e was founded upon vanity, and too high
a value for the opinion of mankind. The younger Pliny, with great
reason, prefers to this famed action that of a woman of low birth, whose
husband being seized with an incurable disorder, chose rather to perish
with him than survive him. The action of Arria is likewise much more
noble, whose husband Paetus, being condemned to death, plunged a dagger
in her breast, and told him, with a dying voice, "Paetus, it is not
painful." But the death of Lucretia gave rise to a revolution, and it
therefore became illustrious; though, as St. Augustine justly observes,
it is only an instance of the weakness of a woman, too solicitous about
the opinion of the world.

Virginius, in killing his daughter, to preserve her from falling a
victim to the lust of the decemvir Claudius, was guilty of the highest
rashness; since he might certainly have gained the people, already
irritated against the tyrant, without imbruing his hands in his own
blood. This action may indeed be extenuated, as Virginius slew his
daughter from a false principle of honor, and did it to preserve her
from what both he and she thought worse than death; namely, to preserve
her from violation; but though it may in some measure be excused, it
should not certainly be praised or admired.

ON LOOKING AT THE PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL FEMALE.

What dazzling beauties strike my ravish'd eyes,
And fill my soul with pleasure and surprise!
What blooming sweetness smiles upon that face!
How mild, yet how majestic every grace!
In those bright eyes what more than mimic fire
Benignly shines, and kindles gay desire!
Yet chasten'd modesty, fair white-robed dame,
Triumphant sits to check the rising flame.
Sure nature made thee her peculiar care:
Was ever form so exquisitely fair?
Yes, once there was a form thus heavenly bright,
But now 'tis veil'd in everlasting night;
Each glory which that lovely face could boast,
And every charm, in traceless dust is lost;
An unregarded heap of ruin lies
That form which lately drew ten thousand eyes.
What once was courted, lov'd, adored, and prais'd,
Now mingles with the dust from whence 'twas raised.
No more soft dimpling smiles those cheeks adorn,
Whose rosy tincture sham'd the rising morn;
No more with sparkling radiance shine those eyes,
Nor over those the sable arches rise;
Nor from those ruby lips soft accents flow,
Nor lilies on the snowy forehead bl