his tuneful lyre, and laugh at the genial invective with which he chides the foibles of his countryman.

He

But there are pleasures in the classic authors which the Poets do not supply. There are feasts for the intellect as well as for the imagination, and no one better than Cicero can satisfy the longings of the serious student. lures us from the Sabine villa to the crowded Senate; the soft whisperings of the summer fountain are lost amid the hum of the assembled populace. At an early age Cicero went to Greece to prepare himself for the destiny before him. Beneath the violet skies of that classic land, the "Savior of his Country" laid the foundation of his greatness. We find him throwing all the energies of his mighty intellect into the study of Literature and Philosophy, and mastering every style of public speaking. The success of these eatly days was the presage of the triumphs he was to win in later years. As a writer no man has a greater claim on our consideration. He combined the energy of Livy and Tacitus with a perspicuity and elegance of diction with which these writers were unacquainted. He enriched his own language with circumlocutions and metaphors and systematized the structure of every sentence. His flowing periods and ever changing forms of expressions disguised the repetition of his ideas and captivated his Roman audiences.

As a philosopher Cicero can lay no claim to originality. Yet no Pagan writer since the time of Plato has ever succeeded in making this

branch of science more attractive.

Like Socra

tes, he drew philosophy from the clouds and made her walk upon the earth. Before he appeared the Roman mind had never dreamt of the subtle problems which had for ages exercised the ingenuity of the Greeks. He seemed to hold some of the grand truths of Revelation, and he taught his countrymen to think as he did but he went no farther. Truth did not dawn upon his mind in its grand refulgent light, but only in the faint glimmering of one of its reflected rays. He believed in the unity of God, yet he had not the courage to boldly declare his doctrine in the face of all the superstitions of his age. His noble nature revolted from the Goddenying doctrines of the Epicureans and prompted him to embrace the teachings of the New Academy. Where other schools of philosophy arrogantly determined what was true and what was false, this school was modestly contented with probability. We are not surprised, therefore, that Cicero embraced its teachings, for they, above all others, were congenial to his inquiring nature. His capacious mind saw. clearly through the maze which surrounded his compeers, and he knew himself too well to allow his judgment to be trammeled by the chains of any baseless theory. Nor have his researches in philosophy been entirely fruitless. His Hortensius swept the mist from the eyes of St. Augustine, and gave him a glimpse of the Infinite, far beyond the dreary horizon of life.

But it is rather as an orator than as a philosopher that his fame has reached us.

His ora

tions recall the days of his glory, when the streets of Rome re-echoed with his praises. On that turbulent day on which the Conspirators had been strangled in the gloomy vaults of the Mamertine prison, Cicero descended into the Forum. The people thronged around him with acclaiming shouts, and Cato, amid the glare of a thousand torches, hailed him with the glorious title of "Father of his Country."

As the aim of the orator is to persuade, the true test of his eloquence is the impression produced upon his audience. We all know the magical effect which the eloquence of Cicero. had upon the people and the Senate of Rome. Picture to yourselves the Roman senators assembled to deliberate on the conspiracy of Cataline. See Cataline, himself, striding haughtily down the aisle to his seat, amid the angry and ominous silence of the whole Senate. Behold Cicero, rising up in all his grandeur, and pouring forth the torrents of his eloquence against the foul plots of the conspirator, and you gaze upon a scene without a parallel in the annals of oratory. No wonder that the would-be parricide trembled with fear and rage, when he heard that indignant appeal of the fearless orator, and when he saw the whole assembly aroused against him. He nightly watches on the Palatine hill, the guards patrolling the city, and the strongly-protected Senate chamber, passed before his mind, silent yet eloquent accusers of his wickedness. The soul glows with enthusiasm when we read his address to the Roman people, after sending an embassy to Antony. "The moment has at

length arrived, men of Rome, when it is no longer right for the Roman people, whom the Immortal Gods destined to command all nations, to be slaves. Matters have now come to the last extremity! You must either be victorious, or die! Other nations may endure slavery; but freedom is the attribute of the Roman people." It is impossible not to admire the genius of the orator whose words did more than armies for the liberties of Rome. It was Cicero who animated the consuls and the Senate to resistance and secured to them the support of the people in the appeal to arms. It was he

"Whose powerful eloquence awhile

Restrained the rapid fate of perishing Rome."

The noble speeches in which he strove to force his countrymen for very shame to emulate the heroic virtues of their Forefathers, and urged them to brave every danger and welcome death itself rather than slavery in the last struggle for freedom, bring the orator before us in all the splendor of his glory. Centuries have passed away since Cicero stood in the Roman Senate and espoused the cause of down-trodden Sicily. Generations have come and gone since the walls of the Forum resounded with the loud hurrahs of the populace; yet his fame is greater to-day than it ever was; greater even than when twenty thousand of Rome's nobility followed him in mourning to the Senate house.

The time had now come when Cicero was to feel, by a bitter experience, the fruit of his opposition to the lawless element in Roman politics, of which Cataline was the soul. His enemies

were calmly awaiting their hour of victory, and when it came they had the satisfaction of seeing him sailing away from Rome a lonely exile. But their victory was of short duration. The senators went into mourning for the loss of their leader, and refused to lay aside the emblems of their grief until he had been restored to his country. The memory of his opposition to the traitorous Romans rushed back upon them, and they thought of all the grand old orator had accomplished for his fatherland. Now was the time to show their appreciation of his labors, and they nobly paid their debt of gratitude. Their badges of mourning expressed more eloquently than any words their love and veneration for the exile's worth. What a glorious triumph was this for Cicero, to have the men who ruled the destinies of the most powerful empire in the world refuse to be comforted until they saw his noble form once more among them! Where can we find in the history of any nation a grander tribute to a statesman's service? But a no less glorious triumph awaited him. As soon as it became known that he was recalled to his country, the magistrates from every town through which he passed came forth to offer their congratulations. The rustic abandoned his labor in the field, and the mechanic left his shop, to come and see the savior of their country. The noble matron, with her babe in arms, patiently waited by the roadside to catch a glimpse of the illustrious exile. It was the gala week of all Italy, and every town and village enjoyed a festive holiday. When he approached the capital the senators