6
UNIVERSITY COURIER.
at night, that life will pass away mid the most delightful and entrancing dream. And we wonder that so many thousand creatures live, when death would be better for themselves and their friends. The miner, working in the deep, cold bowels of the earth, pouring his life out in drops, upon the unyielding rocks, as day after day he toils laboriously to keep soul and body together and the wolf from the door of his home, loves this life of ignoble toil as intensely and vividly as the purse-proud aristocrat. Let him who enjoys a few of the comforts which intelligence and industry have kindly given him, behold one of these ignorant, begrimed and dirty toilers, let him ask himself whether he would rather exchange with this man, mind for mind, condition for condition, or die, and he will choose the latter. Is life so sweet, is existence so dear that we would hold it, cling to it, embrace it, even though it be clothed in rags and filth? Could anyone reared amid luxury; accustomed from infancy to all the comforts of life; surrounded by friends; beloved by all,—could that one be called a coward, if shorn of wealth and friends, reduced to direst poverty—aye, to beg from door to door—he should snuff life's flickering candle ere it fell and smothered itself in its own woe? Looking at the question from a cold, dispassionate standpoint, weighing it with judicial care, we say—yes. But it is contrary to human nature—the heartfelt sympathy of all who possess one spark of human passion goes out to the man or woman who, seeing dishonor, disgrace, poverty, grim and horrid, staring him in the face, reaching out the skinny fingers to clutch his heart, ends his life and misery.
At the corners of two of the principal streets in a prosperous city, sits or rather crouches a poor, crippled, disfigured wretch, whose repulsive features almost push the passerby away. Upon a card which hangs about his neck is written his pitiful tale, and asks the passerby just for a little to keep him alive. One glance at the sight is sickening. You see the whitened, disfigured eyeballs, the repulsive features, the distorted limbs, the crooked body, and you turn away with a smothered word of pity and disgust. Day after day the silks and satins of wealth sweep past this solitary poverty-stricken accursed wretch. God would forgive him were he to drag himself to some deep pool and end his life. And pity the one who would begrudge him the boon. No one loves him, denied even by his mother, he sits solitary and alone.
Is it strange that so many people are led to the reflection "that the sweetest breath that mortal draws is that which parts him from this life of trouble?" From the first breath of the babe to the last sigh of withered age, during that vast space of years. Small indeed compared with eternity, disappointments crowd upon each other thick and fast, the dreams of youth are dispelled by the rude realities of age; and when the sands of life are few and run fast, and the weight of years crowd heavily on, one feels that he, too, must fall into line with
The crowd untold,
Of men by the cause they served unknown,
Who lie in the myriad graves of old,
With never a story, and never a stone.
The philosopher has, with labored logic, tried to prove that life is worth living We were placed on this earth they say, not for our own happiness but like the trees.
to do for the happiness of others. Then, like the trees, and flowers, that only live through one season giving their benefits to man and then dying, so man should live forever passive, a puppet for the use of more fortunate ones. His life is not his own. The world owes him a living. If he must play jester in the King's court, the King must see that he is fed and clothed. Even when old and decreped and childish, a nuisance to his friends and a bore to mankind in general, he must still wait for the summons of the Reaper—Death.
BOADICEA.
We are accustomed to look upon the Roman, at and near the time of Christ, as the personification of all that is noble and brave, and upon the inhabitants of England at this time as uncoath, inferior, barbarians. True they had not the refinement and culture of the Romans.
They were course, unpolished, rude men. But buried beneath all this there may be seen even at this early period, sparks of true manhood which once being aroused has burnt on and on until the whole world has caught the flame, and every nation been animated and elevated by its power.
For example let us compare Charactacus with the cotemporary Roman Emperor, Claudius, and his wife with Agrippina the wife of Claudius. Let us look at him as he stands before that master of almost the whole civilized world. He in a captive's chains, Claudius with a victor's crown. His long light hair falling gracefully over his broad, manly shoulders. His face wearing an expression of defiance. He asks for nothing. In haughty silence he stands before the weak. Cowering Claudius, who, though surrounded by Roman sentiments, trembles at the piercing glance of that rough chieftain. How striking, too, is the contrast between his wife and Agrippina, as she kneels a suppliant at her feet. How different are their homes. Her's but a miserable hovel. Agrippina's a luxuriant palace. How different, too, are the feelings which rules their hearts, the motives which animate their actions. She, moved by love and loyalty, has risked her life to plead for that of her husband. Agrippina soon afterward moved by bare ambition becomes the murderer of Claudius.
Nor do these characters stand alone. Not for long afterward we leave Boadicea. To this queen of the little Icenian tribe we look with admiration almost equal to reverence. Her husband Prasutagus, the king of the Icenia, dying left the emperor Nero, successor of Claudius, and his own two daughters joint heirs to his great wealth hoping thereby to preserve his family and kingdom from the severity of the conquerors. Throughout her whole life Boadicea vividly exemplified that spirit of defiance of all tyranny, which has been a characteristic of her race. The Roman Centurian soon took command of her kingdom, and, she for some imaginary offense, was publicly scourged. This outrage aroused her tribe and their neighbors to a rebellion. Taking advantage of the absence of Suetonius the Roman governor, from that part of England Boadicea bravely lead her force of barbarians against the Romans. They quailed before her, 70,000 were put to flight.
Luctonius hurried to the scene of action. The last battle was fiercely contested. Boadicea rode fearlessly along the ranks of the Brittons. With fiery eloquence she reminded them of the misfortunes of the nation, of