ful crisis with firmness; only entreating that she might be permitted to share her husband's fate. It was not until this request was refused, that she gave way to tears. When the officers of justice absolutely forbade her to accompany Pœtus, and when she found all her efforts to excite compassion were entirely fruitless, then indeed her misery knew no bounds. But her resolution did not forsake her. She offered a large sum of money to the owners of a fishing-boat, if they would take her on board and follow the vessel that contained her husband. Tempted by the promised reward, the fishermen consented to her proposition, and conveyed her safely to Rome. The senate, admiring her energy and strong affection, consented that she should be her husband's companion in prison. Here she gave way to no useless expressions of sorrow, but exerted herself to the utmost to support his spirits, and enliven his solitude, by her own cheerful fortitude.

When, at last, no hope of pardon remained, she urged him to avoid the ignomy of public execution by suicide. The advice was in accordance with the blind courage of those ancient times, when the light of the gospel was just dawning, and men had not learned the duty of perfect resignation to the will of God; but Pœtus, reluctant to part from her he loved, and perhaps still clinging to some faint hope of deliverance, resisted her entreaties. Finding her arguments ineffectual, she drew a dagger from her robe, and plunged it in her heart; then

offering the weapon to her husband, with a gentle smile, she said, " It pains not, my Pœtus."

Existence had now no value for the unhappy - with one desperate stroke his spirit followed

man

hers.

EPONINA,

WIFE OF JULIUS SABINUS.

JULIUS SABINUS, a nobleman of Gaul, revolted from Vespasian, and allowed the troops to address him as emperor. Being defeated in his bold undertaking, he set fire to his house, and caused the report to be spread that he had perished in the flames. After this, he hid himself in a large cavern of white marble and granite, about fifteen miles from Rome. Two of his freedmen were intrusted with the secret: and to their kind attentions the fugitive was for some time indebted for the most common necessaries of life. Eponina, believing her husband was dead, gave herself up to most heartrending grief. When the freedmen told Sabinus she had passed three days and three nights without food, he authorized them to inform her that he yet lived. These joyful tidings restored her at once to hope and happiness. She could hardly summon sufficient prudence to wait for the approach of night, before she

set off for the cavern. The delight, which her husband felt at seeing him, was mingled with anxiety and fear. He strenuously resisted her wish to remain with him in the cavern, on the ground that her absence from home would lead to detection, and involve them in ruin. This argument had its effect; Eponina contented herself with visiting him privately, and providing everything she could for his comfort and amusement. But as time passed on, and the fate of Sabinus seemed to be forgotten, she acted with less caution; often venturing to stay with him several months, under the pretence of visiting her relations. Always affectionate and cheerful, she enlivened her husband's dreary abode, and made him almost contented with his lot.

Twin children were born to them in the cavern ; and the innocent prattle of these little ones was a new source of pleasure. Thus nine years past away, and their fears had settled into quiet security. But alas, the frequent absence of Eponinawas observed by her husband's enemies, and her footsteps were traced to the cavern. Sabinus was dragged from his long concealment, and carried before the enraged emperor. His wife followed, in a state bordering on despair. She fell at Vespasian's feet, with her children, and begged for mercy, in a tone inspired by deep love and bitter agony; and the little twin saffected by their mother's sorrow, joined in her supplications. The people, could not refrain from tears at this heart stirring scene; and even the

emperor turned away his face to conceal his emotions. Then arose the loud voice of the multitude, "Pardon! Great Cæsar! Pardon this wretched and faithful pair!"

Vespasian was angry at this public compassion toward a rebel, and he ordered Sabinus and his wife to be immediately beheaded. When Eponina found there was no hope of mercy, she burst into a strain of impassioned eloquence. "Know, Vespasian," she exclaimed, "that in fulfilling my duty, and prolonging the days of your victim, I have enjoyed, in that dark cavern, years of happiness, which you, upon your splendid throne, will never know."

The only favor she could obtain, was leave to send her poor children a lock of their father's hair, her own picture, and some papers giving an count of their love and their misfortunes.

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After the death of their parents, the orphans were confined in a tower on the borders of the Tiber. The affectionate little ones refused all consolation, and absolutely pined away with grief. Day and night they moaned for their father and mother, and one morning they were found dead in each other's arms.

This affecting story has furnished a subject to many tragic poets. A painting representing the interview with Vespasian, received a prize from the National Institute of France.

MRS LAFAYETTE,

WIFE OF GENERAL LAFAYETTE.

WHEN La Fayette was imprisoned at Olmutz, in 1793, by the Austrian government, he was informed that he would never again see anything but the four walls of his cell. Even the jailers were forbidden to mention his name, and in the government despatches he was signified merely by a number. No visiters could gain access to him; no newspapers were allowed; and it was impossible for him to gain the least information concerning the fate of his family.

His wife, for a long time uncertain of his existence, was immured in the prisons of Paris, daily expecting to be led to the scaffold, where the greater part of her family had already suffered. During this alarming crisis, she spent much of her time in prayer. The death of Robespierre saved her; but she did not regain her liberty for some time after. The first use she made of her freedom was to set off for Vienna, with an American passport, and under a feigned name.

Here she succeeded in exciting the compassion of Prince de Rossenberg, by whose means she ob