a tall fir swaying to and fro, while another vehicle carries a pine: the trees nod high in air and menace the people of Rome. Only suppose a dray loaded with Ligurian marble to have turned over, and to have upset that mountain of rock, and discharged it on the troops of passers-by, and what is there left of them? Who can find the limbs and bones? Every one of their vulgar carcasses is pulverised, and vanishes like a breath. Meanwhile some unsuspecting household is even now washing the plates, puffing away, and blowing up the little fire, oiling and clattering the flesh-scrapers, and laying out the towels and a freshly filled ointment bottle; but, while the servants briskly ply their various tasks, the master is already seated on the river-bank, filled with a newcomer's horror of the grim Ferryman, nor does he hope, poor soul! to be ferried over the turbid stream, having no copper in his mouth to tender.

:

'Now, deign a glance at other and distinct perils of the night the height of those towering housetops from which a potsherd strikes your skull! Think how often cracked or broken earthenware is thrown from the windows! See with what force it dents and scores the flint pavement. You might well be deemed apathetic and careless about casualties if you went out to dine and no will made: so true is it that death waits for you at every open lighted window that you pass that night. Then hope and

pray, with silent agonised vows, that the windows may content themselves with merely emptying on you the broad foot-pans. Your drunken bravo, too, if so be he has cudgelled no one, suffers for it by having as bad a night as Peleus' son when mourning for his friend-now lying on his face, a moment after on his back. Is this the only way then for him to get his sleep? With some people, only a fight gives rest. Still, however reckless from youth and heated with wine, he gives a safe berth to one from whom he is warned off by the scarlet mantle and long-drawn escort, with its many torches and bronze lamps. For me, who have generally only the moon to see me home, or else a short-lived dip, the wick of which I must husband and economise-for me he has nothing but scorn. Mark the prelude to the wretched fight, if that be a fight where you give, and I just take the knocks. He halts in front, and bids me halt. I must needs obey, for what is one to do when at the mercy of a madman stronger than one's self? "Whence do you come?" he yells. "Whose sour wine, whose beans have puffed you up like that? What cobbler has shared with you his cutleek and sodden sheep's head? Do you not answer me? Speak, or be kicked! Out with it! Where do you stand to beg? In what Jews' chapel am I to look for you?" Whether you try to speak or silently retreat, it's all one; they beat you all the same,

5

and then they get indignant and bind you over to appear in Court. This is the poor man's privilege. When thrashed, he may beg, when mangled with buffets, may entreat permission to take just a few of his teeth away with him. Nor is this all you have to fear. You will not be left without some one to rob you when the houses are shut up, shop-doors everywhere barred and chained, and all quiet. Sometimes, too, the footpad suddenly appears and goes to work with the knife. At such times as the Pomptine Marsh and Gallinarian Pine-wood are kept in safety by the presence of an armed guard, then they all swarm thence to Rome, as if to their feeding-ground. Is there a furnace, is there an anvil that is not forging heavy chains? Most of our iron is used on fetters, so that you may well fear a dearth of ploughshares, a scarcity in rakes and mattocks. Happy, you may say, were our grandsires' grandsires, and blest the age of kings and of tribunes long ago, which saw Rome satisfied with one solitary gaol.

'To these I could have added many other reasons. But my team calls me; the sun is setting; I must away. The muleteer has long been brandishing his whip and signalling to me. And so, farewell. Do not forget me, and as often as Rome restores you, when seeking to recruit your health, to the care of your own Aquinum, draw me away, too, from Cumae to visit Helvian Ceres and your patroness Diana. I will

don my soldier's boots and come to your cool land for active service with your satires, unless they blush to have my aid.'

IV

CRISPINUS again! Yes, I must often cast him for his rôle.1 A monster! without one virtue to redeem his vice. A sickly voluptuary, strong in nothing but lust. An adulterer! who scorns no charms save those of the husbandless. What matter, then, how large the colonnades where he breathes his team, how vast the shady groves through which he is borne, how many acres and what mansion he has bought near the Forum? No vicious man is happy, least of all a seducer-an incestuous one, to boot: who so lately debauched a vestal-ay, and with her sacred fillet on-and doomed her to a living tomb. But now of faults less heinous, 'tis true, and yet such as, if another had committed them, would convict him before the censor; for that which means disgrace to honest Titius and Seius sat gracefully upon Crispinus. What are you to do when a character is so abominable that its foulness transcends any accusation? He bought a mullet for 6000 sesterces; true, he got a

pound of fish for each thousand-at least so say they who make a good story better. All honour to the master-stroke, if, by a gift even of such a price, he carried off the first place in a childless old man's will! He had a still further excuse, if he presented it to his noble mistress, who takes her airing in her closed grotto' with the big windows. Do not expect any such thing. He bought it for himself. We see many things nowadays which poor thrifty Apicius2 never did. Was this the price, you who once wore the national papyrus apron (and nothing else), was this the price, Crispinus, you paid for a bit of fish! Methinks the fisherman could have been bought cheaper than the fish. The provinces can sell you a manor at the price-ay, and Apulia a really big one. What feasts must we suppose our 'Captain' to have gorged when the be-purpled jester of his exalted court swallowed all those thousands in one small fraction taken from the side-dishes of an ordinary dinner! And now he is our Chief Knight; he who once used to cry for sale a damaged lot of his fellowburghers the shads. Begin, Calliope! You may even keep your seat. It is not an epic. There is a true tale on hand. Tell it, Pierian maids, and give me your blessing for calling you maids.

3

What time the last of the Flavian line was mangling the world, which was even then half dead, and Rome was in bondage to 'Nero the Bald,'