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This was also the age of _Apollonius_ of Perga, the Geometrician. He composed a treatise on conic sections in eight books--seven of which remain. It is one of the most valuable remains of antiquity.
_Nicander's_ writings were held in much estimation. Two of his poems, entitled Theriaca, and Alexipharniaca, are still extant. He is said to have written 5 books of Metamorphoses, which Ovid has imitated. He wrote also history. 150.
About this time flourished _Polybius_. He wrote an universal History in Greek, divided into 40 books; which began with the Punic wars, and finished with the conquest of Macedonia by Paulus. This is lost, except the first 5 books, and fragments of the 12 following. Livy has copied whole books from him, almost word for word--and thinks proper to call him in return "haudquaquam spernendus auctor."
P.
TO AN ARTIST,
Who requested the writer's opinion of a Pencil Sketch of a very Lovely Woman.
The sketch is somewhat happy of the maid; But where's the dark ethereal eye-- The lip of innocence--the sigh, That breathes like spring o'er roses just betrayed? And where the smile, the bright bewitching smile That lights her youthful cheek with pleasure, Where health and beauty hoard their treasure, And all is loveliness unmixed with guile? The spirit of the bloomy months is she, Surrounded by the laughing hours: Her very foot-prints glow with flowers! And dared'st thou then successful hope to be? Presumptuous man! thy boasted art how vain! Too dull thy daring pencil's light To shadow forth the vision bright, Which flowed from Jove's own hand without a stain. What mortal skill can paint her wond'rous eye Or catch the smile of woman's face, When all the virtues seem to grace Its beams with something of divinity? None but Apollo should the task essay; To him alone the pow'r is given To blend the radiant hues of heaven, And in the look the very soul portray; Then hold, proud Artist! 'tis the God's command; Eugenia's face requires thy master's hand!
M.
MARCH COURT.
Court day!--what an important day in Virginia!--what a day of bustle and business!--what a requisition is made upon every mode of conveyance to the little metropolis of the county! How many debts are then to be paid!--how many to be _put off_!--Alas! how preponderate the latter! If a man says "_I will pay you at Court_," I give up the debt as hopeless, without the intervention of the _la_. But if court day be thus important, how much more so is March court! That is the day when our candidates are expected home from Richmond to give an account of their stewardship; at least it used to be so, before the number of our legislators was lessened with a view of facilitating the transaction of business, and with a promise of _shortening_ the sessions. But somehow or other, the public chest has such a multitude of charms, it seems now to be more impossible than ever to get away from it.
"'Tis that capitol rising in grandeur on high, Where bank notes, by thousands, bewitchingly lie,"
as the song says, which makes our sessions "_of so long a life_," and there is no practicable mode of preventing the _evisceration_ of the aforesaid chest, but deferring the meeting of the Assembly to the month of February, {303} and thereby compelling the performance of the Commonwealth's business within the two months which would intervene till the planting of corn. However, this is foreign to my present purpose, which is to describe a scene at which I have often gazed with infinite amusement. Would I had the power of Hogarth, that I might perpetuate the actings and doings of a March court; but having no turn that way, I must barely attempt to group the materials, and leave the painting to some regular artist to perfect. Picture to yourself, my gentle reader, our little town of _Dumplinsburg_, consisting of a _store_, a _tavern_, and a _blacksmith shop_, the common ingredients of a county town, with a court house and a jail in the foreground, as denoting the superior respect to which they are entitled. Imagine a number of roads diverging from the town like the radii of a circle, and upon these roads horsemen and footmen of every imaginable kind, moving, helter skelter, to a single point of attraction. Justices and jurymen--counsellors and clients--planters and pettifoggers--constables and cakewomen--farmers and felons--horse-drovers and horse-jockies, and _so on_, all rushing onward like the logs and rubbish upon the current of some mighty river swollen by rains, hurrying pell mell to the vast ocean which is to swallow them all up--a simile not altogether unapt, when we consider that the greater part of these people have law business, and the law is universally allowed to be a vortex worse than the Maelstrom. Direct the "fringed curtains of thine eyes" a little further to the main street--a street well entitled to the epithet main in all its significations, being in truth the principal and only street, and being moreover the political arena or cockpit, in which is settled pugilistically, all the tough and knotty points which cannot be adjusted by argument. See, on either side, rows of nags of all sorts and sizes, from the skeleton just unhitched from the plough, to the saucy, fat, impudent pony, with roached mane and bobtail, and the sleek and long tailed pampered horse, whose coat proclaims his breeding, all tied to the _staggering_ fence which constitutes the boundary of the street. Behold the motley assemblage within these limits hurrying to and fro with rapid strides, as if life were at stake. Who is he who slips about among the "_greasy rogues_," with outstretched palm, and shaking as many hands as the Marquis La Fayette? It is the candidate for election, and he distributes with liberal hand that _barren chronicle_ of legislative deeds, denominated the list of laws, upon which are fed a people starving for information. This is a mere register of the titles of acts passed at the last session, but it is caught at with avidity by the sovereigns, who are highly offended if they do not come in for a share of the Delegate's bounty. The purchase and distribution of these papers is a sort of _carmen necessarium_, or indispensable lesson, and it frequently happens that a member of the Assembly who has been absent from his post the whole winter, except upon the yeas and nays, acquires credit for his industry and attention to business in proportion to the magnitude of the bundle he distributes of this uninstructive record.
See now he mounts some elevated stand and harangues the gaping crowd, while a jackass led by his groom is braying at the top of his lungs just behind him. The jack takes in his breath, like Fay's Snorer, "_with the tone of an octave flute, and lets it out with the profound depth of a trombone_." Wherever a candidate is seen, there is sure to be a jackass--surely, his long eared companion does not mean to satirize the candidate! However that may be, you perceive the orator is obliged to desist, overwhelmed perhaps by this thundering applause. Now the crowd opens to the right and left to make way for some superb animal at full trot, some Highflyer or Daredevil, who is thus exhibited _ad captandum vulgus_, which seems the common purpose of the candidate, the jack, and his more noble competitor. But look--here approaches an object more terrible than all, if we may judge from the dispersion of the crowd who _ensconce_ themselves behind every convenient corner and peep from their lurking holes, while the object of their dread moves onward with saddle bags on arm, a pen behind his ear, and an inkhorn at his button hole. Lest some of my readers should be ignorant of this august personage, I must do as they do in England, where they take a shaggy dog, and dipping him in red paint, they dash him against the signboard and write underneath, this is the Red Lion. This is the sheriff and he is summoning his jury--"Mr. Buckskin, you, sir, dodging behind the blacksmith's shop, I summon you on the jury;" ah, luckless wight! he is caught and obliged to succumb. In vain he begs to be let off,--"you must apply to the magistrates," is the surly reply. And if, reader, you could listen to what passes afterwards in the court house, you might hear something like the following colloquy--Judge. "What is your excuse, sir?" Juror. "I am a lawyer, sir." Judge. "Do you follow the law now, sir?" Juror. "No, sir, the law follows me." Judge. "Swear him, Mr. Clerk." Ah, there is a battle!!! see how the crowd rushes to the spot--"who fights?"--"part 'em"--"stand off"--"fair play"--"let no man touch"--"hurrah, Dick"--"at him, Tom." An Englishman thinking himself in England, bawls out, "sheriff, read the riot act"--a Justice comes up and commands the peace; _inter arma silent leges_; he is unceremoniously knocked down, and Justice is blind as ought to be the case. Two of the rioters now attempt to ride in at the tavern door, and for awhile all Pandemonium seems broke loose. To complete this picture, I must, like Asmodeus, unroof the court house, and show you a trial which I had the good fortune to witness. It was during the last war, when the vessels of Admiral Gordon were making their way up the Potomac to Alexandria, that a negro woman was arraigned for killing one of her own sex and color; she had been committed for murder, but the evidence went clearly to establish the deed to be manslaughter, inasmuch as it was done in sudden heat, and without malice aforethought. The Attorney for the commonwealth waived the prosecution for murder, but quoted _British authorities_ to show that she might be convicted of manslaughter, though committed for murder. The counsel for the accused arose, and in the most solemn manner, asked the court if it was a thing ever heard of, that an individual accused of one crime and acquitted, should be arraigned immediately for another, under the same prosecution? At intervals--boom--boom--boom went the _British cannon_--_British authorities!_ exclaimed the counsel; _British authorities_, gentlemen!! Is there any one upon that bench so dead to the feelings of patriotism as at such a moment to listen to _British authorities_, when the British cannon is shaking the very walls of your court house to their {304} foundation? This appeal was too cogent to be resisted. Up jumped one of the Justices and protested that it was not to be borne; let the prisoner go; away with your British authorities! The counsel for the accused, rubbed his hands and winked at the attorney; the attorney stood aghast; his astonishment was too great for utterance, and the negro was half way home before he recovered from his amazement.
NUGATOR.
THE DEATH OF ROBESPIERRE.
SCENE I.
ROBESPIERRE'S HOUSE.
_Robespierre and St. Just meeting._
_St. Just._--Danton is gone!
_Robespierre._--Then can I hope for all things, Since he is dead whose shadow darken'd me; Did the crowd cheer or hiss him?
_St. Just._--Neither, sir: Save a few voices, all look'd on in silence.
_Robes._--Ha! did they so?--but when the engine rattled, And the axe fell, didst thou perceive him shudder?
_St. Just._--He turn'd his face to the descending steel, And calmly smil'd. A low and ominous murmur Spread through the vast assemblage--then, in peace, They all dispers'd.
_Robes._--I did not wish for this.
_St. Just._--No man, since Louis Capet----
_Robes._--Say no more My worthy friend--the friend of France and freedom-- Hasten to guard our interest in yon junto Of fools and traitors, who, like timid sheep, Nor fight nor fly, but huddle close together, Till the wolves come to gorge themselves among them-- And in the evening, you and all my friends Will meet me here, deliberate, and decide To advance, or to recede. Be still, we cannot; And hear me, dear St. Just--A man like you, Firm and unflinching through so many trials, Who sooner would behold this land manured With carcases and moistened with their blood, Than yielding food for feudal slaves to eat, True to your party and to me your _brother_-- For so I would be term'd--has the best claim That man can have to name his own reward When France is all our own. Bethink you then What post of honor or of profit suits you, And tell me early, that I may provide, To meet your views, a part in this great drama.
_St. Just._--Citizen Robespierre--my hearty thanks; Financial Minister, by any name Or trumpery title that may suit these times, Is what I aim at--gratify me there And I am yours through more blood than would serve To float the L'Orient.[1]
[Footnote 1: A French line of battle ship. Burnt at the battle of Aboukir.]
_Robes._--'Tis well, St. Just, But wherefore citizen me? I have not used The term to you--we are not strangers here.
_St. Just._--Pardon me, sir, (or _Sire_, even as you please) The cant of Jacobins infects my tongue, I had no meaning farther. One word more Before we part--now Danton is cut off, We may be sure that all his partisans And personal friends are our most deadly foes, And it were politic and kind in us To spare their brains unnumbered schemes of vengeance And seize at once the power to silence them. To give them time were ruin; some there are Whose love of gold is such that were it wet With Danton's blood they would not less receive it. These may be brib'd to league with us. Farewell.
_Robes._ (_solus_.) Blood on its base--upon its every step-- Yea, on its very summit--still I climb: But thickest darkness veils my destiny, And standing as I do on a frail crag Whence I must make one desperate spring to power, To safety, honor, and unbounded wealth, Or be as Danton is, why do I pause? Why do I gaze back on my past career, Upon those piles of headless, reeking dead? Those whitening sculls? those streams of guiltless blood Still smoking to the skies?--why think I hear The shrieks, the groans, the smothered execrations That swell the breeze, or seem as if I shrank Beneath the o'ergrown, yet still accumulating, Curse of humanity that clings around me? Is not my hate of them as fixed, intense, And all unquenchable as theirs of me? But they must tremble in their rage while I Destroy and scorn them. (_reads a letter_.)
"Exert your dexterity to escape a scene on which you are to appear once more ere you leave it forever. Your dictatorial chair, if attained, will be only a step to the scaffold, through a rabble who will spit on you as on Egalité. You have treasure enough. I expect you with anxiety. We will enjoy a hearty laugh at the expense of a people as credulous as greedy of novelty."
He but little knows, Who wrote this coward warning, what I am. I love not life so well, nor hate mankind So slightly as to fly this country now: No, I will ride and rule the storm I have rais'd, Or perish in its fury. (_Madame de Cabarus enters_.) Ha! a woman! How entered you?
_Lady._--Your civic guard were sleeping; I pass'd unquestioned, and my fearful strait Compels appeal to thee, great Robespierre! Deny me not, and Heaven will grant thy prayer In that dread hour when every mortal needs it. Repulse me not, and heaven thus at the last Will not repulse thee from eternal life. I am the daughter of the unhappy Laurens, Who hath but one day more to live on earth. Oh, for the sake of all thou holdest dear, (_kneeling before him_.) Spare to his only child the misery Of seeing perish thus her much lov'd sire. His head is white with age--let it not fall Beneath yon dreadful axe. Through sixty years A peaceful and reproachless life he led. Thy word can save him. Speak, oh speak that word, For our Redeemer's sake redeem his life, And child and father both shall bless thee ever.
_Robes._ (_aside_.) I know her now--the chosen of Tallien How beautiful in tears! A noble dame {305} And worthy to be mine. 'Twould sting his heart To lose his mistress ere I take his head; If I would bribe her passions or her fears, As well I trust I can, I must be speedy. Those drunken guards--should any see her here, Then what a tale to spread on Robespierre, The chaste, the incorruptible, forsooth---- (_coldly approaching her_.) Lady, I may not save your father's life-- Duty forbids--he holds back evidence Which would convict Tallien; nay, do not kneel, I cannot interfere.
_Daughter._--Oh, say not so. He is too peaceful for intrigues or plotters-- Too old, too helpless for their trust or aid. Oh, for the filial love thou bearest thy sire, Thy reverence for his years----
_Robes._--If he were living And spoke in thy behalf, it were in vain.
_Daughter._--For the dear mother's sake who gave thee birth And suffer'd agony that thou might'st live----
_Robes._--Not if her voice could hail me from the tomb, And plead in thy own words to save his life.
_Daughter._--If thou hast hope or mercy----
_Robes._--I have neither. Rise and depart while you are safe--yet stay, One path to his redemption still is open-- It leads to yonder chamber--Ha! I see Thou understandest me.
_Daughter._--I trust I do not. I hope that Heaven beholds not--Earth contains not A being capable of such an offer.
_Robes._--And dare you scorn me, knowing who I am? Bethink you where you stand--your sire--and lover-- And hear my offer. Life and wealth for them, Jewels and splendor and supremacy Shall wait on thee--no dame shall breathe in France But bends the knee before thee.
_Daughter._--Let him die. Better he perish now than live to curse His daughter for dishonor. Fare you well. There is a time for all things, and the hour May come when thou wilt think of this again.
_Robes._ (_laughing_.) Ha! ha! Wouldst thou depart to spread this tale? Never, save to such ears as will not trust thee! Choose on the spot between thy father's death, Thy lover's and _thine own_, or my proposal.
_Daughter._--My choice is made, let me rejoin my sire.
_Robes._--I'll furnish thee a passport--guards awake! (_seizing her arm_.) Without there! murder! treason! guards come hither! (_Jacobins rush in and seize her_.) A watchful crew ye are, to leave me thus To perish like Marât by the assassins; See that you guard her well, and keep this weapon Which, but I wrench'd it from her, would have slain me.
_Daughter._--And thus my father dies and one as dear. 'Tis joy to suffer with them, though I perish. I feel assured thou canst not triumph long-- And I adjure thee by the Heaven thou hast scorn'd, Whose lingering fires are not yet launch'd against thee, And by the Earth thou cumberest, which hath not Yet opened to entomb thee living, come, Meet me, and mine, and thy ten thousand victims, Before God's judgment seat, ere two days pass. (_the guards take her out_.)
_Robes._--She must have thought in sooth I was a Christian.
SCENE II.
TALLIEN'S HOUSE.
_Tallien with a letter in his hand._
In prison!--In his power!--to die to-morrow! My body trembles and my senses reel. This is a just and fearful retribution-- Would it were on my head alone! Oh Heaven, Spare but this angel woman and her father, And let me die--or might my life be pardon'd, The criminal excess to which these times Have hurried my rash hand and wilful heart, I will atone to outrag'd human nature, To her and to my country. Wretched France! Once the fair home of music and of mirth, So torn, so harrassed by these factions now, That even the wise and good of other lands Cannot believe a patriot breathes in this! And she complains that I am grown a craven! My acts of late may justify the thought, But let to-morrow show how much I fear him. (_A Servant enters_.)