a hundred thousand sympathetic

voices!"

"Ah my sight!" cried the child Caligula.

"Ha! ha!" continued Claudius, transported out of himself. "I shall get my liberty to-day! Nor will my benefactor be injured. Ha ha! The fell beast of a horse seems astonished. How he writhes his back, curving it like some monstrous catamount. And lo! now he leaps from the ground with all four feet at the same time! I never saw the like, except in animals of the cervine tribe. Ha ha! leap away! Yes, stoop that ferocious-looking head, and shake it; and lash out with your deathdealing hoofs. Your master is upon. you, in his chair of power, and you'll shake your head off before you dislodge him from it. It is not with the poor literary slave Claudius that you have to deal! Oh! what a paroxysm of plunges. I was frightened for you, then, brave young knight; but there you sit yet, calm and clearfaced. If I was frightened for you, you are not frightened for yourself."

"Oh! for a few minutes' sight!" said the child. "Has not the horse tried to twist his head round, and so to bring his teeth into play?"

“Even now he tries," replied Claudius; "but he is met on either side by the torch. The fiercest beast of the desert shrinks from fire. Prudent and fortunate device! Lo! the horse seems at last to have ascertained that he who has this day mounted him is worthy of his services; do you hear the tread of his hoofs, as he traces the circle of the arena, guided by those steady hands from which flames appear to flow. Faster and faster rushes the steed, always restrained and turned by the outer torch, which is brought near his head, while the inner is held further to the rear. sides are flecked with foam.

His The

pace grows too rapid for a short curve, and the steed is now guided straight for the western opening in the arena opposite to where we sit; while the light breeze from the east counteracts the current of air made by the animal's own career, and keeps the flare of those torches almost even. They are gone; and again hark! Is not that shout like the roar of waters on a storm-beaten shore, as a hundred thousand men proclaim the success of a generous and brave youth, who could face the chance of being torn limb from limb in order to give to a poor slave like me, condemned to a frightful death, his life and his liberty, a home and a future?"

"But surely," said the imperial child, "it is not over so soon. It is like a dream."

"I have tried to make you see what I saw," returned Claudius. "It was a wonderful struggle-the youth looked beautiful; and in the swift. whirl, as you beheld the graceful and perfect rider, his hands apparently streaming with flames, and his face so calm and clear, you would have imagined that it was one of those beings whom the poets have feigned and sung, as having gifts superior to the gifts of ordinary mortals, who was delivering some terror-stricken land from a demon, from a cruel monster, and compelling ferocity, craft, uproar, and violence to bend to far higher forces, to man's cool courage and man's keen wit."

Augustus, in his later years, showed a decreasing relish for the bloodier sports of the arena; and, in deference to his taste, the next spectacles were, first a mere wrestling-match, and then a combat at the cestus, in which the effort was to display skill rather than inflict injury.

This contest was just over, and the sun, as if in wide-flowing garments of red and golden clouds, had sunk

level with the broad western opening of the amphitheatre, when the hum of voices was hushed once more, and Claudius was commanded in a whisper to resume his task of rendering the scene upon which the child's bodily eyes were temporarily closed, visible to his mind.

"I cannot with certainty discern," said the slave, "what occurs; there is such a vast heavenly shield of red light hanging opposite to us in the western sky. Against it, approaching at a walking pace toward the gap in the arena, along that avenue of chestnut trees in the country, I see a horseman. All eyes are turned in that direction. It is he; it is Paulus Lepidus Æmilius, returning on the Sejan steed; the animal is enveloped in sweat, and dust, and foam; and rather stoops the head which looked so fierce two hours ago; the rider has thrown away those torches, and now holds the reins low down on either side, a little in front of the beast's shoulder. His hat is gone, and his brown locks, as you see them against the sun, are so touched with the light that he seems to wear a head-gear of golden flames. Hark! again, as before, the people and the army shout to him. He is bowing to them on each side; and now, as he advances, what do I see?"

have both ridden toward him, with their retinues of nounted officers behind them. They have halted some six yards from him. They are speaking to him. As they speak, he bows his head and smiles. A crowd of people on foot have broken into the arena. The grooms have drawn near, at a sign from Tiberius; they are cautiously approaching the Sejan beast; but this last shows no restiveness. They have slipped the muzzle round his nose, under the reins. The youth dismounts. I do not see him now; he has become mixed with the crowd, I think; yes, it must be so, for I miss him altogether."

Augustus now rose, and his rising was taken by the multitude as a signal that the entertainments of the amphitheatre for that evening had closed.

Half an hour more and the scene was left to its solitude; and where the cries and shouts of that mighty assemblage had mounted to the very heavens, there was no sound left except the humming of the insects and the rustling of the trees.

That night, in the large veranda or bower, which hung its arch of leaves and flowers over the landing of the Lady Aglais's apartments, at the Inn of the Hundredth Milestone, were assembled an exceedingly heterogene

with every member of which the reader has made acquaintance. Paulus's mother, his young sister Agatha. Claudius, (no longer a slave, and now wearing the pileus,) Crispina, with her daughter Benigna, the betrothed of this slave Claudius, Thellus the gladiator, and Dionysius the Athe nian, were there, and they all heard Paulus relate a very strange occurrence, with which he made them acquainted in the following terms:

"Mother," said he, "the most extraordinary incident connected with

this happy day remains to be told. I am sure that the great and mysterious Being who is expected by Dionysius here soon to descend upon earth, and to whom I offered my life, has protected me this day. He has surely protected me, and has received with favor my endeavor to rescue from brutal power an oppressed and innocent young couple. The most extraordinary incident connected with my undertaking, I say, is not yet known to you. Last night I could not sleep soundly. At last, long before daybreak, I rose, dressed myself, and, kneeling down, besought that Being who is to appear among us to remember that I was trying to please him by this enterprise, and that I was acting just as Dionysius and I had concluded it would be agreeable to this beneficent being. An inex pressible feeling of calmness and confidence arose in my heart as I rose from my knees. I then took my hat and went out of doors. I first strolled yonder, up and down that laurel walk in the garden, and afterward sauntered into the fields and wandered pretty far, but I observed not whither. Presently I began to feel that inclination to sleep which had deserted me in my bedroom; and, knowing the sun would soon rise, I chose a shady spot under a clump of trees, and, lying down, fell fast asleep immediately. I had no dream, but was waked by feeling a hand upon my forehead. Opening my eyes, I beheld a woman, very aged and venerable, but with a most beautiful countenance, despite her years, bending over me. Her countenance was solemn as the stars, and, I know not how, impressed me like the face of the heavens at midnight, when the

VOL. XI.-41

air is clear and calm. Her hair was not gray, but white-white as milk. She wore a long, black mantle, the hood of which, like that of Agatha's ricinium, was brought over the head, but not further than the middle of the head, so that I could see, when I rose to my feet, (as I instantly did,) that her long flowing white locks were parted evenly and fell below the shoulder on each side. She held in her left hand a long staff, and her right was extended toward me as if bespeaking attention. She said to me in Greek these words: 'BY MEANS OF FIRE YOU CAN SUBDUE THE FEROCIOUS BEAST.' She then laid the hand which was stretched forth upon my head for a second, drew the hood further over her head, and departed with swift steps, leaving me to gaze after her in amazement-an amazement which increased when I perceived that her words could be applied to the Sejan horse. It was those words, mother, and nothing else, which gave me the idea of employing the torches, which my good Thellus here afterward prepared for me out of some gladiatorial exerciseweapons which he possessed; and I may for certain say that, without the torches, I must have been destroyed by that horrible brute."

"You truly describe this incident as extraordinary, my son," said the Lady Aglais, after a pause.

"Paulus," said Dionysius, "you have seen the Sibyl. You must accompany me in a few days to Cumæ, where we will seek an interview with her, upon the subject concerning which all the Sibyls sing and prophesy-the general reparation of this disordertortured world."

TO BE CONTINUED.

THERE is nothing more advantageous, and at the same time more dangerous; more beneficial to the cause of truth, and yet more apt to induce error, than the modern idea of studying man in nature alone; or rather, of scrutinizing its depths with the design of discovering all that concerns him.

Doubtless there were times when philosophy did not pay sufficient regard to the study of the physical sciences; when philosophers put themselves too far outside the physical world. Metaphysics were too full of abstractions, too much confined to the me and consciousness.

Some systems wished to dig an abyss between the world of matter and that of spirit, regarding the passage from the one to the other as impossible. Even the discoveries of Des Cartes in the realms of physical nature, as well as in the kingdom of his own consciousness, notwithstand ing their importance and grandeur, only served to widen the abyss; for the Cartesian theory supposed the mind to be incapable of communicating with the exterior world save by a chain frequently broken-by a long and devious path. The preëstablish

La Physique Moderne. Essai sur l'Unité des Phénomènes Naturels. Par Emile Saigey. Paris: Germer-Baillière. 1867.

Les Problèmes de la Nature-les Problèmes de la Vie. Par Laugel. Paris. 1867.

De la Science et de la Nature. Essai de Philoso phie première. Par Magy. 1867.

Eléments de Mécanique Moléculaire. Par le P. Bayma.

Physique Moléculaire. Par l'Abbé Moigno. 1868. Revue des Deux Mondes: la Nature et la Physiologie idéaliste. Par Ch. Lévêque. 15 Janvier, 1857. Le Spiritualisme Français au dix neuvième siècle Par P. Janet. 15 Mai, 1863

ed harmony of Leibnitz was the last term of the separation of these two worlds, which had no longer any thing in common even in their agreement, and only existed in juxtaposition without mutual action or reciprocal influence.

This was an excess of which metaphysics was at the same time the author and the victim; it deprived itself of a powerful element of investigation; it veiled one of the faces of nature; and closed the door to research and knowledge in one of the great domains of the world. Metaphysicians, in striving to obtain the exclusive and victorious reign of spirit, compromised its triumph.

Doubtless that which at the same time unites and separates the intellec tual from the material world will ne ver be perfectly understood. But it will always be necessary to throw light on both sides of the problem by comparing them without confound. ing them; to place both face to face without partiality or exclusion; the working of thought and of matter, and between the two the mysterious phenomenon of life which is their connecting link and term of similitude.

It could not be expected that philosophy should first and alone prepare the ground of this conciliation and comparison. The peculiarly speculative studies of metaphysicians would not naturally carry them to this point; and besides, the very ele ments necessary for this comparison were wanting to them.

It is, therefore, to the natural sciences, as they are called, that we must

owe the most of our knowledge and comprehension of the two worlds, which co-penetrate each other. Not that the sciences have preconceived the thought of this result, and formed a plan on the subject; for the science of the day, especially that which really deserves the name, has confined itself generally to impartial discoveries, and for premise and conclusion has taken merely the facts themselves. Notwithstanding evil examples, which would persuade a different course, it still perseveres, and on this account it deserves praise in its isolated labors and exclusive studies. It would not be difficult to cite the names of some of the most distinguished savants, who, impartially and without being preoccupied with conclusions, have enriched the domain of truth with most important and curious discoveries. But the occupation of the savant, which is not without merit and trouble, cannot satisfy mankind.

By a natural instinct man feels the want of synthesis; he is not content with mere phenomena. He wants to go further than analysis; he longs to generalize and draw consequences. He wishes to profit by past labor; he wants to know not only results but

causes.

Here philosophy must again be called in to judge of and compare facts, to deduce consequences from, and erect systems upon them. If the spiritualist philosophers, quitting abstractions and leaving the solitude of consciousness, have by an enlightened change, which will be serviceable both to truth and to their own cause, begun to dig deeply into the scientific mine which is so rich and productive; on the other hand, the positivists and materialists, forced by the natural inclination of the human mind to draw conclusions and build theories, even after proclaiming the sovereign reign of matter, and after trying to remain

in it alone; after attributing to it every property and every function; after making it the absolute foundation of their doctrine and teaching, have here admitted that an inferior supposes a superior order; there accepted final causes; elsewhere invoked the ideal or spoken of truths which are eternal; and in their desire to explain the phenomena of matter or the forms of life, they have been compelled to leave the region of purely material facts and to ascend to those metaphysical ideas which in theory they so strenuously reject.

But although the human mind, placed in presence of problems, goes faster and further than science, yet it cannot do without its aid; it rightly seeks its assistance, and finds in it one of its most solid and safe foundations.

We have, therefore, deemed it interesting to indicate at what point the labors of the physicists have arrived, even by exhibiting their premature solutions. We think it useful to examine some of their conclusions, which have been deduced rather precipitately perhaps, but which, while treating only of bodies, concern more or less directly the sovereign questions of the soul and of the intelligence.

We must say that, in consequence of so many deep researches and fruitful experiments, the empire of the natural sciences has been so vastly extended that nothing in the future. seems impossible of attainment, while most unexpected results, intoxicating, as it were, and turning the heads of savants, have seemed to furnish a justification of their defence of even the most rash and surprising theories.

There has been a regeneration of ideas regarding the material world;

See for further details: Recueil des Rapports sur les Progrès des Lettres et des Sciences; la Philosophie en France au dix-neuvième siècle. Par Felix Ravaisson. Revue des Cours Littéraires, No. 24; art. by M. E. Beaussire.