In the midst of this discussion, an aged senator, who had been for a long time incapacitated by his years and infirmities from appearing in his seat, was seen coming to the assembly, supported and led by his sons and sons-in-law, who were making way for him in the passages and conducting him in. His name was Appius Claudius. He was blind and almost helpless through age and infirmity. He had heard in his chamber of the irresolution of the senate in respect to the further prosecution of the war with Pyrrhus, and had caused himself to be taken from his bed and borne through the streets by servants on a chair to the senate-house, that he might there once more raise his voice to save, if possible, the honor and dignity of his country. As he entered the chamber, he became at once the object of universal attention. As soon as he reached his seat, a respectful silence began to prevail throughout the assembly, all listening to hear what he had to say. He expressed himself as follows: "Senators of Rome,--I am blind, and I have been accustomed to consider my blindness as a calamity; but now I could wish that I had been deaf as well as blind, and then I might never have heard of the disgrace which seems to impend over my country. Where are now the boastings that we made when Alexander the Great commenced his career, that if he had turned his arms toward Italy and Rome, instead of Persia and the East, we would never have submitted to him; that he never would have gained the renown of being invincible if he had only attacked _us_, but would, on the other hand, if he invaded our dominions, only have contributed to the glory of the Roman name by his flight or his fall? These boasts we made so loudly that the echo of them spread throughout the world. And yet now, here is an obscure adventurer who has landed on our shores as an enemy and an invader, and because he has met with a partial and temporary success, you are debating whether you shall not make an ignominious peace with him, and allow him to remain. How vain and foolish does all our boastful defiance of Alexander appear when we now tremble at the name of Pyrrhus--a man who has been all his life a follower and dependent of one of Alexander's inferior generals--a man who has scarcely been able to maintain himself in his own dominions--who could not retain even a small and insignificant part of Macedon which he had conquered, but was driven ignominiously from it; and who comes into Italy now rather as a refugee than a conqueror--an adventurer who seeks power here because he can not sustain himself at home! I warn you not to expect that you can gain any thing by making such a peace with him as he proposes. Such a peace makes no atonement for the past, and it offers no security for the future. On the contrary, it will open the door to other invaders, who will come, encouraged by Pyrrhus's success, and emboldened by the contempt which they will feel for you in allowing yourselves to be