Rome has retrieved her defeats. She has recovered under Metellus what under Regulus she lost. She has routed armies. She has taken unnumbered prisoners. She has struck terror to the hearts of the Carthagenians, who have now sent me hither with their ambassadors, to sue for peace, and to propose that, in exchange for me, your former Consul, a thousand common prisoners of war shall be given up. You have heard the ambassadors. Their intimations of some unimaginable horror, I know not what, impending over myself, should I fail to induce you to accept their terms, have strongly moved your sympathies in my behalf.

Another appeal, which I would you might have been spared, has lent force to their suit. A wife and children, threatened with widowhood and orphanage, weeping and despairing, have knelt at your feet, on the very threshold of the Senate-chamber. "Conscript Fathers! Shall not Regulus be saved? Must he return to Carthage to meet the cruelties which the ambassadors brandish before our eyes?" -With one voice you answer, "No!" Countrymen! Friends! For all that I have suffered, for all that I may have to suffer, I am repaid in the compensation of this moment. Unfortunate you may hold me; but, Oh! not undeserving. Your confidence in my honor survives all the ruin that adverse fortune could inflict. You have not forgotten the past. Republics are not ungrateful. May the thanks I cannot utter bring down blessings from the gods on you and Rome!

Conscript Fathers! There is but one course to be pursued. Abandon all thought of peace. Reject

the overtures of Carthage. Reject them wholly and unconditionally. What! Give back to her a thousand able-bodied men, and receive in return this one attenuated, war-worn, fever-wasted frame, this weed, whitened in a dungeon's darkness, pale and sapless, which no kindness of the sun, no softness of the summer breeze, can ever restore to health and vigor! It must not, it shall not be! O! were Regulus what he was once, before captivity had unstrung his sinews and enervated his limbs, he might pause; he might proudly think he were well worth a thousand of the foe; he might say: "Make the exchange! Rome shall not lose by it!" But nowalas! now 'tis gone,-that impetuosity of strength, which could once make him a leader, indeed, to penetrate a phalanx or guide a pursuit. His very armor would be a burthen now. His battle-cry would be drowned in the din of the onset. His sword would fall harmless on the opponent's shield. But, if he cannot live, he can at least die, for his country. Do not deny him this supreme consolation. Consider, that every indignity, every torture, which Carthage shall heap on his dying hours, will be better than a trumpet's call to your armies. They will remember only Regulus, their fellow-soldier and their leader. They will forget his defeats. They will regard only his services to the Republic. Tunis, Sardinia, Sicily, every well-fought field, won by his blood and theirs, will flash on their remembrance and kindle their avenging wrath. And so shall Regulus, though dead, fight as he never fought before against the foe.

Conscript Fathers! There is another theme. My family, forgive the thought!-To you, and to

Rome, I confide them. I leave them no legacy but my name, no testament but my example.

Ambassadors of Carthage! I have spoken, though not as you expected. I am your captive. Lead me back to whatever fate may await me. Doubt not that you shall find, to Roman hearts, country is dearer than life, and integrity more precious than freedom.

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS
FROM GHENT TO AIX

-ROBERT BROWNING.

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three. "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts

undrew;

"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride for stride, never changing our

place;

I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the peak right,

Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,

Nor galloped less steadily Roland, a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twillight dawned

clear;

At Boom a great yellow star came out to see;
At Duffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be;
And from Mechlin church steeple we heard the
half-chime,

So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland, at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray.

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back

For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;

And one eye's black intelligence,-ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance. And the thick, heavy spume-flakes which aye and

anon

His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris: "Stay spur!

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, We'll remember at "Aix"; for one heard the quick

wheeze

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees,

And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,
As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;

The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff;

Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

"How they'll greet us!"-and all in a moment his

roan

Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her

fate,

With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without

peer;

Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is,-friends flocking round As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground,

And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of

wine,

Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.