where the interests of the state required concealment, all pains were taken to give the utmost publicity to the whole proceedings of the Senate. The number of the Senate varied, but in the time of Cicero, it was nearly the same as the British House of Commons; but it required a larger number to make a quorum. Sometimes there were between 400 and 500 members present; but 200, at least during certain seasons of the year, formed what was accounted a full house. This gave to senatorial eloquence something of the spirit and animation created by the presence of a popular assembly, while at the same time the deliberative majesty of the proceedings required a weight of argument and dignity of demeanour, unlooked for in the Comitia, or Forum. Accordingly, the levity, ingenuity, and wit, which were there so often crowned with success and applause, were considered as misplaced in the Senate, where the consular, or prætorian orator, had to prevail by depth of reasoning, purity of expression, and an apparent zeal for the public good. It was the authority of the Senate, with the calm and imposing aspect of its deliberations, that gave to Latin oratory a somewhat different character from the eloquence of Greece, to which, in consequence of the Roman spirit of imitation, it bore, in many respects, so close a resemblance. The power of the Areopagus, which was originally the most dignified assembly at Athens, had been retrenched amid the democratic innovations of Pericles. From that period, everything, even the most important affairs of state, depended entirely, in the pure democracy of Athens, on the opinion, or rather the momentary caprice of an inconstant people, who were fond of pleasure and repose, who were easily swayed by novelty, and were confident in their power. As their precipitate decisions thus often hung on an instant of enthusiasm, the orator required to dart into their bosoms those electric sparks of eloquence which inflamed their passions, and left no corner of the mind fitted for cool consideration. It was the business of the speaker to allow them no time to recover from the shock, for its force would have been spent had they been permitted to occupy themselves with the beauties of style and diction. “Applaud not the orator,” says Demosthenes, at the end of one of his Philippics, “but do what I have recommended. I cannot save you by my words, you must save yourselves by your actions.” When the people were persuaded, every thing was accomplished, and their decision was embodied in a sort of decree by the orator. The people of Rome, on the other hand, were more reflective and moderate, and less vain than the Athenians; nor was the whole authority of the state vested in them. There was, on the contrary, an accumulation of powers, and a complication of different interests to be managed. Theoretically, indeed, the sovereignty was in the people, but the practical government was intrusted to the Senate. As we see from Cicero’s