father, and never fall short of him in virtue; and may you in them find your consolation!-Farewell.'

10. "We started up at the sound of this word, and with loud cries of lamentation ran to him to receive his last embraces. I led his elder son by the hand; Volumnia had the younger in her arms. He turned his eyes from us, and put ting us back with his hand 'Mother,' said he, 'from this mo ment you have no son: our country has taken from you the stay of your old age. Nor to you, Volumnia, will MarciusTM be henceforth a husband; mayst thou be happy with another more fortunate! My dear children, you have lost your father.'

128. ROME SAVED BY FEMALE VIRTUE-continued.

1. "He said no more, but instantly broke away from us. He departed from Rome without settling his domestic affairs, or leaving any orders about them; without money, without servants, and even without letting us know to what part of the world he would direct his steps. It is now the fourth year since he went away; and he has never inquired after his family, nor, by letter or messenger, given us the least account of himself so that it seems as if his mother and his wife, were the chief objects of that general hatred which he shows to his country.

2. "What success then can you expect from our entreaties to a man so implacable? Can two women bend that stubborn heart, which even all the ministers of religion were not able to soften? And indeed what shall I say to him? What can I reasonably desire of him?-that he would pardon ungrateful citizens, who have treated him as the vilest criminal? that he would take compassion upon a furious, unjust populace, which had no regard for his innocence? and that he would betray a nation, which has not only opened him an asylum, but has even preferred him to her most illustrious citizens in the com mand of her armies?

With what face can I ask him to abandon such generons

protectors, and deliver himself again into the hands of his most bitter enemies? Can a Roman mother, and a Roman wife, with decency, exact, from a son and a husband, compli ances which must dishonor him before both gods and men? Mournful circumstance, in which we have not power to hate the most formidable enemy of our country! Leave us there fore to our unhappy destiny; and do not desire us to make it more unhappy, by an action that may cast a blemish upon our virtue."

4. The women made no answer but by their tears and entreaties. Some embraced her knees; others beseeched Volumnia to join her prayers to theirs ; all conjured Veturia not to refuse her country this last assistance. Overcome a* length by their urgent solicitations, she promised to do as they desired.

The very next day, all the most illustrious of the Roman women repaired to Veturia's house. There they presently mounted a number of chariots, which the consuls had ordered to be made ready for them; and, without any guard, took the way to the enemy's camp.

5. Coriolanus, perceiving from afar that long train of chariots, sent out some horsemen to learn the design of it. They quickly brought him word, that it was his mother, his wife, and a great number of other women, and their children coming to the camp. He doubtless conjectured what views the Romans had in so extraordinary a deputation; that this was the last expedient of the senate; and, in his own mind, he determined not to let himself be moved.

6. But he reckoned upon a savage inflexibility that was not in his nature; for going out with a few attendants to receiv the women, he no sooner beheld Veturia attired in mourning, her eyes bathed in tears, and with a countenance and motion that spoke her sinking under a load of sorrow, than he ran hastily to her; and not only calling her mother, but adding to that word the most tender epithets, embraced her, wept over her, and held her in his arms to prevent her falling. The like tenderness he presently after expressed to his wife, highly commending her discretion in having constantly remained with

his mother, since his departure from Rome. And then, with the warmest paternal affection, he caressed his children.

7. When some time had been allowed to those silent tears of joy, which often flow plenteously at the sudden and unex pected meeting of persons dear to each other, Veturia entered pon the business she had undertaken. After many forcible ppeals to his understanding and patriotism, she exclaimed What frenzy, what madness of anger transports my son Heaven is appeased by supplications, vows, and sacrifices: shall mortals be implacable? Will Marcius set no bounds to his resentment? But allowing that thy enmity to thy country is too violent to let thee listen to her petition for peace; yet be not deaf, my son, be not inexorable, to the prayers and tears of thy mother.

8. Thou dreadest the very appearance of ingratitude towards the Volsci; and shall thy mother have reason to accuse thee of being ungrateful? Call to mind the tender care I took of thy infancy and earliest youth; the alarms, the anxiety, I suffered on thy account, when, entered into the state of manhood, thy life was almost daily exposed in foreign wars; the apprehensions, the terrors, I underwent; when I saw thee so warmly engaged in our domestic quarrels, and, with heroic courage, opposing the unjust pretensions of the furious plebe ians. My sad forebodings of the event have been but too well verified. Consider the wretched life I have endured, if it may be called life, the time that has passed since I was deprived of thee.

9. "O Marcius, refuse me not the only request I ever made to thee; I will never importune thee with any other. Cease thy immoderate anger; be reconciled to thy country; this is all I ask; grant me but this, and we shall both be happy Freed from those tempestuous passions which now agitate thy soul, and from all the torments of self-reproach, thy days will flow smoothly on in the sweet serenity of conscious virtue: and as for me, if I carry back to Rome the hopes of an approaching peace, an assurance of thy being reconciled to thy country, with what transports of joy shall I be received! In what honor, in what delightful repose, shall I pass the

remainder of my life! What inmortal glory shall I have acquired !"

10. Coriolanus made no attempt to interrupt Veturia while she was speaking; and when she had ceased, he still continued in deep silence. Anger, hatred, and desire of revenge, bal anced in his heart those softer passions which the sight and discourse of his mother had awakened in his breast. Veturia perceiving his irresolution, and fearing the event, thus renewed her expostulation: "Why dost thou not answer me, my son? Is there then such greatness of mind in giving all to resentment? Art thou ashamed to grant any thing to a mother who thus entreats thee, thus humbles herself to thee? If it be so, to what purpose should I longer endure a wretched life?" As she uttered these last words, interrupted by sighs, she threw herself prostrate at his feet. His wife and children did the same; and all the other women, with united voices of mournful accent, begged and implored his pity.

11. The Volscian officers, not able unmoved to behold this scene, turned away their eyes: but Coriolanus, almost beside himself to see Veturia at his feet, passionately cried out: "Ah! mother, what art thou doing?" And tenderly pressing her hand, in raising her up, he added, in a low voice, “Rome is saved, but thy son is lost!"

Early the next morning, Coriolanus broke up his camp, and peaceably marched his army homewards. Nobody had the boldness to contradict his orders. Many were exceedingly dissatisfied with his conduct; but others excused it, being more affected with his filial respect to his mother, than with their own interests.

129. THE FRIARS AND THE KNIGHT.

K. H. DIGBY.

4. Two friars of Paris, travelling in the depth of winter, came at the first hour of the night, fatigued, covered with mud, and wet with rain, to the gate of a house where they hoped to receive hospitality, not knowing that it belonged to

a knight who hated all friars, and who for twenty years had never made his confession. The mother of the family replied to their petition, "I know not, good fathers, what to do. I admit you under our roof, I fear my husband; and if I seud you away cruelly in this tempestuous night, I shall dread the indignation of God. Enter, and hide yourselves till my hus band returns from hunting, and has supped, for then I shall be able to supply you secretly with what is needful."

2. Shortly, the husband returns, sups joyfully, but, per ceiving that his wife is sad, desires to know the cause. She replies that she dares not disclose it. Pressed and encouraged, she at length relates what has happened, adding, that she fears God's judgment, seeing that his servants are afflicted with cold and hunger, while they are feasting at their ease. The knight, becoming more gentle, orders them to be led forth from their hiding-place, and to be supplied with food.

3. The poor friars came forth, and drew near the fire; and when he sees their emaciated faces, humid raiment, and their feet stained with blood, the hand of the Lord is upon him, and from a lion he becomes a lamb. With his own hands he washes their feet, places the table, and prepares their beds, bringing in fresh straw. After the supper, with altered look and tone, he addresses the elder friar, and asks whether a shameless sinner, who hath not confessed since many years, can hope for pardon from God?

4. "Yea, in sooth," replied the friar; "hope in the Lord and do good, and he will deal with thee according to his mercy; for in whatever day the sinner repents, he will remember his iniquity no more." The contrite host declares that he will not then defer any longer approaching the sacraments "This very night," said he, "I will unburden my conscience lest my soul should be required of me." The friar, however little suspecting danger of death, advised him to wait til morning. All retired to rest; but during the night the friar became alarmed, rose, prostrated himself on the earth, and besought God to spare the sinner.

5. In the morning, however, the master of the house was found dead. The man of God, judging from what had passed,