shown
himself as least worthy of his high name. Middleton, who certainly loved
his hero's memory and was always anxious to do him justice, condemns
him. "It cannot be denied that in this calamity of his exile he did not
behave himself with that firmness which might reasonably be expected
from one who had borne so glorious a part in the Republic." Morabin, the
French biographer, speaks of the wailings of his grief, of its injustice
and its follies. "Ciceron etait trop plein de son malheur pour donner
entree a de nouvelles esperances," he says. "Il avait supporte ce
malheur avec peu de courage," says another Frenchman, M. Du Rozoir, in
introducing us to the speeches which Cicero made on his return. Dean
Merivale declares that "he marred the grace of the concession in the
eyes of posterity"--alluding to the concession made to popular feeling
by his voluntary departure from Rome, as will hereafter be
described--"by the unmanly lamentations with which he accompanied it."
Mommsen, with a want of insight into character wonderful in an author
who has so closely studied the history of the period, speaks of his
exile as a punishment inflicted on a "man notoriously timid, and
belonging to the class of political weather-cocks." "We now come," says
Mr. Forsyth, "to the most melancholy period of Cicero's life, melancholy
not so much from its nature and the extent of the misfortunes which
overtook him, as from the abject prostration of mind into which he was
thrown." Mr. Froude, as might be expected, uses language stronger than
that of others, and tells us that "he retired to Macedonia to pour out
his sorrows and his resentments in lamentations unworthy of a woman." We
have to admit that modern historians and biographers have been united in
accusing Cicero of want of manliness during his exile. I propose--not,
indeed, to wash the blackamoor white--but to show, if I can, that he was
as white as others might be expected to have been in similar
circumstances.

We are, I think, somewhat proud of the courage shown by public men of
our country who have suffered either justly or unjustly under the laws.
Our annals are bloody, and many such have had to meet their death. They
have done so generally with becoming manliness. Even though they may
have been rebels against the powers of the day, their memories have been
made green because they have fallen like brave men. Sir Thomas More, who
was no rebel, died well, and crowned a good life by his