the same service for us; but more sparingly, and, it seems, with less intelligence. Nevertheless, in regard to men's moral characters, Dion Cassius is very far from being trustworthy. Whether from misanthropy, or from a gloomy philosophy, or from an oppressive sense that Rome was sinking deeper and deeper into a gulf of irremediable ruin, he takes the blackest interpretation of human conduct. From Dion, and from no one else, has Niebuhr learned the numerous assassinations and other dreadful crimes inflicted by the old patricians. As to the history before us, most of the actors seem worse in Dion's pages than anywhere else; as, indeed, even Nero's badness is less relieved in Dion than in Tacitus. Professor Long has said, rather sharply, in one of his notes to Plutarch, that when Dion believes a man innocent, we may be pretty well sure he was really innocent; since Dion believes everything for the worst, about every body. It has been observed, that he is peculiarly suspicious of all pretenders to public virtue, and therefore is more unfavourable to republicans like Cicero or Pompeius, than to a professed self-seeker like Cæsar. Yet the only occasion on which we have remarked Mr. Merivale to doubt the full guilt attributed by Dion, is, in regard to Cæsar's execution of the brave Gaulish chieftain, Vercingetorix, after six years' imprisonment; an execution which not one Roman general in a hundred would have blamed.

Plutarch is a writer of exceedingly variable merit. He did not understand the difference of legendary and historical times, but writes with the same fluent assurance concerning Theseus and Romulus, as concerning Cicero and Galba. Moreover, he is careless as to the minutiae of chronology. He follows the connexion of subjects, often neglecting to notice the exact time; and, in consequence of this habit, sometimes slips into errors of time himself. On these accounts, he is quite untrustworthy as to the obscurer periods of history, and has been greatly depreciated by many reputable modern writers. Yet in fact, so long as he is dealing with persons concerning whom there was abundant contemporary evidence accessible to him, no ancient author is more valuable to us. His end in view was eminently moral. He did not seek to produce splendid pictures of external greatness or beauty, or narratives of nations grouped into masses, or philosophic generalizations concerning history; but, on the contrary, he concerned himself with individual character, and endeavoured to ascertain and express this with peculiar accuracy.

Yes: twice more he disbelieves Dion, when he speaks against Cæsar: vol. ii. pp. 203, 380. In the last case, Mr. Merivale coolly says, 'the story itself will warn the reader of the historian's inaccuracy!' ie., Cæsar cannot have put to death his kinsman Lucius, who persevered in hostility.

Where, by reason of the sufficiency of documents, this mark was within the reach of human criticism, Plutarch's temperament admirably suited him to the undertaking. In him we see mildness of judgment, soundness of heart, total freedom from any bias of political party or national prejudice, warm sympathy with all that was good in any one, and an inability to be carried into such enthusiastic love for any historical character as to be blind to its defects. We have from him lives of so many eminent persons of this era, that they make up a little history of it; namely, Marius, Sulla, Lucullus, Sertorius, Crassus, Pompeius, Cicero, Cato, M. Brutus, M. Antonius; and without claiming that all other writers must give way to Plutarch, in regard to the moral estimate to be formed of the characters, we may certainly demand that a historian who widely deviates from Plutarch's estimate shall be careful to assign convincing reasons. A third writer, of first-rate importance for these times, but much more difficult to use aright, is Cicero. His orations, like all other speeches of advocates, were not composed with a view to truth, except perhaps in those against Verres and Catilina ; they are often mere pleadings to obtain acquittal-invectives or panegyrics-which need careful criticism. His private letters are highly valuable for special facts; but, in their colouring and ascription of motives, they are untrustworthy, from the writer's intense susceptibility; moreover, they are the impressions of the moment, which may have been presently corrected by fuller knowledge.

Suetonius has written the lives of the Cæsars, of which the first only has place in the volumes before us. His life of Julius Cæsar is not marked by anything that can be called spite. He tells his great qualities in strong, unshrinking language, and is equally downright in declaring his vices and crimes, but without dwelling or moralizing on them. But Suetonius was undoubtedly a gossip, and loved to retail anecdotes; for which reason Mr. Merivale seems to think he must discard the worst imputations which he makes against Cæsar, without noticing their extraordinarily strong confirmations.

Other writers, of still less importance to us, are Appian (who is here generally superseded by Dion); Velleius Paterculus, who, as a courtier of Tiberius Cæsar, dares not, or will not, speak so as to offend the imperial dynasty; Asconius Pedianus, a most accurate and learned writer, but whose information is generally fragmentary; lastly, Cæsar himself, or his substitute at the pen, whether Hirtius or Oppius, all of whom write with the express object of making out a case for Cæsar, and perpetually display disingenuous art or distortion of view. Mr. Merivale, however, seems blind to this. Lucan also, though

a poet, may be mentioned among the sources of the history. Out of all these, to elaborate a single continuous narrative, as regards the dry outline of fact, was at first a problem of much diligence, which, however, has been encountered and achieved long since. But far more than this was done by Arnold, in his juvenile writings, published originally in the Encyclopædia Metropolitana,' and since reprinted, in two volumes, with the title of the Later Roman Commonwealth.' We had no idea how hard it is to surpass this work, until we read it side by side with Mr. Merivale's, which certainly seems to us immensely inferior to it. Not merely in discrimination of authority, and consequent justness of view concerning men, motives, and aims -which is the cardinal point of history-but in wisdom of reflection, energy of thought, definiteness and consistency of view, soundness in judging when to expand and when to contract the narrative, and power of impressing the imagination-Arnold is, in our judgment, by far the superior. In comparison with him, Mr. Merivale is tame, weak, and dry; nay, he seems often to be trying to say something grand and wise, but in vain. We pen this sentence with regret; for it is easy to a reviewer to make the charge. In order, therefore, to diminish its force, if unjust, we will at once illustrate it by the very last passage we were reading. It is in vol. ii. p. 89; where, after narrating how Pompeius was taken by surprise in Italy by Cæsar's invasion, the author adds:

Such is the infatuation which seems generally to attend the counsels of a proud and dignified aristocracy assailed by a revolutionary leader. Wrapped in their own tranquil composure, they fail to take account of the contagiousness of an aggressive and lawless spirit. They never make due allowance for the restlessness and excitability of troops who have been debauched by a long career of plunder and power. They calculate on the mere instruments of a selfish leader being at last dissatisfied with their own unequal share in the combination, and on their willingness to secure their gains in turning against him. But the genius of the successful adventurer is chiefly shown in the ascendency he gains over his adherents, &c. . . .'

The attempt to generalize seems to us here quite gratuitous, and almost absurd. Do then revolutionary leaders' generally succeed against proud and dignified aristocracies?' The blindness of Pompeius was occasioned partly by the false information which Appius Claudius (who of all men seemed likely to know the truth), brought him as to the disaffection of Cæsar's troops; and partly by the enthusiastic movement of all Italy towards Pompeius during his sickness. Was then this blindness ascribable to certain tendencies inherent in aristocracies? Or is it true, that Sulla, at the head of a proud and dignified aristocracy,'

proved less able to calculate the temper of debauched soldiers than the revolutionary leader' Marius? Or will Mr. Merivale tell us, that in that case Sulla was the 'revolutionary leader?' Altogether, the sentiments are out of place. Cato and the Marcelli, Lentulus and Scipio, did not fail to take account of the contagiousness of an aggressive and lawless spirit.' On the contrary, Cato for eleven years back had distinctly seen the whole danger, and spoke out his convictions; and for three years past the whole senate had been fearfully alive to the truth; but the question then was, how, without civil war, to force Cæsar to give up his armies, which rested on the ample basis of France, Lombardy, and Illyricum, and needed no supplies from without. In trying to solve this impossible problem, the aristocracy was exceedingly divided in opinion, no doubt; but certainly it was not infatuated. At an earlier period, indeed, it was shortsighted as to Cæsar's ultimate designs. That he could be planning anything so wicked as the annihilation of the republic, and the setting himself up as a despot on its ruins, they utterly refused to believe. No Roman had ever formed so impious and unnatural a scheme. Neither Marius, nor Sulla, nor Cinna, nor Carbo, dreamed of it; even as to Catilina this was not believed. Such usurpers were looked on as passing hurricanes to the State, not as a permanent destruction to it, leaving nothing but Oriental despotism. The aristocracy were shortsighted in not seeing what Cæsar's prætorship and consulship portended; yet Cæsar in turn was equally dull in not discerning that life to be held at his mercy would be unendurable to his own officers and friends; who, when at last they comprehended his unprecedented treason to every thing that Roman hearts held dear, slew him in cold blood, and believed their deed to be eminently virtuous.

Perhaps from giving too absolute attention to Dion's colouring, Mr. Merivale appears to us to overdraw the unrelieved wickedness of the Roman community. This we will illustrate in two important matters: as to the judicial trials, and as to foreign wars.

Undoubtedly in Rome, as at Athens, the juryman thought he was at liberty to exercise (what we call) the royal prerogative of mercy in all political trials. Just as duelling has been inveterately tolerated in our practical code, though our theoretic code forbids it; so at Rome and Athens appeal to the compassion of a jury, by weeping relatives and other moving sights, was obstinately retained. But to admit this, to admit, moreover, that powerful and wealthy criminals generally escaped, by the joint influence of skilful advocacy, favour, intimidation, and corruption, is not to admit that there was no care for justice at all. Indeed, from a phenomenon of Cato's life the contrary inference

may be drawn. Cato, we learn, was a great puzzle to guilty men, when he was on a jury; for if the accused retained Cato as a juror, Cato influenced the rest to his condemnation; but if he objected to Cato's name, it was regarded by the jury as a proof that he was conscious of guilt; since Cato was notoriously so fair, that no innocent man had anything to fear from him. Hence the jury were supposed likely to condemn the culprit.-This certainly implies, that the jurors meant well on the whole, but were apt to be misled by the cleverness of the advocate, unless they had a vigorous, clear, and impartial mind, like Cato's, to guide them through the tangle of evidence.

The celebrated case of Milo is detailed with great fulness and accuracy by Asconius. He was condemned, in a picked jury of exemplary reputation, by a majority of 38 against 13, because it was ascertained that, though Clodius had been the assailant, and Milo unprepared, yet, after Clodius was severely wounded, Milo despatched him, under the idea that he could now safely venture upon it. Yet the Cæsarians, to throw odium on Pompeius, pretended that it was his overwhelming power, not Milo's own guilt, which led to the sentence; and Mr. Merivale propagates this gratuitous scandal in his second volume (p. 49*), after giving the other natural and sufficient narrative in his first.

In the trials of Gabinius-whatever money was spent in bribery-there is nothing to suggest that the verdicts were not such as the very best juries would have given. He was first impeached for majestas, or treason-an antiquated charge, which every jury would have been slow to affirm. He replied, that the act which was impeached (viz., his restoration of King Ptolemy) was for the benefit of the State, was necessary against the fleet of Archelaus and the pirates, and justifiable by a certain law. Roman officers were accustomed to exercise so large discretion, that we cannot be surprised at his acquittal by a narrow majority. In a second trial he was accused of embezzlement, and was condemned, with great decisiveness and by a large majority, in spite of the utmost exertions of Pompeius and the eloquence of Cicero. This appears, prima facie, to be creditable to the juries. But Dion says, that Gabinius's first acquittal had exhausted his power of bribing; so, in the second,

* Pompeius persuaded his friends that the desertion of Milo, of whose popularity with his party and unreserved devotion to them he was jealous, was a necessary sacrifice to appearances.' Then, in a foot-note:-'Pompeius pretended to believe that Milo had plotted against his life.'-Ascon. in Mil. 67. Velleius, ii. 47: Milonem reum non magis invidia facti, quam Pompeii damnavit voluntas.' This, however, is only a party-surmise; and Asconius does not blame Pompeius, but leaves the whole alleged plot in its own mystery.