ceedingly disgusted all wise and compassionate Syracusians. Hermocrates, who was very famous for his probity and justice, attempted to make some remonstrances to the people; but they would not hear him; and the shouts which echoed from all sides prevented him from continuing his speech. At that instant, an ancient man* venerable for his great age and gravity, who in this war had lost two sons, the only heirs to his name and estate, made his servants carry him to the tribunal for harangues; and, the instant he appeared, a profound silence was made. "You here behold," says he, "an unfortunate father, who has felt more than any other Syracusian the fatal effects of this war, by the death of two sons, who formed all the consolation, and were the only supports of my old age. I cannot, indeed, forbear admiring their courage and felicity in sacrificing to their country's welfare a life which they would one day have been deprived of by the common course of nature; but then, I cannot but be sensibly affected with the cruel wound which their death hath made in my heart; nor forbear hating and despising the Athenians, the authors of this unhappy war, as the murderers of my children. But, however, I cannot conceal one circumstance, which is, that I am less sensible for my private afflictions, than for the honour of my country; and I see it exposed to eternal infamy, by the barbarous advice which is now given you. The Athenians, indeed, merit the worst kind of treatment that could be inflicted on them, for so unjustly declaring war against us: but have not the gods, the just avengers of crimes, punished them, and avenged us sufficiently? When their generals laid down their arms, and surrendered, did not they do this in hopes of having their lives spared? And if we put them to death, will it be possible for us to avoid the just reproach of our hav ing violated the law of nations, and dishonoured our victory by unheard-of cruelty! What, will you suffer your glory to be thus sullied in the face of the whole world; and have it said that a nation who first dedicat * Nicolaus. : ed a temple to Clemency, had not found any in yours? Surely, victories and triumphs do not give immortal glory to a city but the exercising mercy towards a vanquished enemy, the using moderation in the greatest prosperity, and the fearing to offend the gods by a haughty and insolent pride. You doubtless have not forgotten that this Nicias, whose fate you are going to pronounce, was the very man who pleaded your cause in the assembly of the Athenians; and who employed all his credit, and the whole power of his eloquence, to dissuade his country from embarking in this war. Should you, therefore pronounce sentence of death on this worthy general, would it be a just reward for the zeal he showed for your interest? With regard to myself, death would be less grievous to me, than the sight of so horrid an injustice committed by my countrymen and fellow-citizens." DIOD. 1. 13. p. 149. COMPASSION. SENTIMENTS. COMPASSION is the sense of our own misfortunes in those of another mau. It is a wise foresight of the disasters that may befal us; which induces us to assist others, in order to engage them to return it on like occasions so that the services we do the unfortunate are in reality so many anticipated kindnesses to ourselves. Compassion proper to mankind appears; EXAMPLES. THE Sicilians in general exercised a kind of tyranny over their slaves; but a citizen of Enna, a city in the centre of the island, by name Damophilus, had made himself more odious than the rest by his cruelties tó a great number of those unhappy men, who cultivated his farge possessions. They were all marked with a hot iron in their foreheads, shut up every night in close prisons, and let out early in the morning to their daily labours in the fields; though, at the same time, they were scarcely allowed the necessary provisions to support themselves. On the other hand, Megallis, the wife of Damophilus, was no less cruel towards the slaves of her sex; exacting their tasks with insupportable rigour, and causing them to be unmercifully whipped for the least fault. These two tyrants had a daughter, who was very different from themselves: though she was very young, she had good-nature enough to pity the afflicted. She often alleviated their sufferings, appeased her furious mother, supplied as far as she was able the wants of the necessitous; and, in short, was the only refuge of those unhappy persons. We are sorry history has not transmitted to us the name of this humane and virtuous young, woman. The oppressed slaves, not being able to bear any longer the unspeakable miseries they groaned under, entered into a plot against the authors of them. On the day appointed, the slaves in the city joined their comrades in the country, to the number of four hundred, ou Damophilus's estate, armed with forks, hooks, and other instruments of husbaudry and, marching directly to Enna, surprised, and pillaged it. As Damophilus was gone with his wife and daughter, to take the air in a garden near the city, Ennus, who had taken upon him the office of general, sent a party to seize him, which was done with the greatest circumstances of barbarity: however, they treated the daughter with all the humanity and respect due to her virtue: so true it is that goodness commands regard, even from the most furious. Ennus, being now master of Enna, assembled the slaves he commanded in the public theatre; and, having erected a kind of tri bunal, commanded -Damophilus and his wife to be brought before him, in order to be tried. Some of the slaves were accusers, others witnesses, and the multitude judges: Ennus presided, and gave the accused leave to speak in their defence. But, while Damophilus was endeavouring to raise compassion, and some began to show pity for him, Hermias and Quexis, two of the slaves whom he had treated with great cruelty, came up to him, and with repeated blows dispatched him. His wife Megallis was sentenced to be delivered up to the slaves of her own sex, whom she had treated without mercy. These furies set no bounds to their cruelty; inflicted on their mistress every torment that revenge could invent; and, at length, after having satiated their rage, threw her down a precipice, which put an end to her unhappy life. As for the daughter, she was treated with the ut most respect; conducted with the unanimous consent of all to Catena, and there delivered untouched into the hands of her relations. LIV. Epit. 1. 56. DIOD. SIC. in exerpt. VESPASIAN, the Roman Emperor, was so far from seeking the destruction of any man, that he could not behold, without many sighs and tears, even the greatest criminals led to execution. IT was a custom with Alexander the Great to oblige the captive women whom he carried along with him to sing songs after the manner of their country. He happened among these women to perceive one who appeared in deeper affliction than the rest; and who by a modest, and at the same time a noble confusion, discovered a greater reluctance than the others to appear in public. She was a perfect beauty; which was very much heightened by her bashfulness, whilst she threw her eyes on the ground, and did all she could to conceal her face. The king soon imagined, by her air and mien, that she was not of vulgar birth; and inquiring into it, the lady answered, that she was grand-daughter to Octius, who not long before had swayed the Persian sceptre, and daughter of his son; that she had married Hystaspes, who was related to Darius, and general of a great army. Alexander being touched with compassion, when he heard the unhappy fate of a princess of the blood royal, and the sad condition to which she was reduced, not only gave her her liberty, but returned all her possessions and caused her husband to be sought for, in order that she might be restored to him. Q. CURT. 1. vi. c. 6. THIS prince was naturally of so tender and humane a disposition, as made him sensible of the afflictions of persons in the lowest rank. A poor Macedonian soldier was one day leading before him a mule, laden with gold for the king's use; the beast being so tired that he was not able either to go or sustain the load, the mule driver took it up and carried it, but with great difficulty, a considerable way. Alexander seeing him just sinking under the burthen, and going to throw it on the ground, in order to ease himself from it, cried out, “ Friend, do not be weary yet; try and carry it quite through to thy tent, for it is all thy own." AS Alexander drew near the city of Persepolis, he perceived a large body of men, who exhibited a memorable example of the greatest misery. These were about four thousand Greeks, very far advanced in years; who, having been made prisoners of war, had suffered all the torments which the Persian tyranny could inflict. The hands of some had been cut off, the feet of others, and others again had lost their noses and ears; after which, the Persians having impressed by fire, barbarous cha racters on their faces, had the inhumanity to keep them as so many laughing-stocks, with which they sported perpetually. They appeared like so many shadows rather than men ; speech being almost the only thing by which they were known to be such. Alexander could not refrain from tears at this sight; and, as they unanimously besought him to commiserate their condition, he bid them with the utmost tenderness, not to despond; and assured them, that they should again see their wives and native country. This proposal, which one might suppose should naturally have filled them with joy, |