head. She must appear clean and tidy in school. Her hands and bib, or apron, at least, must be quite clean, else she should soil her work. If she take home her work, as most of the girls do, she must have a clean table to work on. But, as was elsewhere said, a clean table puts to shame a filthy floor: she sweeps the floor. The lesson of cleanliness, tidiness, and industry which she has learned at school, she teaches at home perforce of example. Her literary education is not altogether neglected; for though the greater part of the day is given to needle-work; she can learn to read, write, and cypher during the hour or hours set apart for that end. Even while she works she is learning still better les

sons.

While her eyes are on her work, and her fingers busy, she listens while her kind patronesses, womanwise, in turn, speak to the heart, or read pleasant and good books. Those songs have been learned at school from lady-teachers, which you hear on summer evenings on country or suburban roads, where girls go rambling in rows, linked fondly arm in arm.

Let us pause here for a while. Much has been done: How much more remains to be done!

CICERO AND HIS TIMES.

BY B. PHILIP WEST.

TIMES of sudden and violent revolutions in states are ever periods marked with the appearance of extraordinary men. The worst passions as well as the noblest traits of human nature are then excited into action; and in their collision are elicited qualities, talents, and characteristics, which would have slumbered in passive mediocrity or absolute oblivion, during seasons of tranquillity and the ordinary conditions of affairs. We are all eager to learn minute details of the men and circumstances of such epochs in the world's annals. No historical or biographical works are read with deeper interest than those which treat of such grand events, and give us authentic particulars respecting the persons who took part in them. Thus it is we never tire reading Thiers or Barante upon the first French revolution; and thus too we peruse with satisfaction the memoirs and autobiographies of such authors as Guizot, Lamartine, and Louis Blanc, describing the actors in both revolutions-the last as well as the first.

But there was another and a greater revolution-the prototype of both-the revolution which changed Rome from a republic into an empire. Who would not wish to hear, as from an eye-witness, a portraiture of the persons, and an accurate account of the state of things existing in Rome, when that revolution was in progress?

Passages in Cicero's orations and epistles contain the information it is so desirable to possess, and all that one would have to do, to impart such information universally, would be to take out these passages, and placing them apart from topics now mixed up with them, fix the attention of the reader upon what he alone cares for, or desires to know.

The works of Cicero (so made use of) constitute, I think, an autobiography of the most valuable and interesting kind. They bring us back to the times in which he lived they put us within sight of men whose names are "familiar as household words;" as we read these "select passages" we hear not only the orator, but we have moving pictures of the events as they occurred, and of the individuals who took part in them.

Why no such use hitherto has been made of Cicero's orations especially, is, I think, easily accounted for. First, Cicero has been mainly studied for his style, his eloquence, his power of treating any subject to which he brought the whole force of his acute mind and wondrous talents. Next, from the time of the revolution in Rome, ending in the sole empire of Augustus, centuries passed away without any thing similar happening until the outburst of the revolution in France, commencing in 1789, and closing its first grand series of events with the crowning of Napoleon Bonaparte as Emperor of the French.

From the first to the eighteenth century, although there were wars and violent convulsions of every description in all parts of Europe-the irruption of barbarians; the downfall of the empire; the formation of new monarchies, etc. etc. etc., still, no one supposed they would ever again see any thing like to the crimes of Sylla and the Triumvirs revived, as they were by the "Septembrists," or the ambition of a Cæsar realised anew in the coronation of a lieutenant of artillery. Persons no more supposed such scenes could be re-enacted, than the men of the present century, who remember the European triumph over France and Bonaparte in 1815, could have believed it possible that in their own day they should behold a Bonaparte restored to France, elected as an Emperor, and then the ally of England in a war against the brother of Alexander!

The days of Cicero illustrate both the times in which we live, and those of which our fathers and grandfathers were contemporaries. Hence, there is an interest attached to them which never could have been felt previous to 1789.

My wish is to see a popular use made of Cicero. Casting aside the toga which covers and conceals the working of the heart, I would let the world look on him as he really was-an extraordinary, eloquent, well-intentioned, but not high-principled man-his best qualities being marred by timidity; and his really heroic conduct in some moments of great excitement, as in his opposition to Cataline, to Clodius, and to Marc Antony, and finally his death scene-being all spoiled by his intolerable egotism and intrusive vanity. The use I would desire to be made of Cicero, is to have him placed before the reader, as at the time which he himself desired to be regarded both by contemporaries and posterity that is making his speeches-and so we should listen to what he has to say of others, to others, and about himself.

So treated, I think a very interesting little volume could be compiled from his voluminous writings.

Here, for instance, is a brief passage from Cicero's

speech respecting Marcellus. It is addressed to Julius Cæsar a listener to the oration-and then armed with the powers of emperor, under the title of Perpetual Dictator. The passage, it will be seen, reads as if it were composed by M. Dupin, for the purpose of being published in the Moniteur, as the candid opinion of an eloquent French advocate, addressed to the Emperor Napoleon!!!

"It devolves upon you-Cæsar-upon you especiallyupon you, who know and feel how the commonwealth has been shaken, and the country prostrated in the conflicts of civil war it is for you to secure respect for our judicial tribunals, to restore the credit of the nation, to repress the licentious, to promote population; in fine, to re-unite what is dissevered, and to hold society together by the enforcement of severe laws."

Here is But We

I have said that Cicero was a time-server. annexed a passage that will prove him to be so. the passage is interesting in another point of view. know, and Cicero lived to know, that Julius Cæsar died by the hands of assassins. Now listen to the same Cicero addressing the following words (as he does in his speech for Marcellus) to Cæsar! assuring him, he may henceforth live void of all fear, for the world was devoted to him!-every one desired to see his life prolonged! none could possibly think of injuring him! Here is Cicero speaking in the senate-house, and Julius Cæsar listening to him: Cæsar believing his life to be in danger: Cicero, with all the powers of his eloquence demonstrating that such fears were vain: both standing at the time upon the floor of that building which was afterwards to be stained with the blood of Cæsar.

"I approach now, Cæsar, to matters of very deep moment: I refer to the serious complaints made by you as to your present position, and your desperate suspicions in reference to others. Matters, I say, of the utmost moment to yourself-to all citizens-but especially to us-to us who owe our own safety to your clemency. Both these, I trust, are founded in error-but whether true or false, I cannot hope by my words alone to lessen their importance. Your safety is our safety; but so saying, I may add, that if in such a case as this, an error is to be committed, then I far prefer being regarded as too timid, than as over rash. But who is, or who can be the madman that would dare to assail you? Can he be discoverable amongst your adherents? Who amongst those adherents can be more devoted to you, than those upon whom you have bestowed, contrary to their own expectations, safety and life! Can it be then, one of those who ever have been your faithful followers? It is not credible that such perverse insanity can be discoverable in any human being, as that he would not prefer to his own life, the life of that leader who has bestowed upon himself the best gifts of fortune. But if your friends are not plotting a foul crime against you, then it is against your enemies you must be on your guard. Who or where are those enemies? All who have been your enemies have, in obstinately pursuing their own wilful career, been deprived of life; or they now live, because you have been merciful. Thus, either none of your foes survive, or, those who survive have become the most devoted of your friends."

Again Cicero returns to the same point in another part of the Marcellus-oration in the following words :

"Thus do all of us here who are desirous of the safety of the state exhort you-nay we conjure you to take care of your life to assure its safety. I speak here not merely my

own sentiments; for I am, on this subject, the mouth-piece of others and in their name I say to you, that since you suppose some danger threatens you, that you adopt all such measures, as you may deem requisite for your own security; whilst we promise that we shall each act as a sentinel, each be a willing guard at your service, prepared to oppose your foes with our persons, and to defend your life, at the risk and cost of our own."

So Cæsar, it will be seen, was then promised by Cicero he would become one of his body-guard! The timid Cæsar was to be protected from danger by the valiant Cicero! When Cæsar lived, Cicero declared all good and wise men were anxious to preserve his life. When Cæsar was dead, these were the words of Cicero:

"Of that crime (the death of Cæsar) all are guilty for all good men had, to the best of their ability, a hand in the death of Cæsar. Some had not the courage to do it: others had not the opportunity to do it: but the will to do it was not wanting to any one."

And then of the deed itself, here is Cicero's solemn opinion deliberately expressed, with an appeal to Heaven too, in testimony of its sincerity :

"What deed, O holy Jupiter! was ever yet done, not merely in this city, but in any other part of the world, greater than that! what more glorious! what more worthy of being transmitted with praise and commendation to the everlasting memory of mankind!"

But we turn from these passages in which the great orator plays so sorry a part, to get an insight into Roman manners and customs, when Rome was a republic in

"For this Clodius there was no law and no equity. He trampled upon the one: he derided the other. In his determination to acquire wealth, the only limits recognised by him were those his own avarice and ambition suggested. He did not condescend, like other mean and wicked men when seeking to gain unjustly the estates of their neighbours—— he did not stoop to iniquitous suits sustained by perjured witnesses. No; he boldly invaded those estates with armed bands and uplifted standards, as if his fellow-citizens were foreign foes, and he had the power of claiming their inhe ritance by right of conquest. This was not merely his course of proceeding as regarded the Etruscans-unhappy people! that he considered too obscure for his contempt― but thus did he act towards Quintus Varius-a valiant and truly admirable citizen-him who sits to-day on the bench before me, as one of the judges in this trial. That man Clodius attempted to expel from his possessions by force of arms. And so with others. The first intimation he gave of his desire to take to himself what belonged to them was to break into their houses with architects, and to overrun their gardens with surveyors. As to the boundaries of his own lands, they were to be wheresoever he pleased in the wide space of country that lies between the Janiculum hill at Rome and the Alps. Take, as an instance of his iniquitous doings, his conduct towards Titus Pacavius-a Roman

knight, a brave man, a splendid soldier. He sought for, but could not obtain from Pacavius, an island in the lake Prelius, which he wished to purchase. What then did Clodius do? He suddenly collected a fleet of boats, and lading them with stones, lime, and cement; he crowded the boats with armed men, and in the very face of the owner of the property, who was standing on the shore of the lake at the time, the insolent invader landed and attempted to build there a house for himself!"

It was in the time of the Republic a man could, with impunity, pursue such a course as is here described. Who can be surprised, that when the time for testing the stability of such a Republic had arrived, that it should have been trampled down by the iron legions of Cæsar? If Cicero's account of Clodius be true, Clodius, it may be said, was endowed with all the wickedness and audacity of "an Irish adventurer" in the sixteenth century, and he should have lived not in Rome, but in Tipperary or Cavan. It is a consolation to know, that as divine vengeance reached a Clodius in Rome, an Encumbered Estates Court has, in our day, done justice on some of the descendants of the Cromwellian Clodii.

But here is another insight into the manners of the Roman nobility and patricians. Cicero maintained that Clodius had plotted against the life of Milo, and that in the attempt to carry his wicked plan into execution, Clodius himself was slain. To shew this, Cicero contrasts the mode of travelling on a journey adopted by both at the moment of the fatal rencontre :

"Milo was that day with the senate, and so remained until the assembly broke up. He then returned home; changed his dress even to his sandals; waited, as on ordinary occasions, for his wife, until she was ready to go along with him, and then set forth, about the time that Clodius-if Clodius had thought of proceeding to Rome, might be returning. Clodius came there to meet Milo. He came there as one who had prepared himself for a military expeditionon horseback-not in a chariot: with no unarmed followerand with no Greeks as his associates, such as he generally had with him. Without his wife too-a circumstance of unusual occurrence. How different from Milo in all respects! Milo, now described as a plotter against his life, and who is said to have gone on this journey for no other purpose than to slay Clodius. Milo was in a carriage, sitting by the side of his wife-Milo was wrapped up in a heavy cloak--Milo had a large retinue, not of armed men; but a number of weak and timid females in his suite, and with them some slaves."

The same points are again dwelt upon, with some variation, in another part of the same oration :—

"Compare now the march of the ruffian prepared for strife, with the manner in which Milo was absolutely unfitted by his suite for a conflict. Upon all occasions before this time, Clodius travelled with his wife. He now had not his wife with him. Never before was Clodius seen making a journey but in a carriage. Now he was on horseback. Never before did Clodius go any distance from Rome without his Greeks, and his mountebanks. Whereas Milo now bad by chance with him, that which he never had before, the singing-boys of his wife, and a whole troop of servantmaids. Clodius, on the contrary, who was at all other times to be seen with a gang of wenches, had now not one. companions were men-picked men-men suited for the deadly purpose that bad man had in view. How then came Clodius to be overcome? The answer is: the peaceful tra veller is not always killed by the highway robber the highway robber is sometimes slain by the peaceful traveller.

His

The great points in this argument, it will be per ceived, was the absence or the presence of the wives of the respective parties. The absence of his wife shewed the wicked purpose of Clodius: the presence of his wife was a proof of the innocence of Milo. Are we to infer from these facts, that the Romans were remarkable for their conjugal fidelity, or that their wives were worthy of their respect. These questions may be illustrated by a reference to one of the women here alluded to-Fulvia, the wife of Clodius. She was married three times to Clodius, to Curio, and to Marc Antony, and her last husband, Marc Antony, was married five times. Cicero alludes to her, in his different orations more than once, and never but in terms of the most bitter sarcasm, as for instance in his first Philippic, he says to Antony :

"Who has been ever known to find fault with my consulship, but Publius Clodius, to whose sad destiny, as well as that of Caius Cario, you are destined; for you have in your own home that which was fatal to them both." And again in the second Philippic.

"You have a wife who is not too careful of her husbands, but of whom it may be said that she tarries a little too long in making the third payment that she owes to the Roman people of the last husband she has had."

The woman (Fulvia) of whom these bitter words were spoken, had her revenge; and her indulgence in it has rendered her name for ever infamous. The tongue of the murdered orator was pierced by the golden bodkin of Fulvia!

A curious illustration of the times, so different from our own, is given in the following passage. According to the established practice of the Roman tribunals, the unfortunate slaves of Milo were liable to torture for the purpose of ascertaining the facts as to the fatal rencontre. Cicero defends Milo for having given his slaves their liberty to preserve them from such a cruel proceeding. Cicero having declared that Clodius had been slain by the slaves of Milo, these slaves believing at the time that their master had been killed by Clodius, thus proceeds :

66 'Why then has Milo manumitted his slaves? Why declare them freemen? It is because he feared they would be impeached as slaves-that as such they would be exposed to torture, and in their agony forced to confess that Publius Clodius had been slain by them on the Appian way. But we admit the fact, and there is then no necessity for torture. What you want to ascertain, we avow. Was Clodius so put to death? We say he was so put to death. Whether it was right or wrong so to slay him, is not within the compass or the power of the torturer to elicit or determine. The verification of a disputed fact is what is sought for by the torturer; the judgment to be pronounced upon that fact, and the character to be ascribed to it, belong alone to the judge, and are to be decided by the rules of justice. We confess all that you say you want to know by means of torments inflicted upon slaves."

Cicero having referred to the saying of Cato: "that slaves who had defended the life of their master, were entitled not only to their liberty, but to large rewards," continues thus:

"If Milo had not manumitted his slave, he should have given up to the torturer the defenders of their master, the avengers of crime, the preservers of his life. Nothing then

Can be more consolatory to Milo in his misfortunes-no matter what fate awaits him, than that he has fittingly rewarded those who had done him great and good service."

Cicero in his first Philippic says boastingly of himself: "Assuredly, it is allowable for me, and ever must be so, to defend my own personal dignity, and to despise death. All I ask is that the opportunity may be afforded to me of coming here-to the senate-here-and here-whatever be the peril of my free speech, I do not shrink from-I accept that peril."

This is well and bravely spoken; but the fact is, the orator had not that dauntless spirit which he vaunted. The clamours of the furious partisans of Clodius, who surrounded the senate, and the appearance of an infuriated soldiery, so intimidated the defender of Milo, that he made a hesitating, ill-arranged, badly-delivered, and worse-argued harangue. The consequence was, his friend was condemned to exile. Cicero subsequently published not what he had said, but what he intended to say, and sent a copy of it to Milo, who upon reading it exclaimed: "Ah! if Cicero had but spoken in these terms before my accusers, I should not now be eating figs in Marseilles."

Cicero had moral courage, but not physical conrage; he had not such courage as was displayed by Lamartine, who, beset by an armed and infuriated multitude, refused, despite their threats and imprecations, to adopt the flag of the Red Republicans. Neither was he gifted with the bravery of the Irish orator, Curran, whose address to a jury being interrupted by the clashing of bayonets on the part of a ferocious and bloodthirsty faction, who packed the court-house, turned round to them and said: "You may assassinate me, but you shall not deter me from defending my client."

The orations and epistles of Cicero are in a hundred ways interesting and instructive, if a popular selection, such as I have suggested, were made from them. If the idea thus thrown out be regarded as good, I hope it may be acted upon. If it be of little worth, it will, of course, fall into the oblivion from which it never should have emerged.

THE FOSTER-MOTHER'S REVENGE.

A TRADITION.

THE following tradition, hitherto only orally preserved, is a fragment of local history, to which I have not added one trait or circumstance of my invention. I give it as I heard it from the neighbouring peasants, who repeat the names, details, etc., without variation, and who strenuously maintain its truth.

Before the revolution of 1688, and its consequent forfeitures, numerous branches of the Plunket family held estates in the county of Meath. One of these was seated at the castle of Gibstown, in the parish of Donoughpatrick, about four Irish miles from Navan. The castle is no longer in existence; and its site is occupied by a modern residence standing on a slight elevation, in a rich country, but so densely wooded as to admit of no extended view. In the sixteenth century the Plunket of Gibstown (the second of the name there seated) was

Patrick, grandson of Sir Alexander Plunket, who was Lord Chancellor of Ireland in 1492. Patrick had a numerous offspring by two wives, both of whom he survived; his children on their marriages, left Gibstown, with the exception of his eldest son, another Sir Alexander,* who married Anne, daughter of William Hill of Allenstown, in the adjoining parish of Martry. Lady Plunket, a loving-hearted woman, was happy in not being far removed from the home of her nativity, to which she was strongly attached. Tradition relates, that after her marriage, she caused a mound of earth to be raised in the grounds of Gibstown, and a path to be made leading to it from the door of the castle; and this path she called "the race," for every morning, as soon as she quitted her chamber, she ran along it to the mound, on the top of which she stood for some minutes to gaze towards Allenstown, and see the smoke curling upwards from its chimnies. Some may deem this anecdote too trivial for notice; but I repeat it, because I think every evidence of the home-affections interesting, and because it argues favourably for the hearts of the Irish peasants that they have kept in kindly remembrance for upwards of three centuries this little trait of warm and pure domestic feeling.

1

Sir Alexander and his wife had ten children-eight were sons, named in the order of seniority, Patrick, Edward, Gerald, Christopher, George, Thomas, Richard, and John-the two daughters were Elizabeth and Elenor. The sons are said to have been all handsome, robust, tall youths; courageous, hardy, and capable of enduring great fatigue; from boyhood they were trained to be skilful sportsmen and bold riders. Their father kept for them a stud of splendid horses; and when they all rode out together, with their well-mounted attendants, they formed goodly cavalcade, of which tradition still loves to speak. The youths were the idols of their grandfather; and Lady Plunket had a mother's pride in her stalwart offspring; but, better still, she had a mother's tenderness also. She had the misfortune to lose her sight at a comparatively early age; and whenever her sons went forth on any hunting expedition, her mind became filled with dread, lest some accident might occur which would be concealed from her, unless her watchfulness prevailed over her blindness. It was, therefore, her custom, on such occasions, to seat herself near the castle door, listening attentively for the approach of horses; and when she heard them she rose and stood on the threshold to receive the party, and required them to enter separately. She embraced each one, drew her hand over his well-known features to assure herself it was in truth her son; took from each his cap and cloak, and felt them, lest there might be blood or rent; then counted all carefully, hung them up in their accustomed places, and, thankful and happy, went into the social meal with her beloved ones. It seems sad that loving eyes like hers should ever have been dimmed; yet her heart must have been full of light;

*In the pedigree he is termed Sir Alexander Plunket, knight; but the knightly title does not seem to have been borne either by his father or his son.

there the sun of affection never set, and the mental eye was strong as an eagle's to gaze upon it.

I have said that the youths of Gibstown were keen sportsmen. It happened once that in pursuit of their favourite amusement, they went far away from their own county, even westwards into the wilds of Connaught. There, while in company with some of the gentlemen of the country they were engaged in sporting, a dispute about the game arose, and like too many other disputes in those days, it soon deepened into an affray-the Connaught men on one side, the Meath men on the other; and the Plunkets, in the heat of strife, killed one of their opponents, a young man of high consideration and of large estate; and on this unfortunate occurrence, strangers as they were, amid natives of the district and friends of the slain man, they deemed it advisable to take their homeward route at their best speed.

Tradition has forgotten the surname of the victim; it has only remembered that his Christian name was Walter (probably he was a Burke,) that appellation being afterwards constantly upon the lips of his Connaught nurse. When his bleeding corpse was borne home to his own dwelling, none of all his relatives, however loving, none of all his retainers, however devoted, was so violently affected as his foster-mother. It is wellknown that fosterage formed among the Irish a stronger tie than even that of blood. The nursling became an object almost of idolatry, not only to his foster-mother, but also to the members of her family, who were always ready to lay down their lives for him. Thus, scions of gentle blood were provided with devoted adherents of the lower class, zealous to protect them from all plots and injury, so rife in the old troubled times, and of which persons in their station were more likely to become cognizant than their superiors.

But to return to our Connaught nurse. Nothing made existence endurable to her after the loss of her "Walter," but the vehement desire and longing hope of revenge. She thirsted for the blood not only of the individual Plunket who had slain him, but even of all the brothers as accomplices. For the one life of him who was all the world to her, she thought the whole eight lives but a slight compensation.

"Her great revenge had stomach for them all." She collected together all her Walter's kinsmen, friends, retainers, and tenants, to the "wake" of her darling. She stood at the head of the corpse, pointing to the marble features, and exclaiming in Irish, with deep pathos, "So young, so beautiful! cut off so soon! so cruelly!" She dwelt upon his virtues, on the blessing his life would have proved to all around, and the irreparable loss they had sustained in his untimely death; she displayed the fatal wound by which he died; she sang a dirge, or keen, that she had composed, mournful with her sorrow and hot with revenge: she excited a tumult of feelings in her hearers by the wild and fervid eloquence of her passion; and then she bound every man by a solemn oath to slaughter without pity the whole of the eight young Plunkets. She pledged

herself to the task of enticing the doomed brothers to their destruction: and she arranged that when she should have succeeded in luring them into Connaught, the avengers should fall upon them at a place she would indicate.

In order to throw the Plunkets off their guard, a year was suffered to pass quietly away after the death of Walter; then early in the ensuing autumn, the vindictive woman set out alone for Meath. For one of her age, sex, and station, it was a difficult pilgrimage into an unknown region; but it was not a weary one, for she bounded onwards through all its difficulties, borne up by the energy of fierce revenge, till she reached her goal at Gibstown. There she was, of course, an utter stranger; she carefully concealed any knowledge on her part of the youth who had been killed, representing herself as belonging to a different part of Connaught, and as one of a class once numerous in Ireland" Treasure-seekers," whose occupation consisted in rambling about the country searching for money, plate and jewels, rumoured to have been buried in the troubled times among the ruins of castles, or within the circles of ancient raths: and who even pretended to a supernatural knowledge of such hidden wealth derived from dreams, or from communication with spirits. The barefooted Connaught-woman in her red petticoat, brown boddice, and scarlet cloak, with its hood drawn over her wild hair, requested to see the young gentlemen of Gibstown, and with great solemnity informed them of her errand; to the effect that she knew the spot where a treasure was buried in a secluded place in her native country; but had received a supernatural revelation that it never could be taken from the guardian spirit which watched over it, save by eight brothers of the race of the Plunkets of Meath, all present together and co-operating to raise it: that on enquiring for such brothers, she had been directed to Gibstown; and that on her way thither it had been "shown" to her in a dream that these were the actual persons predestined to raise the spell-bound stone, and to enrich their guide with a portion of the discovered hoard.

To us, in the nineteenth century, such a tale would appear so absurd, that we should only wonder if any one would hear it out to the end: but we must remember that some centuries ago, similar stories were common in the country. True it is, that hoards were often buried, for the sake of security, and have been sometimes discovered; so far is fact; as for the supernatural embellishments, they formed a sort of creed with the peasantry, and persons of the higher class heard, therefore, such narratives without surprise, however they might doubt of the details. Thus, the young Plunkets quietly listened to their strange visitor, but unanimously declined the proposed adventure, doubtless feeling that an expedition into a country where they had excited enmity was not desirable. Of this, however, they hinted nothing to her, who seemed in profound ignorance on that subject: but, with national hospitality they invited her to remain at Gibstown till she had recovered from