by public penance. The
Caesar submitted nobly to the noble demand; and the repentance of
Theodosius is the last scene in the downward career of the Caesars, which
can call forth a feeling of admiration and respect.

In January 395 Theodosius died; and after him came the deluge.

The Empire was parted between his two worthless sons. Honorius had the
west, Arcadius the east; while the real master of the Empire was Stilicho
the Vandal, whose virtues and valour and mighty stature are sung (and not
undeservedly) in the pompous verses of Claudian. Of the confusion which
ensued; of the murder (well-deserved) of Rufinus, the infamous minister
whose devout hypocrisy had so long cajoled Theodosius; of the revolt and
atrocities of Gildo in Africa, you must read in the pages of Gibbon.
These lectures confine themselves, at present, to the history of the
Goths.

In January 395, I said, Theodosius died. Before the end of the winter
the Goths were in arms, with Alaric the Balth at their head. They had
been refused, at least for the time, the payment of their usual subsidy.
He had been refused the command of the Roman armies. Any excuse was
sufficient. The fruit was ripe for plucking. The wrongs of centuries
were to be avenged. Other tribes crost the Danube on the ice, and joined
the Goths; and the mighty host swept down through Greece, passing
Thermopylae unopposed, ransoming Athens (where Alaric enjoyed a Greek
bath and a public banquet, and tried to behave for a day like a Roman
gentleman); sacking Corinth, Argos, Sparta, and all the cities and
villages far and wide, and carrying off plunder inestimable, and troops
of captive women.

Stilicho threw himself into the Peloponnese at Corinth to cut off the
Goths, and after heavy fighting, Alaric, who seems to have been a really
great general, out-manoeuvred him, crost the Gulf of Corinth at Rhium,
with all his plunder and captives, and got safe away into northern
Greece.

There Arcadius, the terrified Emperor of the East, punished him for
having devastated Greece, by appointing him Master-General of the very
country which he had ravaged. The end was coming very near. The Goths
lifted him on the shield, and proclaimed him King of the West Goths; and
there he staid, somewhere about the head of the Adriatic, poised like an
eagle in mid-air, watching Rome on one side, and Byzant on the other,
uncertain on which quarry he should swoop.

He made up his mind for Rome. He wou