unless it be a picture merely of some little religious community. There religion would be the ruling idea; but on the world's face it is gain.

As the natural result of what has been just pointed out in these Letters, their style is calm. The repose of ancient art is thrown over every scene. It just satisfies, but does not disturb the mind of the beholder. The creative spirit of the work seems not anxious about consequences, but goes calmly on creating. No apologizing self-consciousness obtrudes itself upon us. It never thinks to ask, "Am I right," for the very reason that it is right. And yet this is not the calmness of indifference. There is plenty of life here; there are tremendous energies at work; momentous events are woven into the plot, and they are not trifled with; proud natures are struggling betwixt self-love and destiny. Nay, true love struggles against destiny. Our Piso himself, in love with the divine. Julia, (what passion can be purer ?) has to hear his suit denied by Zenobia, and to see his angel sacrificed, like most marriageable princesses, to the policy of nations; and yet small stir enough does he seem to make about it: his letters flow on as calmly as before. Here is a sin which most modern novelists would have feared to commit, and thereby spoiled their book.

This is certainly not an exciting book. It does not thrill us as we read. We see all through a calm medium of contemplation, which softens down every harsher feature. It all moves on with a panorama-like stillness. Many would call this a fault, and say it betrayed feebleness, a too passive and unsympathizing mood. But no- the most revolting, spiritstirring events sink into perfect calmness as we rise high enough. The still blue heavens contain and look down upon unheard of writhings, and convulsions, and internal conflicts, which seem to disturb the world to him who sees but a piece of it. The fairest, stillest scene we ever look upon hides agonizing throes, which it is well they are not all on the outside. The calmest style is not inconsistent with the deepest feeling, and the most active spirit. Art throws this repose over all, without having to leave out any thing. We look calmly upon the writhings of the Laocoon, for Art has touched it with her idealizing wand.

For this reason we like the book. It is a calm, contented book. It is full of faith; not anxious to make things out so or so, but takes all as right, as it comes from the hand of

Providence. We are interested in the young Roman's progress in the Christian books; we want to see him become a convert; we infer that he does become so, but this is no where distinctly told us; this thread is dropped in the course of the development of more imposing events.

We cannot speak from much knowledge about the historical truth of these Letters. The fortunes of Zenobia form one of the most beautiful episodes in Gibbon's History. As to the principal events of her short, but glorious reign, and the political and social condition of the world at that time, they adhere to him very faithfully. Nor does her importance in the eyes of the world, nor her wonderful combination of beauty and energy in person and character, seem to be overrated. It is the privilege of Art to exalt a little. Yet the Zenobia of these Letters seems not too ideal a being, by the side of the Zenobia of history. History itself becomes ideal more or less, when persons and not statistics are its subject. So commanding a character as this lives in the heart and imagination of her age; and probably the most glowing romance could not exalt her more than she stood exalted there. It is not Zenobia, carefully weighed and judged, exactly as she was, abstracted from the circumstances which helped out her appearance, care being taken to make her neither too good nor great; but it is Zenobia as mirrored on the face of her times. This is the truest history after all. Aurelian, too, answers well to the picture in the Augustan Histories; ambitious, energetic, stern, with no taste for greater glories than those of war, a very demon in the fight, yet honorable, with a proper respect for fallen greatness, and indignation for the meanness which could betray it into his hands. The letters weave in some of Gibbon's little anecdotes of him. Thus, during the siege, when Zenobia attempts to escape from the city through an old secret conduit, which leads under the Roman camp into the plain beyond, they come to a ruined arch in the passage, where light breaks through from above, and Roman soldiers are heard talking about the cruel fate of a soldier whom the Emperor had caused, for licentious conduct, to be torn limb from limb by being fastened to two trees bent forcibly together and then suffered to spring apart. This is one of the instances which Gibbon gives of his cruel and severe discipline.

As to customs, manners, costumes, localities, &c., we are

not enough versed in antiquities to judge of their entire accuracy. They have every internal mark of consistency and truth. We detect no anachronisms, or things out of place, excepting perhaps one or two, scarcely worth noticing. The state of philosophy, religion, and art, as here described, accords with all we know of them at that time.

Whether true to artificial life or not, these books are always true to human nature. A tender sensibility pervades them, quick to catch every side-gleam of moral truth, to seize upon every revelation of the heart. It is full of little touches of nature. Every where we catch little glimpses from the wayside, and hear sounds from behind us and about us, which marvellously increase our security, and make us feel at home on nature's ground. In several instances children play a beautiful part. The following little scene occurs upon the walls of the city. The little Faustula and Livia, the queen's daughters, are with Julia and Piso, watching the departure of the army.

6

"Why, sister,' said Faustula, whom I held, and in pointing out to whom the most remarkable objects of the strange scene I had been occupied, why does our mother love to go away and kill the Romans? I am sure she would not like to kill you,' looking up in my face, and are not you a Roman ? She will not

6

let me hurt even a little fly or ant, but tells me they feel as much to be killed, as if Sapor were to put his great foot on me, and tread me into the sand.'

But the Romans,' said Julia, are coming to take away our city from us, and perhaps do us a great deal of harm, and must they not be hindered?'

"But,' replied Faustula, 'would they do it if Zenobia asked them not to do it? Did you ever know any body who could help doing as she asked them? I wish Aurelian could only have come here and heard her speak, and seen her smile, and I know he would not have wanted to hurt her. If I were a queen I would never fight.'

"I do not believe you would,' said I, you do not seem as if you could hurt any body or any thing.'

"And now is not Zenobia better than I? I think perhaps she is only going to frighten the Romans, and then coming home again.'

"O no

do not think so,' said Livia, 'has not Zenobia fought a great many battles before this? If she did not fight battles, we should have no city to live in.'

"If it is so good to fight battles, why does she prevent me

from quarrelling, or even speaking unkindly. I think she ought to teach me to fight. I do not believe that men and women ought to fight any more than children, and I dare say if they first saw and talked with one another before they fought, as I am told to do, they never would do it. I find that if I talk and tell what I think, then I do not want to quarrel. - See! is that Zenobia? How bright she shines! I wish she would come back.' "Wait a little while, and she will come again,' said Livia, ' and bring Aurelian perhaps with her! Should you not like to see Aurelian?'

"No, I am sure I should not. I do not want to see any one that does not love Zenobia.'

"So the little child ran on, often uttering truths, too obviously truths for mankind to be governed by, yet containing the best philosophy of life. Truth and happiness are both within easy reach. We miss them, in fact, because they are so near. We look over them, and grasp at distant and more imposing objects, wrapped in the false charms which distance lends." Vol. II. pp. 82, 83.

Again, after the return of the routed and confused army into the city, we have the following.

"I stood leaning upon a pile of shields, which the soldiers, throwing off their arms, had just made, and watching them as they were, some disencumbering themselves of their armor, others unclasping the harness of their horses, others arranging their weapons into regular forms, and others, having gone through their first tasks, were stretching themselves at rest beneath the shadow of their tents, or of some branching tree. Near me sat a soldier, who, apparently too fatigued to rid himself of his heavy armor, had thrown himself upon the ground, and was just taking off his helmet, and wiping the dust and sweat from his face, while a little boy, observing his wants, ran to a neighboring fountain, and filling a vessel with water, returned and held it to him, saying, Drink, soldier, this will make you stronger than your armor.'

"You little traitor,' said the soldier, art not ashamed to bring drink to me, who have helped to betray the city? Beware, or a sharp sword will cut you in two.'

"I thought,' replied the child, nothing daunted, that you were a soldier of Palmyra, who had been to fight the Romans. But whoever you may be, I am sure you need the water.'

"But,' rejoined the soldier, swallowing at long draughts, as if it had been nectar, the cooling drink, do I deserve water, or any of these crowds here, who have been beaten by the Romans, and so broken the heart of our good queen, and possibly lost her her throne? Answer me that.'

"You have done what you could I know,' replied the boy, 'because you are a Palmyrene, and who can do more? I carry round the streets of the city, in this palm-leaf basket, date cakes, which I sell to those who love them. But does my mother blame me because I do not always come home with an empty basket? I sell what I can. Should I be punished for doing what I can

not?'

"Get you gone, you rogue,' replied the soldier, 'you talk like a Christian boy, and they have a new way of returning good for evil. But here, if you have cakes in your basket, give me one and I will give you a penny, all the way from Antioch. See! there is the head of Aurelian on it. Take care he dont eat you up or at least your cakes. But hark you, little boy, do you see yonder, that old man with a bald head, leaning against his shield, go to him with your cakes.'

"The boy ran off.

"Friend,' said I, addressing him, 'your march has not lost you your spirits, you can jest yet.'

"Truly I can, if the power to do that were gone then were all lost. A good jest in a time of misfortune, is food and drink. It is strength to the arm, digestion to the stomach, courage to the heart. It is better than wisdom or wine. A prosperous man may afford to be melancholy, but if the miserable are so, they are worse than dead - but it is sure to kill them. Near me I had a comrade whose wit it was alone that kept life in me upon the desert. All the way from Emesa, had it not been for the tears of laughter, those of sorrow and shame would have killed me." Vol. 11. pp. 104, 105.

The style of these Letters is clear and transparent, always simple and unaffected. There is now and then a little awkwardness in the construction of sentences, and occasional instances of at least doubtful grammar. If there be any faults of style it is monotony. It is calm and unvaried, never broken or impassioned, and never rising into the lyric. It is always best in the narrative parts, and in descriptions of quiet beauty. It loves the still summer scene. It is not a nervous or sententious style; it is diffuse and flowing. It has more beauty than strength. Every thing comes through a contemplative medium. Language only subserves the pictorial fancy of the artist. Hence the wonderful distinctness with which images are grouped. Every thing is steadily reflected as upon still waters. Evidently the conceptions all shaped themselves first to the eye. We extract a specimen of these soft summer views.