"I speak not of Trajan," quoth he, very

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gravely; " I speak of the evil sway of custom, and the foul coercion of opinion, compared to which Kingly, or Cæsarean despotism is less than flax to brazen fetters.Rome! imperial Rome! is one mighty prison! and her noblest spirits are enslaved!"

"I understand you not," quoth she, gazing earnestly upon his averted face.

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I should have known nothing of it," replied he, “had I never deserted my paternal valley for the vain pleasures of Athens, and the magnificence of Rome."

"You repent," said she, "that you ever visited Italy ?"

I

"And if I leave Italy," quoth he, "who,

pray you, will regret my departure? Licinius is enraged with me-I can scarcely

bear to look in his face, and if he throws

-

me off, where shall I bury my griefs, of which his desertion is the least ?"

"You talk of this orator," she replied, in a haughty tone," you talk of this most

eloquent Licinius, as if he were as great a man all the world over, as he is in his little corner of the Forum. If you have offended him, it was in my service,-and think ye I am not able to make up for all of which Licinius can deprive you ?-Speak-command me-say what I can do for you, and it shall be done."

Hereupon the manly breast of the philosopher was distended with a heavy sigh; having given vent to which, he laid his hand upon his forehead, but no winged word escaped the barrier of his lips.

"By Jove!" whispered Sabinus, scarcely able to contain himself,-" by Jove, he has it!'tis the most Stoical malady of the heart."

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Xerophrastes," resumed the lady, “I pray you deal with me openly. If it be your wish to leave Rome, speak, and I shall put it in your power to retire to Greece as handsomely as you could ever have hoped to do from the family of Licinius. Of

wealth, as you well know, I have enough both for myself and for my faithful friends, among whom, be sure, I place you in the first rank. Controul your feelings, I pray you once more-and speak freely."

The philosopher lifted his hand from his face, looked upon the lady with eyes that glistened, or seemed to glisten, with emotion, and then clasped his brows again, as if wanting words or courage to express his wishes or his feelings. She, in the mean time, continued to regard the melancholy man with an aspect of so much anxiety, that -why should I deny it ?—I half suspected her of sharing the suspicion of Sabinus. After a pause of some moments, during which both preserved the same attitudes, Xerophrastes at last seemed in some measure to recover himself, and once more uncovered his eyes, which, however, he lifted not from the ground. The lady laid her delicate fingers upon the strong hand which rested upon the knee of the Stoic, and urged

him, apparently in a tone of yet greater kindness than before, to make her the confidante of his griefs. It was then that the native boldness of the Thracian seemed to overcome the timidity of the dependent and the rhetorician. Hastily and fervently he pressed his lip upon the beautiful hand of Rubellia, and whispered something into her ear. She started, and I think blushed in the moonlight; but neither seemed offended very deeply with what he had said, nor with the gesture he had used.

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Softly, softly," whispered again the Centurion, very bitterly; "be not ashamed, fair lady, of the love of thy servant.”*

But (whether the echo of our whispers had reached her ear or not, I cannot tell,) scarcely had these words been uttered, ere Rubellia started from her seat, and began to move pretty quickly down the shaded alley, as if towards the entrance of the gar

Ne sit ancillæ tibi amor pudori.-HOR.

dens. Xerophrastes sate still for a moment, even after the lady had arisen, covering his eyes, and part of his broad forehead with his hands, as if buried in his own thoughts too deeply to be with ease affected with a sense of things passing around him. Then, at last, he arose, and uttering an exclamation of surprise, walked after the noble dame, taking heed, however, (it did not escape our observation,) to arrange, as he rapidly followed her, the massive folds of his mantle into a graceful drapery. We very soon lost sight of them among the drooping boughs of the sycamores and old lime-trees, and the sound of their retreating footsteps died away upon the surface of the smooth green turf.

Sabinus with difficulty restrained himself till they were beyond the reach of his voice; but he then made himself ample amends by the violence of the laughter in which he began to indulge. "Ha!" said he, "is this to be the end of it? Most pen