which the play is written. Fulvius meanwhile, moving on from
conquest to conquest with the old Boman stride, heedless of what he
has while there is anything he has not, nil actum reputans dum quid
superesset agendum, has mounted nearly to the top of the ladder of
fortune. He is Praetor and in the midst of an Ovation, with neither
of the dignities contented, when his former friend, in rags and squalid
wretchedness, planting himself in the streets before his°Lictors, fixes
a glance upon him, which, though steadily returned, leads to no recog-
nition ; and, on the seeming miserable beggar persisting still in his
desire to have audience of the Prsetor, he is struck by the Lictors'
faaces. The result is that Gisippus deliberately resolves to place
himself in the way of death, and he is sentenced to execution by
Fulvius on the false charge of a murder he has taken on himself.
"What follows is at the scene of execution. It is brief, but into the
compass of a very few minutes, by the writer who possesses such
mastery, may be crowded thought and passion in abundance. The laugh
with which it closes tells us this. In the thought not worth the notice
of the Boman soldier, there is all that the Greek had studied by the
Porch and in the Grove, on appearance and the realities.

Dcdus. Remove his chains.

Gisippus, Let it be ever thus—

The generous still be poor; the niggard thrive;
Fortune still pave the ingrate's path with gold ;
Death dog the innocent still; and surely those
Who now uplift their streaming eyes and murmur
Against oppressive fate, will own its justice.
Invisible ruler ! should man meet thy trials
With silent and lethargic sufferance, * ,

Or lift his hands and ask heaven for a reason ?
Our hearts must speak—the sting, the whip is on them !
Wo rush in madness forth to tear away
The veil that Winds us to the cause—in vain.
Tho hand of that Eternal Providence
Still holds it there, unmoved, impenetrable.
We can but pause, and turn away again
To mourn—to wonder—and endure. ,-4

Dceius. My duty
Compels mo to disturb you, prisoner.

Gisippu*. I am glad you do so, for my thoughts were growing
Somewhat unfriendly to me.—World, farewell;
And thou whose image never left this heart,
Sweet vision of my memory, fare thee well!
Tray walk this way.

This Fulvius, your young Prsetor, by whose sentence
My life stands forfeit, has the reputation
Of a good man amongst you f ,.;k, Gisippus,