r thanks, but for your safety;--I desire not to
defraud Valeria or Servilia of one caress, extorted from gratitude or
pity. Be my feelings what they may, I have learnt in a fearful school to
endure and to suppress them. I have been taught to abase a proud spirit
to the claps and hisses of the vulgar;--to smile on suitors who united
the insults of a despicable pride to the endearments of a loathsome
fondness;--to affect sprightliness with an aching head, and eyes from
which tears were ready to gush;--to feign love with curses on my lips,
and madness in my brain. Who feels for me any esteem,--any tenderness?
Who will shed a tear over the nameless grave which will soon shelter
from cruelty and scorn the broken heart of the poor Athenian girl? But
you, who alone have addressed her in her degradation with a voice
of kindness and respect, farewell. Sometimes think of me,--not with
sorrow;--no; I could bear your ingratitude, but not your distress. Yet,
if it will not pain you too much, in distant days, when your lofty
hopes and destinies are accomplished,--on the evening of some mighty
victory,--in the chariot of some magnificent triumph,--think on one who
loved you with that exceeding love which only the miserable can feel.
Think that, wherever her exhausted frame may have sunk beneath the
sensibilities of a tortured spirit,--in whatever hovel or whatever vault
she may have closed her eyes,--whatever strange scenes of horror and
pollution may have surrounded her dying bed, your shape was the last
that swam before her sight--your voice the last sound that was ringing
in her ears. Yet turn your face to me, Caesar. Let me carry away one
last look of those features, and then "--He turned round. He looked at
her. He hid his face on her bosom, and burst into tears. With sobs long
and loud, and convulsive as those of a terrified child, he poured forth
on her bosom the tribute of impetuous and uncontrollable emotion. He
raised his head; but he in vain struggled to restore composure to the
brow which had confronted the frown of Sylla, and the lips which had
rivalled the eloquence of Cicero. He several times attempted to speak,
but in vain; and his voice still faltered with tenderness, when, after a
pause of several minutes, he thus addressed her:

"My own dear Zoe, your love has been bestowed on one who, if he
cannot merit, can at least appreciate and adore you. Beings of similar
loveliness, and similar devotedness of affection, mingle