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The palaces and domes of Carthage were burning with the splendoro of noon, and the blue waves of her harbor were rolling and gleaning in the gorgeous sunlight. An attentive ear could catch a low murmur, sounding from the
centre of the city, which seemed like the moaning of the wind before a tempest. And well it might. The whole people of Carthage, startled, astounded by the report that Kegulus had returned, were pouring, a mighty tide, into the great square before the Senate House. There were mothers in that throng, whose captive sons were groaning in Roman fetters ; maidens, whose lovers were dying in the distant dungeons of Rome; gray-haired men and matrons, whom Roman steel had made childless ; men, who were seeing their country's life crushed out by Roman power ; and with wild voices, cursing and groaning, the vast throng gave vent to the rage, the hate, the anguish of long Foars.
Calm and unmoved as the marble walls around him, stood Regulus, the Roman! He stretched his arm over the surging crowd with a gesture as proudly imperious, as though he stood at the head of his own gleaming cohorts. Before that silent command the tumult ceased--the halflittered execration died upon the lip--so intense was the silence, that the clank of the captive's brazen manacles amote sharp on every ear, as he thus addressed them :
** Ye doubtless thought, judging of Roman virtue by your own, that I would break my plighted faith, rather than by returning, and leaving your sons and brothers to rot in Roman dungeons, to meet your vengeance, Well, I could give reasons for this return, foolish and inexplicable as it seems to you ; I could speak of yearnings after immortality--of those eternal principles in whose pure light a patriot's death is glorious, a thing to be desired; but, by great Jove! I should debase myself to dwell on such high themes to you. If the bright blood which feeds my heart were like the slimy ooze that stagnates in your veins, I should have remained at Rome, saved niy life and broken my oath. If, then, you ask, why I have come back, to let you work your will on this poor body which I esteem but as the rays that cover it-enough reply for you, it is because I am a Roman! As such, here in your very capital I defy you! What I have done, yo never can undo; what we may do, I care not. Since first my young arm knew how to wield a Roman sword, have ! not routed your armies, burned your towns, and dragged your generals at my chariot wheels? And do ye now expect to see me cower and whine with dread of Carthaginian vengeance ? Compared to that fierce mental strifo wbich my heart has just passed through at Rome, the piercing of this tlesh, the rending of these sinews, would be thage. The generous people, with loud wailing, anil wildly-tossing gestures, bade me stay. The voice of a beloved mother-her withered hands beating her breast, her gray hairs streaming in the wind, tears flowing down her furrowed cheeks--praying me not to leave her in her lonely and helpless old age, is still sounding in my cars. Compared to anguish like this, the paltry tormenis you have in store is as the murmur of the meadow brook to the wild tumult of the mountain storm. Go! bring your threatened tortures ! The woes I see impending over this ated city will be enough to sweeten death, though every nerve should tingle with its agony. I die-but mine shall be the triumph ; yours the untold desolation. For every drop of blood that falls from my veins, your own shall pour in torrents! Wo, unto thee, O Carthage! I see thy homes and temples all in flames, thy citizens in terror, thy women wailing for the dead. Proud city! thou art doomed! the curse of Jove, a living, lasting curse is on thee! The hungry waves shall lick the golden gates of thy rich palaces, and every brook run crimson to the sea. Rome, with bloody hand, shall sweep thy heart-strings, and all thy homes shall howl in wild response of anguish to her touch. Proud mistress of the seil, disrobed, uncrowned and scourged--thus again do I devote thee to the infernal gods !
"Now, bring forth your tortures! Slaves ! while ye tear .this quivering tesli, remember how often Regulus has beaten your armies and humbled your pride. Cut as he would have carved you! Burn deep as his curse !"
HERE SHE GOES—AND THERE SHE GOES.
Two Yankee wags, one summer day,
The breakfast over, Tom and Will
Tom and the landlord in amaze
“You mean the clock that's ticking there? I see no wonder, I declare ; Though may be, if the truth were told, 'Tis rather ugly-somewhat old ; Yet time it keeps to half a minute, But, if you please, what wonder's in it ?
“Tom, don't you recollect,” said Will,
“ You remember,
"Well, if I would, the deuce is in it !"
“Don't make us wait;
While his left hand, as well as able,
He heard them running down the stair,
His mother happened in, to see
“Here she goes-and there she goes !!! " Here! where 71-the lady in surprise Ilis finger followed with her eyes ;
Son, why that steady gaze and sal ?
“Here she goes-and there she goes !»
“Lawks !” screamed the wife, “I'm in a whirl! Run down and bring the little girl; She is his dariins, and who knows