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Septimius Severus, when dangerously ill, sent to his eldest son what Spartianus calls the "divine speech" in which Micipsa urged his sons to keep peace with one another.

In the archaistic period which began in Hadrian's reign Sallust was of course especially popular and at that time a certain Zenobius even made a Greek translation of his works. He was a special favorite of the grammarians, who drew on him largely for illustrations, and he figures extensively in a list of expressions worthy of imitation, compiled by Arusianus Messius from Terence, Sallust, Cicero and Vergil. In addition to his brevity he made use of other rhetorical devices such as antithesis, alliteration, and the like, but with a restraint which is in contrast with the extremists of the reign of Nero. He devoted much attention to effective word order and aimed at variety or inconcinnity in place of uniformity of expression. The bold metaphors for which he was criticized by Ateius do not appear in his extant works, but may perhaps have characterized the lost portions of his Histories.

Sallust's influence apparently waned somewhat after the archaistic period, but only to reappear in Ammianus Marcellinus; in Dictys Cretensis, the author of a history of the Trojan war; in the Latin version of the history of the Jewish war under Titus and Vespasian, written by the so-called Hegesippus; and in Sulpicius Severus. Saint Augustine quotes him frequently, calling him "nobilitatae veritatis historicus.” Julius Exuperantius's account of the first Civil war is dependent wholly upon Sallust, and his influence extended into the Middle Ages.

In English, while the Catiline inspired Ben Jonson's play of the same title, the story of Jugurtha is represented by no extant drama. A tragedy bearing that name, written by William Boyle at the beginning of the seventeenth century, was destroyed by fire after a career of no great prominence or success, while a drama, composed by Dr. Gloster Ridley a century and a half later, seems never to have advanced beyond manuscript form. Longfellow's brief poem entitled "Jugurtha," presents a puzzle which might have been, and perhaps has been,

solved by a direct question to the poet, but of which I have found no satisfactory explanation. It begins as follows:

How cold are thy baths, Apollo!

Cried the African monarch, the splendid,
As down to his death in the hollow

Dark dungeons of Rome he descended,
Uncrowned, unthroned, unattended;
How cold are thy baths, Apollo!

The puzzle consists in the reference to the "baths of Apollo." Plutarch in his Marius tells us that as the Numidian king was lowered into the Tullianum, he exclaimed: "Hercules! How cold your bath is!” (Ηράκλεις, εἶπεν, ὡς ψυκρὸν ὑμῶν τὸ Baλaveîov.) Here of course "Hercules!" is an exclamation and not a vocative, while the plural vuv shows that the "baths," as the African monarch with grim humor called the damp and gloomy dungeon, are those of the Romans. Longfellow evidently quoted from memory, or these points could hardly have escaped a Harvard professor of Belles-lettres. Whether he forgot the name of the god or deliberately changed it can only be surmised; that the Greeks swore by Apollo, as well as by Hercules, probably has nothing to do with the case, since the poet did not remember that it was an oath. That the change was deliberate is perhaps suggested by the second, and concluding stanza, in which Apollo is certainly more appropriate than Hercules. It runs thus:

How cold are thy baths, Apollo!

Cried the poet, unknown, unbefriended,
As the vision, that lured him to follow,

With the mist and the darkness blended,
And the dream of his life was ended;
How cold are thy baths, Apollo!

Or did the Cambridge poet know his Plutarch better than we think and deliberately set a trap for the quidnuncs? With this question we may take our leave of Jugurtha and his historian.

HISTORICAL TESTS OF DEMOCRACY

BY EDWARD P. CHEYNEY

Professor of European History

There is scarcely a person in this room, I suppose who would not subscribe to the statement that democracy is the best form of government. And yet it is not a self-evident proposition. A form of government in which the learned and the ignorant, the thrifty and the unthrifty, the experienced and the inexperienced, all may exercise the same influence over the course of political events seems to need especially strong defense. This is, moreover, comparatively new doctrine. A great many of the most thoughtful writers and statesmen have doubted the wisdom and practicability of democracy as a form of government. English Liberals have claimed that England had a representative, but not a democratic type of government. Even now it is probable that our unanimity of support of democracy is one of the many hastily formed generalizations of the war. All over the world, in America and in Europe and in the East, many men are beginning to hesitate, to express doubts whether this was a war for democracy, and are advocating lines of policy that are inconsistent with a belief that the people should be allowed to choose their own form of government and decide on their own political action. And yet it would seem there should be some way in which the value of democracy as compared with other forms of government, could be tested. As a student of history I naturally turn to history for a possible solution. If we can find three periods in the history of some one country, in which the three principal forms of government, autocracy, aristocracy and democracy have existed respectively, and then see in which period that country was best governed, we ought to be able to reach a more satisfactory basis of belief than mere custom.

If the first few years of the seventeenth century in England

be compared with the first few years of the nineteenth century, and these again with the corresponding number of years which have just been completed, we will have three periods in the history of one country which were alike in many respects, but which were characterized, the first by an autocratic form of government, the second by an aristocratic or oligarchical form of government, the third by as nearly a democratic form of government, probably, as the world has yet known. The period from 1600 to 1618 covered the last three years of the reign of Queen Elizabeth and the first fifteen years of James I; the period from 1800 to 1818 covered the last years of the rational life of George III and the first years of the administration of his son George IV; the period from 1900 to 1918 covers the reign of Edward VII and what it may be hoped is but the early part of the reign of his present majesty, George V. The three periods were in many ways alike. Each was free from the personal equation of a single sovereign; each saw both peace and war; each included a crisis in the relations between England and her principal dependency, Ireland; each was a period of great achievement, and of each we have a vast amount of familiar knowledge.

As to form of government, during the first period, the last of the Tudors and the first of the Stuarts ruled as almost absolute monarchs. They appointed such ministers as they preferred, they called parliaments when they chose, controlled much of their action and dismissed them when they saw fit. They made war and peace with only the slightest of reference to the wishes of their subjects, and exercised wide and minute control over both civil and ecclesiastical affairs. The government of England then could fairly be called, according to the expression with which we are now so familiar, an autocratic government.

In the second period, 1800 to 1818, England was still, it is true, a monarchy in form, but a monarchy in which the powers of the king were so restricted that the centre of gravity of the government must be sought for not in the crown but in parliament. Parliament now met every year, exercised entire control

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