t Tritons. Oh! it was magnificent!'

'I should like to know him.'

'You should see his cats! He has a perfect legion of them at his
villa. Twelve slaves are employed to attend on them. He is mad about
cats, and declares that the old Egyptians were right to worship them.
He told me yesterday, that when his largest cat is dead he will
canonise her, in spite of the Christians! And then he is so kind to
his slaves! They are never whipped or punished, except when they
neglect or disfigure themselves; for Vetranio will allow nothing that
is ugly or dirty to come near him. You must visit his banqueting-hall
in Rome. It is perfection!'

'But why is he here?'

'He has come to Ravenna, charged with some secret message from the
Senate, and has presented a rare breed of chickens to that foolish--'

'Hush! you may be overheard!'

'Well!--to that wise emperor of ours! Ah! the palace has been so
pleasant since he has been here!'

At this instant the above dialogue--from the frivolity of which the
universally-learned readers of modern times will, we fear, recoil with
contempt--was interrupted by a movement on the part of its hero which
showed that his occupation was at an end. With the elaborate
deliberation of a man who disdains to exhibit himself as liable to be
hurried by any mortal affair, Vetranio slowly folded up the vellum he
had now filled with writing, and depositing it in his bosom, made a
sign to a slave who happened to be then passing near him with a dish of
fruit.

Having received his message, the slave retired to the entrance of the
apartment, and beckoning to a man who stood outside the door, motioned
him to approach Vetranio's couch.

This individual immediately hurried across the room to the window where
the elegant Roman awaited him. Not the slightest description of him is
needed; for he belonged to a class with which moderns are as well
acquainted as ancients--a class which has survived all changes of
nations and manners--a class which came in with the first rich man in
the world, and will only go out with the last. In a word, he was a
parasite.

He enjoyed, however, one great superiority over his modern successors:
in his day flattery was a profession--in ours it has sunk to a pursuit.

'I shall leave Ravenna this evening,' said Vetranio.

The parasite made three low bows and smiled ecstatically.

'You will order my travelling equipage to be at the palace gates an
hour before sunset.'