points, then calmly replaced them, saying, "the Fatal mo"ment is not yet come." He turned to Sporus: "Sing the melancholy dirge, and offer the last obsequies to your "friend." He cast his eyes around him: "And why," he said, "why will not some one despatch himself, and teach me "how to die? He paused for a moment, and shed a flood of "tears." He started up and cried out in a tone of despair "Nero, this is infamy; the moment calls for manly forti❝tude."

Nero seized his dagger, and stabbed himself in the throat. The stroke was too feeble; with his freedman's assistance, the next blow was mortal. A centurion entered, and seeing Nero in a mangled condition, ran to his assistance, pretending that he came with a friendly hand to bind the wound, and save the Emperor's life. Nero had not breathed his last. He raised his eyes and said "You come too late—is this your fidelity?" He spoke, and expired The ferocity of his

nature was still visible in his countenance

were still fixed and glaring, as if alive.

and his eyes

XVI.

The shore of Baia!

No scene in the universe surpasses the

Bay of Baiæ in

its natural beauties; and, surely, there are none over which the mind dwells with fonder recollections; and deprived of those inner hues, those moral colourings, what are the most magnificent scenes in nature? The heart of man yearns

toward his fellow-man!-then, and only then, to use the language of Claudian, in lines which I know not if Virgil himself can equal for solemnity or sublimity:

Tunc sylvæ, tunc antra loqui, tunc vivere fontes

Tunc sacer horror aquis, adytisque effunditur echo
Clarior, et doctæ spirant præsagia rupes!

No translation, I conceive, could convey the infinite ideas which are suggested in these few lines; the embodying of Nature's Forms-their vitality-and the instinctive and holy Spirit of Prophecy with which they are filled-being, as it were, innate in themselves.

Those grey-looking hills were once covered with palaces, and with hanging gardens of the richest vegetation, for this shore was not only overcrowded with villas, but the sea was too much intruded on. Horace's complaint is well known. Baia was the very couch of Sybarism, whose influence was so felt, that the poets seriously warned their mistresses against it; Martial has a pretty epigram on the subject; and in a modern day, even the chaste Boccacio expressed his fears. The softness of the earth and heaven entered here into the very soul; some few it refined; the most, it enervated. On the height of that bluff and grey cape Misenum, rose the villa of Marius. There, also dwelt the refined Lucullus ;* on the bend of the hill stood Baulis,

66

"The great expense Lucullus incurred," says Plutarch, "in collect"ing books, deserves serious approbation"-yet he can add-" Among "his frivolous amusements I cannot but reckon his sumptuous villas,

L L

where Hortensius and Cicero studied together. The retreat of the restless Cæsar rose close by; and in that curve of the bay stood Cicero's Academy, as it is called to this hour.

XIX.

Haunt of those mortal Spirits:

Augustus, Virgil, and Horace sojourned on this "golden shore." It may be, that from hence Virgil drew, while surveying it, his graphic description of Vesuvius; and often must he have wandered to Avernus, while preparing his sixth and sublimest book. How delightful-how gratifying are these recollections-how they tend to refine, and to humanise the mind! While memory and imagination dwell on the past, we become, for the time, united with it; and walking on the very shore and hills, which the illustrious of old beheld and enjoyed, and reading also, in our walk, their descriptions, and their feelings so faithfully given, we almost expect to meet the Authors whom we know so well! It seems as if they had only for a while departed, leaving their records to our care behind them! JoURNAL.

"walks, and baths, and still more so, his paintings, statues, and other "works of art, which he collected at an enormous expense!" How could wealth be so well employed, as in an encouragement of the arts, and the refinements of life? This passage alone proves Plutarch quite unable to appreciate the character of this august and noble Roman, who, among the Roman heroes, was what Sarpeden was among those of the Iliad-the only one on whom the character of the soft and beautiful reposed. JOURNAL.

XX.

A tale of human sorrow:

Such a master of the passions is Tacitus, that with a touch of his pen, or rather pencil, he can so represent the scene, as to create a deep sympathy even where, perhaps, it should not exist witness the despair and death of Messalina in the gardens of Lucullus :-" She still entertained hopes of prolonging her days. She began to write to the emperor "in a style of supplication: her passions shifted, and she "spoke the language of reproach, for even in ruin her pride "was not abated."

Towards night-fall, Evodus was sent (without the injunctions of the Emperor Claudius, who might have relented) to superintend the execution. He found the Empress stretched on the ground, and Lepida, her mother, sitting by her. "While Messalina flourished, the mother kept no terms with "the daughter; in her present distress, she felt the regret "and anguish of a parent.

"Death," she told the wretched criminal," was her only refuge. To linger for the executioner's stroke were un. worthy and ignoble. Life, with her, was over: she was in "the last act, and nothing remained but to close the scene "with dignity and a becoming spirit."

"But, in a mind like Messalina's, depraved by vicious pas"sions, every virtue was extinct. She sank under afflictions; "overwhelmed with grief, dissolved in tears, and uttering "vain complaints, when the garden gate was thrown open,

1

"the tribune presented himself in sullen silence; while Evo"dus, the freedman, discharged a torrent of abuse on her, "with all the malice of a servile spirit. Messalina was now, "for the first time, sensible of her condition. She saw that "all was lost; she received a poniard; she aimed it, with a "feeble effort, at her throat; she pointed it to her breast "irresolute, and clinging still to life. The tribune despatched "her at one blow."

But, in despite of the affecting picture, the historian does not forget his duty-" The punishment inflicted on Messalina "was undoubtedly just."

XXIII.

Here, Agrippina's crimes :

It was at a villa "called Bauli, in a pleasant situation "washed by the sea, which forms a bay between the Cape "of Misenum and the Gulph of Baiæ," where Nero drew his mother from Antium, with the design of either drowning or murdering her. On this shore, he went down to receive her landing, with the tenderest embraces; and it was there, among a thousand lesser vessels, she saw the one adorned for her, and made, purposely, to fall to pieces in the water.

After the banquet, "the prince attended her to the shore: "he exchanged a thousand fond endearments, and clasping "her to his bosom, fixed his eyes on her with ardent affec❝tion, perhaps intending, under the appearance of filial piety, "to disguise his purpose; or, it might be, that the sight of a