who could pen such lines over the grave of a brother, disgraced his muse by those scurrilous invectives against Cæsar, and that licentious description of vice, which render the majority of his epigrams either worthless or abominable.

Martial has an epigram on fraternal love, which is far above his ordinary level (Book I. 37). The translation is by Hay. It is addressed to Lucanus and Tullus:

Fraternal love in such strong currents runs,
That were your fate like that of Leda's sons,
This were the single, but the generous, strife,
Which for the other first should yield his life;
He first would cry, who first should breath resign,
Live thou, dear brother, both thy days and mine.

MARTIAL,

The most celebrated of the Latin Epigrammatists, was born in Spain about A.D. 40. At an early age he went to Rome, where he spent many years, receiving much honour from the emperors and other patrons. Towards the close of his life he returned to his native country. He wrote nearly 1600 epigrams, but a comparatively small number have any real beauty, though the talent shown is very great. TO CATO (Book I. 1).

Translated by Addison in the "Spectator," No. 446.
Why dost thou come, great censor of thy age,
To see the loose diversions of the stage?
With awful countenance and brow severe,
What in the name of goodness dost thou here?
See the mixt crowd! how giddy, lewd, and vain!
Didst thou come in but to go out again?

"It happened once indeed, that Cato dropped into the Roman theatre when the Floralia were to be represented; and as, in that performance, which was a kind of religious ceremony, there were several indecent parts to be acted, the people refused to see them whilst Cato was present" ("Spectator," No. 446).

PETUS AND ARRIA (Book I. 14).
Translated by Dr. John Hoadly.

When Arria from her wounded side
To Pætus gave the reeking steel,
"I feel not what I've done," she cried;
"What Pætus is to do-I feel."

The melancholy story of Pætus and Arria is pathetically told in the 72nd No. of the "Tatler," where of the epigram it is said: “The woman's part in the story is by much the more heroic, and has occasioned one of the best epigrams transmitted to us from antiquity."

The translation given above is highly praised in the "Saturday Review," XXI. 447, but by mistake is ascribed to James Harris instead of to Dr. Hoadly.

TO JULIUS (Book I. 16).

Translated by Hay.

Thou, whom (if faith or honour recommends
A friend) I rank amongst my dearest friends,
Remember, you are now almost threescore:
Few days of life remain, if any more.
Defer not, what no future time insures :
And only what is past, esteem that yours.
Successive cares and trouble for you stay;
Pleasure not so; it nimbly fleets away.
Then seize it fast; embrace it ere it flies;
In the embrace it vanishes and dies.
I'll live to-morrow, will a wise man say?
To-morrow is too late, then live to-day.

An ode by Anacreon (admitted by Stephens, p. 174, into his Authologa, but not by Jacobs) has the same point. The translation is by C.:

Yes, I can see and envy not

The Sardian monarch's wealthier lot;
I care not for his state and treasure,
Grandeur for me has nought of pleasure.
I'll bathe my head with perfumes now,
With roses bind my laughing brow.
I'll live to-day and banish sorrow,

For who can tell he'll live to-morrow?

Horace, too, gives similar advice (Odes, Book I. ix.). Translated by

Robert Montgomery:

So, Shakespeare in "Macbeth" (Act V. Sc. 5):
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.

TO DECIAN (Book I. 40).

Translated by Dr. John Hoadly (one word altered).
Is there, t' enroll amongst the friendly few,
Whose names pure faith and ancient fame renew?
Is there, enrich'd with virtue's honest store,
Deep vers'd in Latian and Athenian lore?
Is there, who right maintains and truth pursues,
Nor knows a wish that heaven need refuse?
Is there, who can on his great self depend?
Now let me die, but Harris is this friend.

This and other translations of epigrams by Martial were addressed by Dr. Hoadly "To James Harris, Esq."

The reference in the second line is probably to the celebrated friendships of antiquity, such as those of Damon with Pythias, and Pylades with Orestes. A Greek epigram, by an uncertain author, expresses the value of a true friend (Jacobs IV. 208, ccccxxv.). It is thus freely rendered by Cowper:

Hast thou a friend? thou hast indeed

A rich and large supply;

Treasure to serve your every need,

Well managed, till you die.

Among the epigrams of Joseph Martyn, 1621, is a picture of the character which a true friend should bear (Ep. 43):

As true as turtle to her tender mate,
Free in good will and furthest from debate,
Regardless of each wrong, or false surmise,
Easy to be entreated, sober, wise;
Impatient of delays that hurt his friend,
No ways in fault, yet willing to amend,

Discreet and constant; such an one as he,

Each man should wish his nearest friend to be.

Shakespeare shows a true friend in Antonio ("Merchant of Venice,"

Act I. Sc. 1):

If it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assur'd,
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.

TO RUFUS (Book II. 48).

Translated in "The Graphic" of April 2, 1870.
Exquisite wines and comestibles

From Tod-Heatley, and Fortnum and Mason-
Billiards and two or three chess-tables-

Water in vast marble basin-
Luminous books (not voluminous)
To read under beech-trees cacuminous—
One friend who is fond of a distich,
And doesn't get too syllogistic-
A valet, who knows the complete art
Of service a maiden, his sweetheart :
Give me these, in some rural pavilion,
And I'll envy no Rothschild his million.

In several epigrams Martial praises contentment with mediocrity, but the catalogue of necessaries in this epigram to Rufus, shows that without them, though he might not envy a millionaire, he certainly would envy the majority of "the upper ten thousand." He gives various reasons for wishing wealth; one in Book IX. 23, that he may bestow gifts; another in Book IV. 76, of a very different kind. It is on Zoilus, an envious man. The translation is by Hay:

I never did the gods importune,

To grant to me a monstrous fortune;
Contented with my little store :
But now I own I wish for more.
Whence comes this sudden love of pelf?
-That Zoilus may hang himself.

TO FABULLUS (Book III. 12).

Translated by Thomas May, 1629.

Thou gavest good ointment, 'tis confest,
But little supper to thy guests.
'Tis an improper thing to be

Perfum'd and hungry. Well may he

That is anointed, and not fed,

Be thought a corpse, that's newly dead.

"This epigram," says Mr. Amos, "is cited by antiquarians as show ing a practice among the Romans of anointing their dead."

Martial, who liked good living, is very severe upon those who gave bad suppers. In one of the epigrams ascribed to him (Book IV. 77), but with regard to the authenticity of which there is doubt, he complains of rich plate without meat. The translation is by Dr. John Hoadly:

With lace bedizen'd comes the man,

And I must dine with Lady Anne.
A silver service loads the board,
Of eatables a slender hoard.

"Your pride, and not your victuals, spare,
I came to dine, and not to stare."

There are two or three epigrams in the Greek Anthology from which Martial may have taken this. The following is by Palladas (Jacobs III. 120, xxvii.). The translation is by Major Macgregor :

Invite not me, a trencherman well-skill'd,

To board whose platters are with pumpkins fill'd;
The silver stuff set here one cannot eat,

The useless dishes but our hunger cheat.

To those who eat not show thy silver bright,

Thou, in thy plate admir'd, unstampt and light.

On the discomfort of dinners where show is the object of the wealthy host, Pope writes in his "Moral Essays," Epistle IV. 157:

A solemn sacrifice, perform'd in state,
You drink by measure, and to minutes eat.
So quick retires each flying course, you'd swear
Sancho's dread Doctor, and his wand were there.
Between each act the trembling salvers ring,
From soup to sweet wine, and God bless the King.
In plenty starving, tantaliz'd in state,
And complaisantly help'd to all I hate.

ON CANIUS (Book III. 20).

Tell me, my Muse, how Canius spends his time:
In lasting leaves, and in immortal rhyme,
Does he the facts of Nero rightly state,
From malice and from flattery free, relate?
Light elegies, or grave heroics write?
I' th' comic, or the tragic strain delight?
Or in the poets' school does Canius sit,
Regaling all with his choice Attic wit?
Or else, being free from study, does he talk
I' th' temples, and the shady porches walk?