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independent in thought. His History of Rome, which he intended to carry down to the fall of the Western Empire, was completed only to the end of the Second Punic War (3 vols. 1838-42); his Oxford Lectures on Modern History, and a history of the later Roman commonwealth (reprinted from the Encyclopædia Metropolitana), were published after his death; and he edited Thucydides. Six volumes of his Sermons, chiefly delivered to the Rugby boys, were also printed, with a volume of tracts on social and political topics. In the History of Rome --the first two volumes especially-he very closely follows Niebuhr, expanding the theory that the commonly received history of the early centuries of Rome was in great part fabulous, as being founded on popular songs or lays chanted by minstrels or recited by imaginative chroniclers at Roman banquets. His strong moral feeling and hatred of tyranny in all its shapes occasionally break forth, and he gave animation to his narrative by contrasting ancient with modern events, thereby giving later historians an example apt to prove dangerous to the historic spirit.

Scipio.

A mind like Scipio's, working its way under the peculiar influences of his time and country, cannot but move irregularly-it cannot but be full of contradictions. Two hundred years later the mind of the dictator, Cæsar, acquiesced contentedly in epicureanism; he retained no more of enthusiasm than was inseparable from the intensity of his intellectual power and the fervour of his courage, even amidst his utter moral degradation. But Scipio could not be like Cæsar. His mind rose above the state of things around him; his spirit was solitary and kingly; he was cramped by living among those as his equals whom he felt fitted to guide as from some higher sphere; and he retired at last to Liternum, to breathe freely, to enjoy the simplicity of his childhood, since he could not fulfil his natural calling to be a hero-king. So far he stood apart from his countrymen-admired, reverenced, but not loved. But he could not shake off all the influences of his time the virtue, public and private, which still existed at Rome; the reverence paid by the wisest and best men to the religion of their fathers, were elements too congenial to his nature not to retain their hold on it: they cherished that nobleness of soul in him, and that faith in the invisible and divine, which two centuries of growing unbelief rendered almost impossible in the days of Cæsar. Yet how strange must the conflict be when faith is combined with the highest intellectual power, and its appointed object is no better than paganism ! Longing to believe, yet repelled by palpable falsehood -crossed inevitably with snatches of unbelief, in which hypocrisy is ever close at the door-it breaks out desperately, as it may seem, into the region of dreams and visions, and mysterious communings with the invisible, as if longing to find that food in its own creations which no outward objective truth offers to it. The proportions of belief and unbelief in the human mind in such cases no human judgment can determine-they are the wonders of history; characters inevitably misrepresented by the vulgar, and viewed even by those who, in some sense, have the key to them as a mystery not fully to be

comprehended, and still less explained to others. The genius which conceived the incomprehensible character of Hamlet would alone be able to describe with intuitive truth the character of Scipio or of Cromwell. With all his greatness there was a waywardness in him which seems often to accompany genius; a self-idolatry, natural enough when there is so keen a consciousness of power and of lofty designs; a self-dependence, which feels even the most sacred external relations to be unessential to its own perfection. Such is the Achilles of Homer, the highest conception of the individual hero relying on himself, and sufficient to himself. But the same poet who conceived the character of Achilles has also drawn that of Hector; of the truly noble, because unselfish, hero, who subdues his genius to make it minister to the good of others; who lives for his relations, his friends, and his country. And as Scipio lived in himself and for himself like Achilles, so the virtue of Hector was worthily represented in the life of his great rival Hannibal, who, from his childhood to his latest hour, in war and in peace, through glory and through obloquy, amid victories and amid disappointments, ever remembered to what purpose his father had devoted him, and withdrew no thought or desire or deed from their pledged service to his country,

Hannibal.

If Hannibal's genius may be likened to the Homeric god, who, in his hatred of the Trojans, rises from the deep to rally the fainting Greeks, and to lead them against the enemy; so the calm courage with which Hector met his more than human adversary in his country's cause is no unworthy image of the unyielding magnanimity displayed by the aristocracy of Rome. As Hannibal utterly eclipses Carthage, so, on the contrary, Fabius, Marcellus, Claudius Nero, even Scipio himself, are as nothing when compared to the spirit and wisdom and power of Rome. The senate, which voted its thanks to its political enemy, Varro, after his disastrous defeat, because he had not despaired of the commonwealth, and which disdained either to solicit, or to reprove, or to threaten, or in any way to notice the twelve colonies which had refused their accustomed supplies of men for the army, is far more to be honoured than the conqueror of Zama. This we should the more carefully bear in mind, because our tendency is to admire individual greatness far more than national; and as no single Roman will bear comparison with Hannibal, we are apt to murmur at the event of the contest, and to think that the victory was awarded to the least worthy of the combatants. On the contrary, never was the wisdom of God's providence more manifest than in the issue of the struggle between Rome and Carthage. It was clearly for the good of mankind that Hannibal should be conquered his triumph would have stopped the progress of the world. For great men can only act permanently by forming great nations; and no one man, even though it were Hannibal himself, can in one generation effect such a work. But where the nation has been merely enkindled for a while by a great man's spirit, the light passes away with him who communicated it; and the nation when he is gone is like a dead body to which magic power had for a moment given an unnatural life; when the charm has ceased the body is cold and stiff as before. He who grieves over the battle of Zama should carry on his thoughts to a period thirty

years later, when Hannibal must, in the course of nature, have been dead, and consider how the isolated Phoenician city of Carthage was fitted to receive and to consolidate the civilisation of Greece, or by its laws and institutions to bind together barbarians of every race and language into an organised empire, and prepare them for becoming, when that empire was dissolved, the free members of the commonwealth of Christian Europe.

The Siege of Genoa.

In the autumn of 1799 the Austrians had driven the French out of Lombardy and Piedmont; their last victory of Fossano or Genola had won the fortress of Coni or Cuneo, close under the Alps, and at the very extremity of the plain of the Po; the French clung to Italy only by their hold of the Riviera of Genoa, the narrow strip of coast between the Apennines and the sea, which extends from the frontiers of France almost to the mouth of the Arno. Hither the remains of the French force were collected, commanded by General Massena, and the point of chief importance to his defence was the city of Genoa. Napoleon had just returned from Egypt, and was become First Consul; but he could not be expected to take the field till the following spring, and till then Massena was hopeless of relief from without-everything was to depend on his own pertinacity. The strength of his army made it impossible to force it in such a position as Genoa; but its very numbers, added to the population of a great city, held out to the enemy a hope of reducing it by famine; and as Genoa derives most of its supplies by sea, Lord Keith, the British naval commander-in-chief in the Mediterranean, lent the assistance of his naval force to the Austrians, and by the vigilance of his cruisers, the whole coasting-trade right and left along the Riviera was effectually cut off. It is not at once that the inhabitants of a great city, accustomed to the daily sight of well-stored shops and an abundant market, begin to realise the idea of scarcity; or that the wealthy classes of society, who have never known any other state than one of abundance and luxury, begin seriously to conceive of famine. But the shops were emptied, and the storehouses began to be drawn upon, and no fresh supply or hope of supply appeared. Winter passed away, and spring returned, so early and so beautiful on that gardenlike coast, sheltered as it is from the north winds by its belt of mountains, and open to the full range of the southern sun. Spring returned, and clothed the hillsides with its fresh verdure. But that verdure was no longer the mere delight of the careless eye of luxury, refreshing the citizens with its liveliness and softness when they rode or walked up thither from the city to enjoy the surpassing beauty of the prospect. The green hillsides were now visited for a very different object : ladies of the highest rank might be seen cutting up every plant which it was possible to turn to food, and bearing home the common weeds of our roadsides as a most precious treasure. The French general pitied the distress of the people, but the lives and strength of his garrison seemed to him more important than the lives of the Genoese; and such provisions as remained were reserved, in the first place, for the French army. Scarcity became utter want, and want became famine. In the most gorgeous palaces of that gorgeous city, no less than in the humblest tenements of its humblest poor, death was busy; not the momentary death of battle

or massacre, nor the speedy death of pestilence, but the lingering death of famine. Infants died before their parents' eyes; husbands and wives lay down to expire together. A man whom I saw at Genoa in 1825 told me that his father and two of his brothers had been starved to death in this fatal siege. So it went on till, in the month of June, when Napoleon had already descended from the Alps into the plains of Lombardy, the misery became unendurable, and Massena surrendered. But before he did so, twenty thousand innocent persons, old and young, women and children, had died by the most horrible of deaths which humanity can endure !

An Edinburgh reviewer said all Arnold's works were 'proofs of his ability and goodness, yet the story of his life is worth them all ;' and that story has been told to admirable purpose by Dean Stanley in his Life of Arnold (1845; 12th ed., with additions, 1881; new ed. 1900). See also Findlay's Arnold of Rugby (1897); Sir Joshua Fitch on Thomas and Matthew Arnold, and their Influence on English Education (1897); and the Rugby idyll, Tom Brown's Schooldays, by Thomas Hughes. Charles H. Pearson has somewhat trenchantly criticised the 'Arnold tradition,' and insisted on certain defects in the Rugby system; see his Life by Stebbing (1900). Matthew Arnold, the poet and critic, was Dr Arnold's eldest son; his second, Thomas, father of Mrs Humphry Ward, wrote on historical subjects and literature, and as a good Catholic helped to edit a Catholic Dictionary.

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Connop Thirlwall (1797-1875), born at Stepney, from the Charterhouse passed in 1814 to Trinity College, Cambridge, and after a distinguished course was elected a Fellow. He was called to the Bar in 1825, but in 1827 took orders, having years before translated Schleiermacher's Essay on St Luke, then regarded as alarmingly rationalistic.' His return to Cambridge was marked by the translation, with his friend Julius Hare, of Niebuhr's History of Rome (1828-32); and their Philological Museum (1831-33) contained some remarkable papers, among them Thirlwall's 'On the Irony of Sophocles.' He petitioned and wrote (1834) in favour of the admission of Dissenters to degrees. The Master of Trinity, Dr Wordsworth, called on him to resign his assistant-tutorship, which he did under protest. Almost immediately he was presented by Brougham to the Yorkshire living of Kirby-Underdale. Here he wrote for Lardner's Cyclopædia his History of Greece (1835-47; improved ed. 1847-52). Scholarly, learned, and accurate, as well as dignified in style, the work marks an enormous advance on Mitford and ranks amongst English classics; but it was in large measure superseded for the general public by Grote's (published in 1846-56). In 1840 Lord Melbourne raised Thirlwall to the see of St David's. For thirty-four years till his resignation-he laboured with the utmost diligence in his diocese, building churches, parsonages, and schools, and augmenting poor livings. His eleven Charges remain an enduring monument of breadth of view the first a catholic apology for the Tractarians. He joined in censuring Essays and Reviews, but was one of the four bishops who refused to inhibit Colenso, and he was as a Latitudinarian regarded with suspicious alarm, alike by High-Churchmen and Evangelicals. He supported

the Maynooth grant, the admission of Jews to Parliament, and alone amongst the bishops the disestablishment of the Irish Church. Perowne edited his Remains, Literary and Theological (1877-78); Perowne and Stokes his Letters, Literary and Theological (1881); and Dean Stanley the beautiful series to a young lady— the Letters to a Friend (1881).

Aristophanes against Socrates.

Euripides, however, occupies only a subordinate place among the disciples and supporters of the sophistical school, whom Aristophanes attacked. The person whom he selected as its representative, and on whom he endeavoured to throw the whole weight of the charges which he brought against it, was Socrates. In the Clouds, a comedy exhibited in 423, a year after the Knights had been received with so much applause, Socrates was brought on the stage under his own name, as the arch-sophist, the master of the freethinking school. The story is of a young spendthrift, who has involved his father in debt by his passion for horses, and having been placed under the care of Socrates, is enabled by his instructions to defraud his creditors, but also learns to regard filial obedience and respect, and piety to the gods, as groundless and antiquated prejudices; and it seems hardly possible to doubt that under this character the poet meant to represent Alcibiades, whom it perfectly suits in its general outline, and who may have been suggested to the thoughts of the spectators in many ways not now perceived by the reader. It seems at first sight as if, in this work, Aristophanes must stand convicted either of the foulest motives or of a gross mistake. For the character of Socrates was in most points directly opposed to the principles and practice which he attributes here and elsewhere to the sophists and their followers. Socrates was the son of a sculptor of little reputation, and himself for some time practised the art with moderate success. But he abandoned it that he might give himself up to philosophy, though his income was so scanty that it scarcely provided him with the means of subsistence. In his youth he had made himself master of every kind of knowledge then attainable at Athens which his narrow fortune permitted him to acquire, and he purchased the lessons of several of the learned men who came to sojourn there at a price which he was never well able to spare. Yet when his own talents had attracted a crowd of admirers, and among them some of the wealthiest youths, he not only demanded no reward for his instructions, but rejected all the offers which they made to relieve his poverty. We have already seen some specimens of the manner in which he discharged the duties of a soldier and a citizen: how he braved the fury of the multitude and the resentment of the tyrants in the cause of justice. It is not my intention here to speak of the place which he holds in the history of Greek philosophy. But we have already had occasion to mention his contests with the sophists, and we have ample evidence that his discourses as well as his life were uniformly devoted to the furtherance of piety and virtue. Yet in the Clouds this excellent person appears in the most odious as well as ridiculous aspect; and the play ends with the preparations made by the father of the misguided youth to consume him

and his school. The wrong done to him appears the more flagrant on account of its fatal consequences. The wish which the poet intimates at the close of his play, with an earnestness which almost oversteps the limits of comedy, was fulfilled, though not till above twenty years later, after the restoration of the democracy (B.C. 399), when Socrates was prosecuted and put to death on a charge which expressed the substance of the imputations cast on him in the Clouds; and Aristophanes was believed by their contemporaries to have contributed mainly to this result.

There are two points with regard to the conduct of Aristophanes which appear to have been placed by recent investigations beyond doubt. It may be considered as certain that he was not animated by any personal malevolence toward Socrates, but only attacked him as an enemy and corrupter of religion and morals; but, on the other hand, it is equally well established that he did not merely borrow the name of Socrates for the representative of the sophistical school, but designed to point the attention and to excite the feelings of his audience against the real individual. The only question which seems to be still open to controversy on this subject concerns the degree in which Aristophanes was acquainted with the real character and aims of Socrates, as they are known to us from the uniform testimony of his intimate friends and disciples. We find it difficult to adopt the opinion of some modern writers, who contend that Aristophanes, notwithstanding a perfect knowledge of the difference between Socrates and the sophists, might still have looked upon him as standing so completely on the same ground with them that one description was applicable to them and him. It is true, as we have already observed, that the poet would willingly have suppressed all reflection and inquiry on many of the subjects which were discussed both by the sophists and by Socrates, as a presumptuous encroachment on the province of authority. But it seems incredible that if he had known all that makes Socrates so admirable and amiable in our eyes, he would have assailed him with such vehement bitterness, and that he should never have qualified his satire by a single word indicative of the respect which he must then have felt to be due at least to his character and his intentions.

But if we suppose what is in itself much more consistent with the opinions and pursuits of the comic poet, that he observed the philosopher attentively indeed, but from a distance which permitted no more than a superficial acquaintance, we are then at no loss to understand how he might have confounded him with a class of men with which he had so little in common, and why he singled him out to represent them. He probably first formed his judgment of Socrates by the society in which he usually saw him. He may have known that his early studies had been directed by Archelaus, the disciple of Anaxagoras; that he had both himself received the instruction of the most eminent sophists, and had induced others to become their hearers; that Euripides, who had introduced the sophistical spirit into the drama, and Alcibiades, who illustrated it most completely in his life, were in the number of his most intimate friends. Socrates never willingly stirred beyond the walls of the city, and lived almost wholly in public places, which he seldom entered without forming a circle round him and opening some discussion connected with the objects of his philosophical researches; he readily

accepted the invitations of his friends, especially when he expected to meet learned and inquisitive guests, and probably never failed to give a speculative turn to the conversation. Aristophanes himself may have been more than once present, as Plato represents him, on such occasions. But it was universally notorious that whereever Socrates appeared some subtle disputation was likely to ensue; the method by which he drew out and tried the opinions of others without directly delivering his own, and even his professions-for he commonly described himself as a seeker who had not yet discovered the truth-might easily be mistaken for the sophistical scepticism which denied the possibility of finding it. Aristophanes might also, either immediately or through hearsay, have become acquainted with expressions and arguments of Socrates apparently contrary to the established religion. And, indeed, it is extremely difficult to determine the precise relation in which the opinions of Socrates stood to the Greek polytheism. He not only spoke of the gods with reverence, and conformed to the rites of the national worship, but testified his respect for the oracles in a manner which seems to imply that he believed their pretensions to have some real ground. On the other hand, he acknowledged one Supreme Being as the framer and preserver of the universe; used the singular and the plural number indiscriminately concerning the object of his adoration; and when he endeavoured to reclaim one of his friends who scoffed at sacrifices and divination, it was, according to Xenophon, by an argument drawn exclusively from the works of the one Creator. We are thus tempted to imagine that he treated many points to which the vulgar attached great importance as matters of indifference, on which it was neither possible nor very desirable to arrive at any certain conclusion; that he was only careful to exclude from his notion of the gods all attri butes which were inconsistent with the moral qualities of the Supreme Being; and that, with this restriction, he considered the popular mythology as so harmless that its language and rites might be innocently adopted. The observation attributed to him in one of Plato's early works seems to throw great light on the nature and extent of his conformity to the State religion. Being asked whether he believes the Attic legend of Boreas and Orithuia, he replies that he should indeed only be following the example of many ingenious men if he rejected it and attempted to explain it away; but that such speculations, however fine, appeared to him to betoken a mind not very happily constituted; for the subjects furnished for them by the marvellous beings of the Greek mythology were endless, and to reduce all such stories to a probable form was a task which required much leisure. This he could not give to it, for he was fully occupied with the study of his own nature. therefore let those stories alone, and acquiesced in the common belief about them.

He

The motives which induced Aristophanes to bring Socrates on the stage in preference to any other of the sophistical teachers are still more obvious than the causes through which he was led to confound them together. Socrates, from the time that he abandoned his hereditary art, became one of the most conspicuous and notorious persons in Athens. There was perhaps hardly a mechanic who had not at some time or other been puzzled or diverted by his questions. His features were so formed by nature as to serve with scarcely any

exaggeration for a highly laughable mask. His usual mien and gait were no less remarkably adapted to the comic stage. He was subject to fits of absence which seem now and then to have involved him in ludicrous mistakes and disasters. Altogether his exterior was such as might of itself have tempted another poet to find a place for him in a comedy. (From the History of Greece.)

Sir George Cornewall Lewis (1806-63) was the son of Sir Thomas Frankland Lewis, a Radnorshire baronet; was educated at Eton and Christ Church, Oxford; and having studied at the Middle Temple, was called to the Bar in 1831. Entering into public life, he filled various government offices, and was M.P. for Herefordshire, and afterwards for the Radnor boroughs. He served on several commissions, and in 1839 succeeded his father as Poor-Law Commissioner in a time of keen controversy on poor-law methods. He succeeded Mr Gladstone as Chancellor of the Exchequer under Palmerston in 1855-58, when he showed much resource in meeting defects and outlays caused by the Crimean war; and in Lord Palmerston's second administration (1859) he waived his claims in favour of Mr Gladstone, becoming Home Secretary in 1859-61, and then, sore against his own wishes, War Secretary. He was for about three years (1852-55) editor of the Edinburgh Review. An accomplished classical and German scholar, Sir George (who succeeded to the baronetcy on his father's death in 1855) investigated the early history of Greece and Rome along with the views of the German commentators, and in reviewing the theory of Niebuhr in An Inquiry into the Credibility of Early Roman History (2 vols. 1855), attacked alike Niebuhr's method and its results. All attempts to extract real history from the picturesque narratives of the early centuries of Rome (largely based, as Niebuhr held, on ballad and poetised legends) he conceived to be nugatory, and he examined anew the primitive history of the nations of Italy. Dionysius, Livy, and the other ancient historians had no authentic materials for the primitive ethnology and the early national movements of Italy, and modern inquirers have still less chance of arriving at safe conclusions on the subject. Hence, with perhaps too sweeping scepticism, he dismissed the results not only of the uncritical older historians, but those of the learned and sagacious Germans, Niebuhr and Otfried Müller. The legends are mere shifting clouds of mythology, which may at a distance deceive the mariner by the appearance of solid land, but disappear as he approaches and examines them by a close view.' But it cannot be said that modern research accepts all Niebuhr's contentions or maintains his theory in full; and in so far at least Cornewall Lewis's criticism has been justified.

Lewis was a shrewd and sober-minded politician of great administrative ability, a laborious student, and a voluminous writer. It is difficult to realise how he found time, in the midst of official and

public duties, and within the space of a comparatively short life, for such varied and profound studies-for he was not merely acute and critical, but indefatigable in research and widely read. He was more gifted as a conversationalist than as a writer, his style being rather sensible than distinguished. Among his works are treatises on the Romance Language, on the Use and Abuse of Political Terms, on the Influence of Authority in Matters of Opinion, on the Method of Observation and Reasoning in Politics, on the Irish Church Question, on the Government of Dependencies, on the Astronomy of the Ancients, and a Dialogue on the Best Form of Government. He was a frequent contributor to the Edinburgh Review, Fraser's Magazine, the Philological Museum, the Law Magazine, and Notes and Queries. His most unlucky literary enterprise was an edition in 1846-59 of a collection of fragments palmed off on the British Museum as lost fables of the third-century Greek fabulist Babrius, almost immediately proved to be spurious. He was not a seeker after popularity, was perhaps a little paradoxical, and was the inventor of the mot that 'life would be tolerable if it were not for its amusements.'

On Niebuhr.

He [Niebuhr] divides the Roman history into three periods: 1. The purely mythical period, including the foundation of the city and the reigns of the first two kings. 2. The mythico-historical period, including the reigns of the last five kings and the first fourteen years of the republic. 3. The historical period, beginning with the first secession. The poems, however, which he supposes to have served as the origin of the received history, are not peculiar to any one of these periods; they equally appear in the reigns of Romulus and Numa, in the time of the Tarquins, and in the narratives of Coriolanus and of the siege of Veii. If the history of periods so widely different was equally drawn from a poetical source, it is clear that the poems must have arisen under wholly dissimilar circumstances, and that they can afford no sure foundation for any historical inference.

For solving the problem of the early Roman history the great desideratum is to obtain some means of separating the truth from the fiction, and, if any parts be true, of explaining how the records were preserved with fidelity until the time of the earliest historians, by whom they were adopted, and who, through certain intermediate stages, have transmitted them to us.

For example, we may believe that the expulsion of the Tarquins, the creation of a dictator and of tribunes, the adventures of Coriolanus, the Decemvirate, the expedition of the Fabii and the battle of the Cremera, the siege of Veii, the capture of Rome by the Gauls, and the disaster of Caudium, with other portions of the Samnite wars, are events which are indeed to a considerable extent distorted, obscured, and corrupted by fiction, and encrusted with legendary additions, but that they nevertheless contain a nucleus of fact, in varying degrees: if so, we should wish to know how far the fact extends and where the fiction begins, and also what were the means by which a general historical tradition of events, as they really happened, was perpetuated. This is the question to which an answer is desired; and therefore we are not

assisted by a theory which explains how that part of the narrative which is not historical originated.

See his Letters (1870), the Life of Grote (1873), Bagehot's Literary Studies (1879), and Mr Raleigh's edition of the Political Terms(1898).

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Charles Merivale (1808–93) was the son of John Herman Merivale, translator, poet, and Commissioner of Bankruptcy; he was born in London, studied at Harrow, Haileybury, and St John's College, Cambridge, and was successively rector of Lawford, Essex (1848-70), chaplain to the Speaker of the House of Commons (1863-69), and Dean of Ely (from 1869). At Cambridge he was an athlete and oarsman, as well as a prize poet and one of the apostles' commemorated by Tennyson. He took orders in 1833, by which time he had developed a keen interest in his life-work, the study of Roman history. At this subject he worked industriously while he remained at Cambridge; but it was not till after he had settled in his country rectory that he began to publish, in 1850, a History of the Romans under the Empire, which he completed in 1862. 'Mr Merivale's undertaking,' said a critic in the Edinburgh Review, is nothing less than to bridge over no small portion of the interval between the interrupted work of Arnold and the commencement of Gibbon. He comes, therefore, between "mighty opposites."' 'A man of infinite dry humour and quaint fancy,' according to Edward FitzGerald, he was a scholar and Churchman of the older school, and his History was a sound and solid piece of work. It would have been improved had its author relied less exclusively on printed documents and taken advantage of numismatics, epigraphy, and cognate aids. The main defect of the work, according to some critics, is that it is throughout too favourable to the emperors and to Imperialism, but compared with the Cæsarism of Mommsen and his school it is mild and fair. The same tendency somewhat mars the historical value of the brilliant sketch The Fall of the Roman Republic (1853), perhaps the most popular of all the Dean's writings, among which are also comprised a one-volume school history of Rome and some lectures on early Church history, including his two courses of Boyle Lectures (1864-65) on the conversion of the Roman Empire and of the northern nations. He edited Sallust, contributed to the Saturday Review, and was a most accomplished writer of Latin verse. His translation of Homer into English rhymed verse was not one of his successes.

On the Emperor Augustus.

In stature Augustus hardly exceeded the middle height, but his person was lightly and delicately formed, and its proportions were such as to convey a favourable and even a striking impression. His countenance was pale, and testified to the weakness of his health and almost constant bodily suffering; but the hardships of military service had imparted a swarthy tinge to a complexion naturally fair, and his eyebrows meeting over a sharp and aquiline nose gave a serious and stern expression to his countenance. His hair was light, and

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