been done in all countries, since man was placed upon the earth, is a
laudable curiosity, and an ennobling pursuit. To form a correct opinion
of the characters thus presented us, affords useful exercise to the
judgment. Those who have delighted only to shed blood, and to build
their fame on the misery of mankind, should not be admired though the
world may pronounce them heroes.
In reading of the truly wise and good, we should strive to imbibe their
spirit and tread in their steps. The highest end of knowledge is to
advance in goodness and piety, and to make the heart and life more
acceptable to God.
The Ploughing of the Sword.
"They shall beat their swords into Plough-shares." Isaiah, II,
4.
The ploughing of the Sword
Breaks up the greensward deep,
And stirs the old foundations
Where the baleful passions sleep;
The quiet beauty of the vales
It rudely rends away,
And turns the roots of the riven flowers
To the scorching eye of day.
And then, they madly sow
The seeds of bitter strife,
Ambition, wrath, revenge,
And stern contempt of life.
They wildly scatter o'er the land
Dissension, pain, and care,
And fright away the birds of peace
That fain would carol there.
Now call the reapers forth,
With the thundering cannon's roar,
Hark! to the rush of an armed host
Like the surge on a rocky shore,
With tramp and clang, the warrior's heel
Doth the red wine-press tread,
And heavily roll the loaded wains
With their burdens of the dead.
They reap with murderous sickle,
Mid the shrill trumpet's cry,
Till the mightiest and the lowest,
In equal ruin lie.
Till the screaming vulture whets his beak,
Where the blood-pools blot the green,
And the gaunt hyena prowls at night
His dire repast to glean.
They store their carnage spoil
In History's garner wide,
A reeking overflowing crop
Of crime, and woe, and pride,
The widow's pang, the orphan's tear
The exulting tyrant's might,
And the cry of souls for ever lost,
As they take their fearful flight.
Oh! mourning Mother Earth,
Lift up thy heart and pray
That the ploughing of the sword
Be for ever done away,
And thine own meekly-cultur'd fields
With nodding corn be dress'd,
To feed thy children, ere they take
Their slumber in thy breast.
And thou, terrific Sword!
Whose ministry accurs'd
Doth waste the span of mortal life
That was so brief at first,
God speed the day when promis'd Peace
Shall reign from shore to shore,
And thou, into a plough-share beat,
Convulse the world no more.
The Good and Bad Emperor.
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus was the seventeenth Emperor of Rome, and began
his reign on the 2nd of March, 161 years before the Christian era.
Besides these three names, he had several others, _Annius Verus_, after
his grandfather; _Elius_, which was given him by the Emperor Adrian;
_Verissimus_, from his constant regard to truth; and _Philosophos_, from
his love of wisdom.
In early childhood he was instructed by his mother, who took great pains
to teach him not to do wrong, or to think unkindly of any person. She
would not permit him to be dainty in his food, or to partake in luxuries
that might be hurtful to his health; and though he saw much to tempt his
taste, he regarded the restrictions of his mother. She also counselled
him not to be proud, but to relieve the poor whenever he had
opportunity. By his respect and obedience to her, he began life with the
elements of virtue and happiness.
His grandfather also conducted a part of his education, in childhood. He
listened reverently to his words, and followed all his directions. Thus,
he began to honour and love the aged, and to bow down before them. In
one of the wise books which he wrote in manhood, the very first
sentences are expressive of gratitude to these his earliest teachers.
"Of my grandfather, I learned to be gentle and meek, and to refrain from
all anger and passion. Of my mother, I learned to be religious and
bountiful, to forbear not only to do, but to intend any evil; to content
myself with a spare diet, and to fly all the excesses that come from
great wealth."
Not content with the high moral training of his immediate instructors,
he was careful to imitate whatever he saw that was praiseworthy in the
conduct of others. "Of my brother," he writes, "I have learned to be
kind and loving to all of my house and family, bountiful and liberal in
the largest measure, always to hope for the best, and to believe that my
friends love me."
As he grew older, masters were called in to direct his studies. Two of
these were from Greece, and he acquired the language of that classic
clime with great accuracy. Junius Rusticus, his instructor in
philosophy, he says, "taught me to write letters simply, and without
affectation, to be easily reconciled to those who had offended me, as
soon as any of them would be content to seek unto me again; also, to
read with diligence, and never to be content with light and superficial
knowledge."
He was particularly partial to that department of philosophy which
teaches the regulation of the temper and conduct. Such excellence did he
attain in its principles and their exemplification, that he was
permitted to assume, at the age of twelve, the philosophical gown. His
rapid progress in knowledge, and preeminence for truth and integrity,
gained him the favour of the Emperor Adrian, who was a patron of
learning and virtue. Among other distinctions, he appointed him prefect
of the city, when only fifteen years old. It was an office of power and
importance, comprising the superintendence of buildings, and navigation,
and the judging of causes, as a chief magistrate, if the Emperor should
be absent from the city. In this responsible station, he acquitted
himself with justice and dignity, not at all vain of his elevation, but
improving every opportunity to advance in knowledge.
Amid the pressure of his public offices and private studies, he did not
overlook the domestic affections. To his sister Annia Corneficia, he
showed the utmost tenderness. He liked to impart his knowledge to her,
and to have her enjoy the new ideas that he gathered. After the death of
their father, he became her watchful protector, and the paternal estate
having been left to him, he presented it to her, rejoicing at having it
in his power to make her so valuable a gift. His generosity was equalled
by his gratitude. When he became Emperor of Rome, he remembered all who
had done him services, and recompensed them. Especially to his teachers,
his regard was unbounded. His obligations to them he frequently
mentioned, and said the knowledge with which they had stored his mind
was more precious than the wealth of an empire. While they lived, he
loaded them with benefits. When they died, he paid to their memories the
tribute of affectionate respect. He laid chaplets of flowers on their
tombs, and caused their statues to be made of gold, which he kept in his
domestic chapel.
In this feature of attachment to his instructors he resembled Alexander
the Great, who was never weary of testifying gratitude to his master,
Aristotle. Comparing it to the affection for his father, he said, "I am
indebted to Philip for _living_, and to Aristotle for _living well_." He
rebuilt and beautified Stagyra, after it had been destroyed, because it
was the native place of Aristotle, and enclosed a copy of Homer's poems,
to which this beloved preceptor had written notes, in a gold box,
carrying it wherever he went with his armies, and laying it under his
head every night, when he retired to rest. In a letter to his teacher,
he says, "I had rather surpass the rest of men in the knowledge of
sublime and excellent things, than in greatness and extent of power."
More truly great was Alexander in this sentiment, than in his renown as
a warrior. And surely, in the beautiful sentiment of gratitude to our
instructors in knowledge and virtue, we, who are Christians, ought not
to suffer ourselves to be surpassed by the followers of false gods.
When Marcus Aurelius was raised to the highest office in the Empire, he
felt it incumbent on him to be the father of his people. He strove to do
good to all. He laboured to frame just laws. He directed the courts to
take a longer time for the transaction of business, that they might not
be tempted, through haste, to neglect the causes of the poor. So great
was his own industry and patience, that he not unfrequently gave ten
days to the study of a case whose decision was important or difficult.
He showed great respect for the opinion of the Senate, and never took
any portion of the revenue for public expenses without their permission.
He evinced much prudence in the use of what they entrusted to him. Once,
when the claims of the nation were peculiarly pressing, he said to his
wife, the Empress Faustina,
"I will sell the furniture of my palace, and you can dispose of your
richest clothing, rather than burden our people to part with more than
they can spare."
He was anxious for the improvement of the young, and appointed a
magistrate to whom minors might apply, who needed protection or
assistance. He was careful to add an example of morality to the
precepts that he impressed on others. Though he had power to punish, it
was his practice to forgive those who had done him personal injuries. He
had a foe, named Avidius, whose slanders he generously pardoned.
Afterwards, hearing that Avidius had destroyed his own life, he said,
"Ah! I have now lost the opportunity of changing an enemy into a
friend."
He also cultivated the virtue of patience with the infirmities of
others. "If we cannot make them in all things as we wish them to be," he
used to say, "we must take them as they are, and do the best with them
that lies in our power." This principle of forbearance was strongly put
to the test by Lucius Verus, his colleague during the earlier part of
his reign. This person rendered little aid in the cares of the
government, whose authority he partook. He led an idle life, and
selfishly regarded only his own wishes. He possessed much vanity, and
coveted popular applause, though he did nothing to deserve it. He liked
the pomp and pageantry of war, but not its hardships. Though he was
forward to promote it, yet he threw its toils upon others, and when in
distant countries with the Roman armies, spent his time in indolence or
unmanly sports. He was addicted to indulgence in wine, and a luxurious
table. Hence he injured his health, and probably shortened his days,
dying suddenly in a fit, ere he was forty years old.
The efforts that Marcus Aurelius made for his improvement and
reformation, were like those of a kind father, anxious for his erring
son. He mildly reasoned with him, and faithfully advised him, and
laboured to excuse his faults, even when the whole nation was
exasperated.
The command over his passions, which was so conspicuous in Marcus
Aurelius, he derived from long study and practice of that Philosophy to
which he was so much attached, as to call it his "mother." He made
choice of the sect of the Stoics, who were sometimes called scholars of
the Portico, because their master gave his lectures in a portico adorned
with pictures, at Athens, in Greece. Zeno, the founder of this school of
philosophers, discouraged luxury, and the pride of wealth. He set an
example of great simplicity of life, dressing plainly, and being frugal
in all his expenses. Bread, figs, and honey, were his principal diet,
and when the most distinguished men sat at his table, he made no change
in its provisions. He was modest in the estimation of himself, and amid
any concourse of people, sought the humblest and lowest place. To poor
men of merit, he paid the same respect as if they had been rich. He had
many opposers, but never lost his temper through their provocations. He
taught that virtue was the true good, that happiness existed in the mind
and not in outward circumstances, and that men should be unmoved either
by pleasure or pain. His temperance and tranquil spirit were probably
favourable to longevity, as he died on the verge of ninety-nine, two
hundred and sixty-four years before the Christian era.
Marcus Aurelius embodied some of the precepts of his philosophy in a
book which has been praised by wise and learned men. As a specimen of
its style, I will extract some of his sentiments on the diligent
improvement of time.
"In the morning, if thou feelest reluctant to rise, consider how much
work thou hast to do. Say to thy heart, Am I unwilling to go about that
for which I was born, and brought into this world? Was I made to please
myself idly, in a warm bed?
"Wert thou born only to enjoy pleasure? Was it not rather that thou
mightest be always busy, and in action? Seest thou not how every tree
and plant, how sparrows and ants, spiders and bees, are industrious and
intent to perform what belongs unto them? And wilt not thou hasten to do
that which thy nobler nature doth require?"
In his Meditations he thus reasons on the firmness with which this
mortal existence should be resigned; and his argument is as strong as
any that philosophy, unenlightened by the Gospel, could furnish.
"Thou hast taken ship. Thou hast sailed. Thou hast come to land. Get out
of the ship into another life. The Gods are there."
Yet this good Emperor, who seemed as perfect as it was possible for
pagan morality and belief to make any human being, still had faults. One
of the most prominent of these was persecuting the Christians. That a
man so habitually mild should have been thus severe, can only be
explained on the principle that he believed himself to be doing right.
Thus the Apostle Paul, when he imprisoned and punished the followers of
Christ, and consented to the stoning of Stephen, "calling upon God,"
persuaded himself that he was discharging a sacred duty.
Marcus Aurelius was much influenced by the priests of the heathen
temples, who were jealous of whatever interfered with their own
idol-worship, and also by the philosophers, who despised the Christians.
Much of the barbarity to which they were subjected was hidden from him,
as the governors of the distant provinces put many to death without his
knowledge. Still, he ought to have more thoroughly investigated the
truth with regard to them, and had he been acquainted with the New
Testament, would doubtless have admired its pure and sublime morality.
Another of his faults was, that he so often engaged in war when he did
not approve of it, but considered it both a calamity and disgrace. It
has been already mentioned that his colleague, Lucius Verus, was proud
of military parade, and encouraged bloodshed. The Romans, also, were an
iron-hearted people, placing their glory in foreign conquest. Any
disorder in the countries that they had subjected, they were prompt to
punish by the sword.
On one such occasion, when Marcus Aurelius led an army into Germany, to
chastise the Quadi, a tribe who had rebelled against the sway of Rome,
some remarkable circumstances occurred. It was a wild region which he
traversed, where it was difficult to obtain sustenance. The troops were
in danger of famine. The heat was intense, and no rain had fallen for a
long time, so that the grass was withered, and many of their horses
perished. The brooks and fountains wasted away, and they endured
distressing thirst. The enemy shut them up between the mountains and
themselves, preventing as far as possible their approach to the rivers.
Then in this weak condition they forced them to give battle or be cut
off.
It was pitiful to see the Roman soldiers standing in their ranks, with
enfeebled limbs and parched lips, almost suffocated with heat. For four
days they had scarcely tasted water. As their barbarous enemies pressed
closely and fiercely upon them, the Emperor advanced to the head of his
forces, and, oppressed with anxiety, raised his eyes to heaven, and
said,
"By this hand, which hath taken no life away, I desire to appease Thee.
Giver of life! I pray unto Thee."
Poor and empty, indeed, was this form of heathen devotion, contrasted
with the triumphant trust of the king of Judah, who, when the mighty
host of the Ethiopians stood ready to swallow him up, exclaimed,
"It is nothing for God to help, whether by many or by them that have no
power."
Then it was told the Emperor, that there was in the camp an Egyptian,
who boasted that the gods of his country could give rain.
"Call him forth!" was the imperial command, "bid him pray for water to
relieve our thirst, and make to his gods any offerings that spirit
propitiate them."
The dark-browed man came forward and with many ceremonies invoked Isis,
the goddess who presided over the waters. He implored her with the most
piercing earnestness to be gracious, and give rain. Thus the
idol-priests, during the long drought in Israel, under Ahab, when the
grass and brooks dried up, and the cattle died, cried in their frantic
sacrifices, "from morning until noon, Oh Baal! hear us. But there was no
voice, neither any that regarded."
In the pause of despair that ensued, some Christian soldiers, who had
been constrained to join the army, were led forward. Kneeling on the
glowing sands, they besought the Great Maker of heaven and earth, for
the sake of their dear crucified Saviour, to pity, and to save. Solemnly
arose their voices in that time of trouble.
But the interval allotted to this supplication of faith was brief. The
conflict might no longer be deferred. As they approached to join in
battle, the enemy exulted to see the Roman soldiers perishing with
thirst, and worn almost to skeletons, through famine and hardship.
Suddenly the skies grew black. At first a few large drops fell, Heaven's
sweet promise of mercy. Then came a plentiful shower, then rain in
torrents. The sufferers, with shouts of joy, caught it in their helmets,
and in the hollow of their shields. The blessed draught gave them new
strength and courage.
While they were yet drinking, their foes rushed upon them, and blood was
mingled with the water that quenched their thirst. But the storm grew
more terrible, with keen flashes of lightning, and thunder heavily
reverberating from rock to rock. The barbarians, smitten with sudden
panic, exclaimed that the gods fought against them with the fires of
heaven, and fled from the field. Thus the fortune of the day was turned,
and the vanquished left victors.
Marcus Aurelius received this deliverance with deep gratitude. In his
heart he connected it with the prayer of the Christians, and caused
their persecutions to cease. An ancient historian mentions that the
soldiers who had thus supplicated for relief, received the name of the
"thundering legion," and were permitted to have a thunderbolt graven on
their shields, as a memorial of the tempest that had discomfited their
enemies, and saved the Roman forces, when ready to perish. The Emperor,
in his letter to the Senate, recorded the events of that wonderful
occasion, which, among others connected with the war he then conducted,
were sculptured on the Antonine column, still standing in the city of
Rome.
When the career of Marcus Aurelius terminated, and his time came to die,
he gave parting advice to his son and successor, Commodus, solemnly
charging his chief officers and the friends who loved him, to aid him in
the discharge of his duties. Though he uttered so many precepts of
wisdom and fatherly tenderness, it still seemed as if much was left
unspoken, which he would fain have said. Anxious care sat upon his brow
after his pale lips breathed no sound. It was supposed that this trouble
was for his son, in whose right dispositions and habits he could have
little confidence.
Commodus was the only son of Marcus Aurelius, his twin brother having
died during infancy. The utmost pains had been taken with his education.
But he had no love of knowledge, preferring sports or idleness, having
no correct value of the preciousness of time.
When he was but fourteen years of age, his father permitted him to have
a share in the government, hoping thus to elevate him above trifling
pursuits, and implant in his young heart an interest for the people over
whom he was appointed to rule. But no sooner was he in possession of
power, than he began to abuse it. He grew haughty, and despised the
rights of others, studying only his own selfish gratification.
He was nineteen, when, by the death of his father, he assumed the
supreme authority. For a time his course was more judicious than could
have been expected, as he consented to take the advice of aged
counsellors, who were experienced in the cares of state. Afterwards, he
rejected their guidance, and would listen only to the suggestions of
young and rash advisers. Ere long he became unjust and cruel, taking
away life as his own caprices dictated.
Among some of his most illustrious victims were the Quintillian
brothers, Maximin and Cardianus. They were distinguished for wealth and
liberality, and a zealous kindness in relieving the poor. They were also
remarkable for their mutual affection, their studies and pleasures being
the same. They read the same books, and so uniform was their flow of
thought, that they could pursue together the composition of the same
treatise. Such delight had they in each other's company, that they were
seldom seen separate, and had no idea of divided or opposing interests.
Rome admired this beautiful example of fraternal love, pointing them
out as two forms animated by one soul. Without just cause, Commodus put
to death these two brothers, who, having lived in each other's life,
were executed at the same time.
In the midst of such barbarities, this bad Emperor was amusing himself
with the hunting of wild beasts, and the company of vain and vicious
people. His excesses were at length terminated by violence, being
strangled after a reign of twelve years, December 31st, 192. His memory
was execrated by those over whom he had ruled. Indolence and hatred of
knowledge in his boyhood, and love of wicked associates in youth,
brought the vices of a bad heart to early ripeness, so that he was at
once dreaded and despised.
In analyzing his character, it will be found in two respects similar to
that of Rehoboam, king of Israel, in his rejection of the advice of aged
counsellors, to follow the guidance of the young, and in being the
unwise son of a wise father.
We see that the honours won by illustrious ancestors will avail us
nothing, unless by our own virtues we sustain their reputation. Indeed,
if we take a different course, our disgrace will be deeper, as the
career of the bad Emperor, which we have briefly traced, seems darker
when contrasted with the lustre and glory of his predecessor.
Therefore, let every child of a good and distinguished parent, give
added diligence, that he may not blemish the memory of those whom he
loves, or stain the brightness of a transmitted name.
Bonaparte at St. Helena.
The drama sinks, the tragic scene is o'er,
And he who rul'd their springs, returns no more;
He, who with mystery cloth'd, pale wonder chain'd,
And all mankind his auditors detain'd,
Whose plot unfolding agoniz'd the world,
Resigns his mask, and from the stage is hurl'd.
When from the wilds of Corsica he broke,
To snatch the sceptre and to bind the yoke,
He rais'd the curtain with his dagger's blade,
And pour'd red carnage o'er the slumbering shade.
His fearful plan, terrific, strange, and new,
Nor Fancy prompted, nor Experience drew,
It sprang inventive from a daring mind
Where dauntless nerve and intellect combined;
Thence bursting wildly, like the lightning's flame,
Gave birth to deeds that language fails to name.
With battle-clouds the shrinking sun he veil'd,
With flashing fires astonish'd Night assail'd,
By ravag'd fields, and streams with carnage red,
Trac'd o'er the earth his desolating tread: