ing finished with his unqualified admiration and indorsement. This story is, however, of doubtful authenticity.

The plays of Terence are marked by the greatest purity of language, dividing the honors in this respect with the works of Cicero and Cæsar. In style they are very graceful, and display the moral elevation of a thoroughly cultivated mind. He could not endure anything approaching grossness, or the delineation of low vices. His comedies are not the equal of those of Plautus in life, bustle and humor, but display much more elegance and refinement of taste, and are also superior in consistency of plot and character, in tenderness, wit and metrical skill.

They contain many soliloquies, in which their author displays the highest ability in telling his story, and are marked by frequent just reflections and by a wit that is never forced. He is said to have lived and died in poverty, but it does not seem as if he could have been very poor, as he certainly received large sums of money for his plays. His works, like those of Plautus, have been studied as models by many modern playwrights. The names of the extant comedies are An'drian, Heç'yra, Heautontimorou'menos, Eunu'chus, Phor'mio and Adelphi.

We extract the following scene from the Andrian. The main points in the play are as follows: Pam'philus, the son of Simo, becomes attached to a girl of questionable character. Simo, meanwhile, had betrothed him to Philu'mena, the daughter of Chre'mes. Simo discovers his son's passion, but pretends that the marriage shall still take place, in order to test the young man's true sentiments. In this difficulty Pamphilus applies to Davus, a cunning and clever slave, who advises him to offer no opposition.

On the strength of this apparent yielding of his son Simo changes his plans, arranges that the marriage shall take place at once, and thus catches the plotters in their own trap. Pamphilus is in despair, and is inclined to re

venge himself on Davus for his unlucky advice. But the latter, by a shrewd trick, induced Chremes to refuse his assent to the marriage.

At this juncture Chremes discovers that Glyce' rium, the beloved of Pamphilus, is his own daughter, whom he had formerly intrusted to the care of his brother, now dead. Pamphilus thus finally obtains Glycerium as his wife, and the other daughter is given to a young lover, who has hitherto pressed his suit in vain.

The plot of this comedy, as Terence candidly informs his hearers, is taken from two plays of Menander, which have been skillfully welded into one.

THE FAIR ANDRIAN. ACT 3, SCENE 6.

Enter Davus, from the house of Simo.

Davus. I was coming to you.

Simo. Why, what is the matter?

Dav. Why is not the bride sent for? It is now growing late in the day.

Sim. Do you hear me? I have been for some time not a little apprehensive of you, Davus, lest you should do that which the common class of servants is in the habit of doing, namely, imposing upon me by your artifices.

Dav. What! I do that?

Sim. I fancied so; and, therefore, fearing that, I concealed from you what I shall now mention.

Dav. What?

Sim. You shall know; for now I almost feel confidence in you. Dav. Have you found out at last what sort of a person I am? Sim. The marriage was not to have taken place.

Dav. How? Not to have taken place?

Sim. But I was making pretense, that I might test you all. Dav. (Affecting surprise.) What is it you tell me?

Sim. Such is the fact.

Duv. Only see; I was not able to discover that. Dear me, what a cunning contrivance!

Sim. Listen to this. Just as I ordered you to go from here into the house, he (pointing to Chremes) most opportunely met me. Dav. (Aside.) Ha! Are we undone, then?

Sim. I told him what you just now told me.

Dav. (Aside.) Why, what am I to hear?

Sim. I begged him to give his daughter, and with difficulty I prevailed upon him.

Dav. (Aside.) Truly ruined!

Sim. (Overhearing him speaking.) Eh! What was it you said? Dav. Extremely well done, I say.

Sim. There is no delay on his part now.

Chremes. I'll go home at once.

aration, and bring back word here.

I'll tell her to make due prep.

[Exit

Sim. Now I do entreat you, Davus, since you have yourself brought about this marriage for me

Dav. I myself, indeed!

Sim. Do your best still to reform my son.

Dav. Troth, I'll do it with all care.

Sim. Do it now, while his mind is agitated.

Dav. You may be at ease.

Sim. Come then; where is he just now?
Dav. A wonder if he is not at home.

Sim. I'll go to him; and what I have been telling you I'll tell him as well.

[Exit.

Dav. (To himself.) I'm a lost man! What reason is there why I should not take my departure straightway for the mill? There is no room left for supplicating. I have upset everything now. I have deceived my master, I have plunged my master's son into a marriage. I have been the cause of its taking place this very day, without his hoping for it, and against the wish of Pamphilus. Here is cleverness for you! But if I had kept myself quiet no mischief would have happened. (Starting.) But see! I espy him. I am truly undone! Would that there were some spot here for me from which I might this instant pitch myself headlong. (Stands apart.)

Enters Pamphilus, in haste, from Simo's house.

Pam. Where is he? The villain who this day. I am ruined, and I confess that this has justly befallen me, for being such a dolt, so devoid of sense; that I should have intrusted my fortunes to a frivolous slave! I am suffering the reward of my folly. Still he shall never get off from me unpunished for this.

Dav. (Apart.) I am quite sure that I shall be safe in future, if for the present I get clear of this mishap.

Pam. But what now am I to say to my father? Am I to deny

that I am ready, who have just promised to marry? With what effrontery could I presume to do that? I know not what to do with myself.

Dav. (Apart.) Nor I with myself, and yet I am giving all due attention to it. I will tell him that I will devise something, in order that I may procure some respite in this dilemma.

Pam. (Catching sight of him.) Oho!

Dav. (Apart.) I am seen.

Pam. (Sneeringly.) How now, good sir, what are you about? Do you see how dreadfully I am hampered by your devices? Dav. Still, I will soon extricate you.

Pam. You extricate me?

Dav. Assuredly, Pamphilus.

Pam. As you have just done, I suppose.

Dav. Why, no better, I trust.

Pane. What, am I to believe you, you scoundel? You, indeed, make good a matter that is all embarrassment and ruin! Just see in whom I have been placing reliance -. You this day, from a most happy state, have been and plunged me into a marriage. Did not I say that this would be the case?

Dav. You did say so.

Pam. What do you deserve?

Dav. The cross. But allow me a little time to recover myself. I will soon hit upon something.

Pam. Ah me! not to have the leisure to inflict punishment on you as I desire! For the present conjuncture warns me to take precautions for myself, not to be taking vengeance on you. [Ex.

Riley.

THE EARLY ROMAN POETRY.

POETRY is the first form of the literature of all nations who develop a literary spirit of their own. This spirit Rome cannot be said to have possessed, in those primitive days of her history in which men first begin to weave their thoughts into ordered compositions. We have already seen that she was in possession, to a certain extent, of carols, songs and hymns, but that these metrical productions were rude in form, and unworthy of the name of literature.

When Rome reached that period in her history in which the works of Greek authors forced themselves on her attention, her character as a nation was formed, and her tastes were not at all likely to be those of a primitive epoch. As we have already perceived, the drama was the earliest form in which this borrowed literature appealed to the minds of her citizens. Their practical disposition, too, aroused in them a regard for prose literature long before they showed any aptitude for poetry, and prose in its most utilitarian form, history in the form of dry annals, oratory as dry, and jurisprudence. There was a certain degree of poetic ability displayed by the dramatists, but it is doubtful if it was appreciated as such by their earlier hearers.

Of course, with the passion for Greek literature that rapidly developed among the educated classes, Greek poetry did not remain without its admirers, and the epics written by Nævius and Ennius on the early history of Rome probably aroused a degree of national pride in their readers, and may have been the more admired in that day for their unpolished and annalistic form.