co-operating with her laws, Rome promised and involved in the germ--even that, and nothing less or different, did Rome unfold and accomplish under this Julian violence. The rape [if such it were] of Cæsar, her final Romulus, completed for Rome that which the rape under Romulus, her earliest Cæsar, had prosperously begun. And thus by one godlike man was a nation-city matured; and from the everlasting and nameless [Footnote: "_Nameless city_."--The true name of Rome it was a point of religion to conceal; and, in fact, it was never revealed.] city was a man produced--capable of taming her indomitable nature, and of forcing her to immolate her wild virginity to the state best fitted for the destined "Mother of empires." Peace, then, rhetoricians, false threnodists of false liberty! hollow chanters over the ashes of a hollow republic! Without Cæsar, we affirm a thousand times that there would have been no perfect Rome; and, but for Rome, there could have been no such man as Cæsar. Both then were immortal; each worthy of each. And the _Cui viget nihil simile aut secundum_ of the poet, was as true of one as of the other. For, if by comparison with Rome other cities were but villages, with even more propriety it may be asserted, that after the Roman Cæsars all modern kings, kesars, or emperors, are mere phantoms of royalty. The Cæsar of Western Rome--he only of all earthly potentates, past or to come, could be said to reign as a _monarch_, that is, as a solitary king. He was not the greatest of princes, simply because there was no other but himself. There were doubtless a few outlying rulers, of unknown names and titles upon the margins of his empire, there were tributary lieutenants and barbarous _reguli_, the obscure vassals of his sceptre, whose homage was offered on the lowest step of his throne, and scarcely known to him but as objects of disdain. But these feudatories could no more break the unity of his empire, which embraced the whole _oichomeni_;--the total habitable world as then known to geography, or recognised by the muse of History--than at this day the British empire on the sea can be brought into question or made conditional, because some chief of Owyhee or Tongataboo should proclaim a momentary independence of the British trident, or should even offer a transient outrage to her sovereign flag. Such a _tempestas in matulâ_ might raise a brief uproar in his little native archipelago, but too feeble to reach the shores of Europe by an echo--or to ascend by so much as an infantine _susurrus_ to the ears of the British Neptune. Parthia, it is true, might pretend to the dignity of an empire. But her sovereigns, though sitting in the seat of the great king, (_o basileus_,) were no longer the rulers of a vast and polished nation. They were regarded as barbarians--potent only by their standing army, not upon the larger basis of civic strength; and, even under this limitation, they were