new risen,
Looks through the horizontal misty air
Shorn of his beams, or from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs; darkened so, yet shone
Above them all the archangel: but his face
Deep scars of thunder had intrenched; and care
Sat on his faded cheek; but under brows
Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride,
Waiting revenge.

4. SATAN'S APOSTROPHEE TO THE SUN.
O, thou! that, with surpassing glory crowned,
Look'st from thy sole dominion like the God
Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars
Hide their diminished heads; to thee I call,
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,
O, Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams,
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere!
Till pride, and, worse, ambition, threw me down,
Warring in heaven against heaven's matchless King

5. EVENING.

Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad.

pledges against time and fortune, is that which will make him the spoil of both. The books themselves may no longer die; but their spirit does: and they become like old men whose bodies have outlived their minds, a spectacle more piteous than death

itself.

EI

2. It is really curious to look into the index of such learned writers as Jeremy Taylor,. Cudworth, or Leibnitz, and to see the havoc which has been made on the memory of the greater part of the writers they cite, and who still exist, though no longer to be cited; of men who were their great contemporaries or immediate predecessors, and who are quoted by them just as Locke or Burke is quoted by us. Of scarcely one in ten of these grave authorities has the best-informed student of our day read ten pages. The very names of vast numbers have all but perished; at all amante baw died out of familiar remembrance.

His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild; then, silent night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heaven, her starry train.

7. EVE'S REGRETS ON QUITTING PARADISE.
Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave
Thee, native soil? these happy walks and shades,
Fit haunt of gods! where I had hope to spend,
Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day
That must be mortal to us both! O, flowers,
That never will in other climate grow,
My early visitation and my last

At even, which I bred up with tender hand
From the first opening bud, and gave ye names!
Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount?
Thee, lastly, nuptial bower! by me adorned
With what to sight or smell was sweet! from thee
How shall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower world, to this obscure

And wild? How shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits?

Let the

CLXV.

QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.

Cassius. THAT you have wronged me, doth appear in this You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella,

For taking bribes here of the Sardians,

Wherein my letters (praying on his side
Because I knew the man) were slighted off.

Brutus. You wronged yourself, to write in such a case
Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet
That every nice offence should bear its comment.
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemned to have an itching palm;
To sell and mart your offices for gold,
To undeservers.

Cas. I an itching palm?

You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last!
Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
And chas'tisement doth therefore hide its head.

Bru. Remember March, the ides of March remember!
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
What villain touched his body, that did stab,
And not for justice? - What! shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world,
But for supporting robbers, shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,
And sell the mighty space of our large honors
For so much trash as may be grasped thus? -
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than such a Roman!

Cas. Brutus, bay not me!
I'll not endure it. You forget yourself,
To hedge me in: I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself

To make conditions.

Bru. Go to EI you 're not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.

Bru. I say you are not.

Cas. Urge me no more: I shall forget myself

Have mind upon your health: tempt me no further

Bru. Away, slight man!

Cas. Is 't possible?

Bru.

Hear me, for I will speak.

Must I give way and room to your rash choler?

Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

Cas.
Bru.

Must I endure all this?

All this? Ay, more! Fret till your proud heart break ;

Go, show your slaves how choleric you are,

And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge1
Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch

Under your testy humor?

You shall digest the venom of your spleen,

Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter
When you are waspish.

Cas. Is it come to this?

Bru.

You say you are a better soldier ; Let it appear so; make your vaunting true, And it shall please me well.

For mine own part,

I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Cas. You wrong me every way; you wrong me,

I said an elder soldier, not a better.

Did I say better?

1

Bru. If you did, I care not.

Brutus ;

Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved me Bru. Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him. Cas. I durst not?

Cas. What! durst not tempt him?

Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love.

may do that I shall be sorry for.

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for.

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;

For I am armed so strong in honesty,

That they pass by me as the idle wind,

Which I respect not. I did send to you

For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;
For I can raise no money by vile means:

I had rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachmas,47 than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection. I did send

To you for gold to pay my legions;

Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,

To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces!

Cas. I denied you not.

Bru.

You did.

Cas. I did not he was but a fool

That brought my answer back. Brutus hath rived my heart

A friend should bear a friend's infirmities;

But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me.

Cas.

You love me not.

Bru. I do not like your faults.

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults.

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear

As huge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come !

Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius;

For Cassius is a-weary of the world

Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother