The national religion of the Romans first sprang from the classic soil of Greece; they adopted and cherished it as their own; and, in a great measure, assimilating itself to their national customs and peculiarities, it became firmly rooted in the breast of every true Roman. It is, then, not at all wonderful that the decay of the empire should have been attended with a corresponding decay of the national religion. Christianity had already begun to develop itself; and, though springing from a fountain pure and uncorrupted, yet when it commenced running over the muddy bottom of human nature, its waters became foul and vitiated. The Church was no longer as in its beginning; the rancor of faction pervaded the bosom of all its adherents. Arian numbered a mighty host of followers; while the persecuted Athanasius, at the head of a few faithful adherents, was alternately promoted and debased; throughout the whole empire there seemed to be one continuous religious warfare-laity contending with laity, bishop with bishop-while even kings themselves, catching from their subjects the fiery zeal of holy enthusiasm, marshaled their armies to fight, as they supposed, the battles of the Lord of Hosts.

In this dark and gloomy night, Julian, like a bright star, rose upon the declining fortunes of Rome. Escaping the sword of political persecution, and the rage of an inhuman soldiery, he was concealed by the good bishop of Arethusa, in a temple of that religion which he afterward labored so strenuously, though unsuccessfully, to destroy. Mardonius instructed him in Greek, while the sophist Libanius had the honor of instilling into his youthful mind the precepts of that philosophy, by the light of which his feet were ever after guided. Burning with a desire of seeing the mother of philosophy and science, and of being nourished under her peculiar care, Julian took up his abode at Athens. It was there he caught the inspiration of that fire, which, though now seemingly extinguished, had long since inflamed the breasts of a noble army of philosophers, statesmen, and even warriors.

As a philosopher, Julian undoubtedly excelled; Athens was proud of her youthful scholar, and even then looked up to him with a respect and pride, which plainly indicated his future greatness. She saw in him one whom she might rightly suppose would be the guardian and protector of her old age; and who at some future time might perhaps again rekindle the smouldering embers of her expiring freedom.

The shrill note of the war trumpet first aroused him from his calm seclusion; through the kindness of the Empress Eusebia, his constant patron, recalled to the court of Constantius, he was dignified with the royal prerogative of Cæsar, while the warlike province of Gaul was assigned to his supervision.

Leaving the Philosopher, we now behold him assuming, with the purple, the warlike abilities of a staunch and well-tried veteran; and never did general combine, in so eminent a degree, the science of philosophy and art with the tactics of war. At first he felt the embarrassment of his strange situation; he saw the dangers attending it; he heard the distant thundering of a war cloud, which, with all its

terrors, was soon to burst upon him; and the youthful philosopher, though surrounded by a crowd of congratulating and flattering courtiers, turned aside his head and wept when he remembered Athens. In vain he longed again to behold her classic groves; he sighed in vain to enter those halls made doubly sacred by the presence of Socrates and Plato; and when, preparing for the contest, he awkwardly repeated some military exercise necessary for him to learn, with a sigh he exclaimed, "O Plato, Plato! what a task for a philosopher!"

But the hour of trial at length approached. The Barbarians of the North, who, like a dark cloud had long been skirting the horizon of the Western Empire, attracted by the distant rumor of the plenty and fertility of the provinces of Gaul, gathered together their vast hordes, and commenced their tumultuous march. The rumor of their approach, spreading like wild-fire through the affrighted provinces, caused the spirit of the young Julian to tremble; and as he saw ascending to heaven the distant smoke of burning towns and villages, and heard the groans of the dying rending the air and calling aloud for vengeance, his heart sank within him.

To him the eyes, the hopes of all were now directed; the lives of thousands and ten thousands depended upon his wisdom and valor ; he saw the despairing province at his feet, and as he saw he pitied; he heard their commingling cries of fear and sorrow, and as he heard, his soul took fire. Combining the resolution of the philosopher with the aroused martial vigor of the soldier, he hastily gathered his scattered legions and steadfastly awaited the attack. The dark cloud which had so long been gathering blackness upon the shores of the Baltic, at length bursting with tremendous violence upon the banks of the Rhine, poured forth a deluge of Barbarians upon the fair provinces of Modern France. But the spirit of Julian was fully equal to the occasion; their clamorous war-shout shook the earth beneath his feet, but moved not his firm and resolute spirit. He awaited the proper moment, and then poured forth his impetuous legions to the attack. Like two opposing currents they met; amid the contending surges below, the Roman Eagle alternately rose and fell, till at lengh the hardy German, baffled by the skillful maneuvres of the philosophic Cæsar, retreated, leaving upon the field a mountain of slain. The modern Strasburg will ever preserve the memory of that day, so glorious to the rising reputation of the young Julian.

One of the chief characteristics of every great and successful general is expedition. While the Romans supposed Hannibal but as yet reveling amid the spoils of Saguntum, he had burst the barrier of the Alps, defeated their Scipio, and tempest-like swept the plains of Northern Italy. To this the first of the Cæsars owed his chief success; and to this the last was no less indebted. After the battle of Strasburg, Julian delayed not a moment. Crossing the Rhine, heretofore the boundary of the province, the Roman Eagles glistened amid the dark and gloomy forests of Southern Germany. His arrival was no less fearful than unexpected; attacking the defenseless nations whose

brave chiefs had fallen at Strasburg, he deluged Germany with the blood of its barbaric inhabitants. The Franks and Alemanni, prostrate before him, implored the mercy of the victorious Cæsar; while their haughty kings refused not to become the vassals of their illustrious conqueror. The Elbe and Oder will serve to mark the boundary of his conquests. After terminating a war, the success and glory of which can only be compared to the ancient Punic and Cimbric victories, the heroic chieftain repassed the Rhine, followed by six captive kings of Germany, and attended by twenty thousand captives whom he had rescued from barbaric servitude. The provinces of Gaul once more smiled in peace and plenty; and Julian felt that inward satisfaction ever attendant upon one on whom, with the liveliest gratitude, a whole nation smiles, and refuses not the glorious appellations of " Father" and "Founder."

Amid his many other shining qualities, those of benevolence and humanity are most conspicuous; and this, too, at a time in which it seemed to be the peculiar privilege of a Roman Governor to defraud and oppress his helpless province, rendered his character doubly illus

trious.

The tyrant Constantius, incapable of pity or remorse, had issued to the young Cæsar his mandate for the levy of an extraordinary tax. Julian well knew the enfeebled condition of his loyal subjects. They had surrendered not only their lives, but their property, to repel the inroads of the fierce Barbarian; and they were not in a condition to support an additional burden. He promptly refused, and thus incurred the censure of the selfish court of Constantius. Upon this occasion, in an epistle to a most intimate friend, his true character shines forth with an unclouded lustre. After stating his own conduct, with warmth and freedom he thus expresses himself:-"Was it possible for the disciple of Plato and Aristotle to act otherwise than I have done? Could I abandon the unhappy subjects entrusted to my care? Was I not called to defend them from the repeated injuries of these unfeeling robbers? God has placed me in this elevated post; His providence will guard and support me. Should I be condemned to suffer, I shall derive comfort from the testimony of a pure and upright conscience. If they think proper to send me a successor, I shall submit without reluctance; and had much rather improve the short opportunity of doing good, than enjoy a long and lasting impunity of evil." In these words did the heroic Cæsar breathe forth the true sentiments of his heart. His loyalty who could have suspected? Toward Constantius he felt the gratitude due to a benefactor; but to become the instrument of his oppression he would never consent.

The Emperor heard with displeasure of his noble resolution, and burning with hatred and jealousy, from that moment became his enemy. The base and artful sycophants who surrounded his throne, ceased not to urge him onward to a revenge as base and ignominious as it was unjust and cruel; and that arm which heretofore had been raised but to befriend and elevate, the young Cæsar now beheld lifted

to strike a deadly blow. Nevertheless, his patient and submissive spirit did not yet revolt.

The soldiers of Julian well knew and felt his danger and theirs. To be deprived of their chieftain was to them worse than death; there was but one alternative, and that they eagerly seized. At the dark hour of midnight, grasping their swords and bows and torches, they rushed into the suburbs of the city, encompassed the palace of their leader, and pronounced those fearful and irrevocable words, JULIAN AUGUSTUS. They fell heavily and sorrowfully upon his distracted heart; he rose from his restless slumbers, appeared in their midst, and urged them to return to their former allegiance to their sovereign. Their tumultuous shouts and the clashing din of their arms spoke too plainly their resolution; and Julian, the philosophic Julian, elevated upon a shield in their midst, was obliged to yield his reluctant assent. Overwhelmed with grief, he withdrew from their midst, and retired to the dark and secret recesses of his chamber. From henceforth the religion as well as the authority of Constantius he abjures forever.

But the martial history of our hero we must bring to a close. Having assembled his veterans, he forced the Alps, and in order of battle arranged his martial legions upon the plains of Illyricum. Here he awaited his opponent; but his opponent was no more. Sinking under the furious effects of passion and disease, the haughty Constantius had breathed his last, in the wealthy capital of Cilicia; and Julian the Philosopher now remained in undisputed possession of the world.

Here let us pause. We found our hero a despised exile, under the ban of the empire, and liable at any moment to be deprived of a life which seemed dear only to himself. We have seen him amid the groves of the Academy, unobtrusively pursuing the silent paths of science and philosophy; we have seen him when the war-cloud thundered its terrors over his head, and danger seemed to thicken from every quarter. But in all he has acquitted himself well, and his glory, though perhaps oftentimes obscured, has finally beamed forth with increased splendor. Henceforth we are to consider him in a new light. No longer does he study philosophy at Athens; no longer is his influence confined within the narrow boundaries of Gaul. Julian now sways the sceptre of the world. Whether as such he will remain true to the empire, the interests of others and his own, remains for us to show.

The Warrior, Statesman, and Philosopher, seem to be composed, so to speak, of entirely different materials. The combination of characters seemingly so diverse, is no easy thing to find. Alexander might conquer a world by his arms, but by his argument and eloquence alone, would fail to convince a council. Demosthenes, by his eloquence, might fire the reluctant breasts of the Athenians to revenge and glory; yet when he himself beholds Philip's angry brow, and his phalanx bristling with ten thousand spears, his spirit quakes, he casts away his shield, and is the first to fly. Diogenes might well pass his life within the narrow compass of his tub, prescribing his rigid rules of morality; for the cynic, in the council of the nation, or

at the head of her armies, would have appeared indeed a miserable spectacle.

For Julian it was reserved to combine the three; and having viewed him as the Soldier and Philosopher, he now, not only as an Emperor, but also as a Statesman, demands our attention.

The many causes which were fast driving the empire to ruin he had already considered, and now reached forward his powerful arm to sustain the sinking fabric. The pomp and prodigality of the royal household, draining the empire of its revenues, had, like a cankerworm, long been gnawing at its vitals; and Julian, who assigned this as the chief cause of its decline, was most zealous in a reformation of which, in himself we see a most illustrious example. He did not, like his predecessors, feast at tables groaning with the luxury of every clime. The frivolous and dissolute amusements of the age afforded no attraction to his philosophic temperament. At the circus the royal chair stood vacant, and no one appeared upon whom the licentious rabble could pour their fawning and abusive flattery. Pursuits far more weighty and noble occupied the moments of Julian. He knew and felt that the happiness of millions depended upon his wisdom and conduct; and this responsibility, which pressed like a mountain upon him, he labored to the utmost to discharge aright. In the language of an eloquent historian, "he recollected with terror the observations of his master Plato, that the government of our flocks and herds is always committed to beings of a superior species; and that the conduct of nations requires and deserves the celestial power of the gods or of the genii. From this principle he justly concluded that the man who presumes to reign, should aspire to the perfections of the divine nature; that he should purify his soul from her mortal and terrestrial part; that he should extinguish his appetites, enlighten his understanding, regulate his passions, and subdue the wild beast, which, according to the lively metaphor of Aristotle, seldom fails to ascend the throne of a despot.' In his reign many wise edicts were issued, and many licentious abuses were corrected; the diminished finances he in a great measure replenished; he recruited the wasted energies of the military power; and made one last, grand endeavor to restore the ancient religion of his fathers, by which he incurred the unreasonable and unjust epithet of "Apostate." Old Rome seemed for a moment to recover from her long stupor. Once again she reared her vengeful head, and encircling herself with her former majesty and power upon her throne, once again sat mistress of the world. The Barbarian looked with astonishment upon the change, and secretly adored the mighty genius by which it had been accomplished, while the insolent Persian bent beneath the power of his arm.

But this last convulsive effort of Rome was but a prelude to her more rapid ruin; it cost her her life. This sudden flush of glory upon her brow, was but the hectic flush of death. Her chief support, her last sustaining prop, the wise, the philosophic, the martial Julian, pierced by the javelin of the Persian Sapor, upon the barren sands of Armenia, poured out his blood, bravely contesting the cause of his de