An advocate of Cæsar's character, speaking of his benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon!" How came he to the brink of that river? How dared he cross it? Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river?--Oh! but he paused upon the brink! He should leave perished on the brink, ere he had crossed it! Why did he pause? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed? Why does the very murderer,--his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking measure of the blow,--strike wide of the mortal part?--Because of conscience! 'T was that made Cæsar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon. Compassion!--What compassion? The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder as his weapon begins to cut! Cæsar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon!--What was the Rubicon?--The boundary of Cæsar's province. From what did it separate his province? From his country. Was that country a desert? No: it was cultivated and fertile; rich and populous! Its sons were men of genius, spirit, and generosity! Its daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste! Friendship was its inhabitant!--Love was its inhabitant!--Domestic affection was its inhabitant!--Liberty was its inhabitant!--All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon! What was Cæsar, that stood upon the brink of that stream?--A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country! No wonder that he paused! No wonder if, in his imagination, wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood instead of water; and heard groans instead of murmurs. No wonder if some Gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot.--But, no!--he cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged!--He crossed!--and Rome was free no more. J. S. Knowles. XLVI. GUSTAVUS VASA TO THE DALECARLIANS.