us here in council, takes part in our deliberations, and with his measuring eye, marks out each man of us for slaughter. And we, all this while, strenuous that we are, think we have amply discharged our duty to the state, if we but shun this madman's sword and fury. Long since, O Catiline, ought the Consul to have ordered thee to execution, and brought upon thine own head the ruin thou hast been meditating against others. There was that virtue once in Rome, that a wicked citizen was held more execrable than the deadliest foe. We have a law still, Catiline, for thee. Think not that we are powerless, because forbearing. We have a decree, though it rests among our archives like a sword in its scabbard, a decree by which thy life would be made to pay the forfeit of thy crimes. And, should I order thee to be instantly seized and put to death, I make just doubt whether all good men would not think it done rather too late than any man too cruelly. But, for good reasons, I will yet defer the blow long since deserved. Then will I doom thee, when no`man is found so lost, so wicked, nay, so like thyself, but shall confess that it was justly dealt. While there is one man that dares defend thee, live! But thou shalt live so beset, so surrounded, so scrutinized, by the vigilant guards that I have placed around thee, that thou shalt not stir a foot against the Republic, without my knowledge. There shall be eyes to detect thy slightest movement, and ears to catch thy wariest whisper, of which thou shalt not dream. The darkness of night shall not cover thy treason, the walls of privacy shall not stifle its voice. Baffled on all sides, thy most secret counsels clear as noonday, what canst thou now have in view? Proceed, plot, conspire, as thou wilt; there is nothing you can contrive, nothing you can propose, nothing you can attempt, which I shall not know, hear, and promptly understand. Thou shalt soon be made aware that I am even more active in providing for the preservation of the state, than thou in plotting its destruction. CICERO. CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. CONSCRIPT Fathers: I do not rise to waste the night in words; But here I stand for right, let him show proofs, You have my answer. Let my actions speak! But this I will avow, that I have scorned To fling your offices to every slave! Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb, Come, consecrated Lictors, from your thrones; (To the Senate.) Fling down your sceptres; take the rod and axe, Banished from Rome! What's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe? "Tried and convicted traitor!" Who'll prove it, at his peril, on Who says this? my head? Banished! I thank you for't. It breaks my chain! I held some slack allegiance till this hour; But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my Lords! Thinking that our remembrance, thougn unspoken, Not as a child shall we again behold her; For when with raptures wild Here I devote your Senate! I've had wrongs Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. This day's the birth of sorrow; this hour's work I go; but not to leap the gulf alone. I go; but when I come, 'twill be the burst rolling back In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well! I will return. GEORGE CROLY. RESIGNATION. CONSCRIPT FATHERS: I do not rise to waste the night in words; trade; The air is full of farewells to the dying; And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Let us be patient! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death! What seems so is transition; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead, the child of our affection, But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, Day after day we think what she is doing Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives. Not as a child shall we again behold her; In our embraces we again enfold her But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, And beautiful with all the soul's expansion And though at times impetuous with emotion And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, That cannot be at rest, We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way. LONGFELLOW. WAX WORK. ONCE on a time, some years ago, And, being far away down South, It wasn't strange or funny, That they, like other folks, sometimes |