e. Today is the thirtieth
Sabbath,' he continued, inventing a purely imaginary Hebrew feast, 'and
you surely would not risk a Jew's curse for a few moments of
conversation, would you?' 'I have no religion!' exclaimed Horace,
eagerly. 'No superstition! Nothing!' 'But I have,' retorted Aristius,
still smiling. 'My health is not good--perhaps you did not know? I will
tell you about it some other time.' And he turned on his heel, with a
laugh, leaving Horace to his awful fate. Even the sunshine looked black.
But salvation came suddenly in the shape of the man who had brought the
action against the Bore, and who, on his way to the Court, saw his
adversary going off in the opposite direction. 'Coward! Villain!' yelled
the man, springing forward and catching the poet's tormentor by his
cloak. 'Where are you going now? You are witness, Sir, that I am in my
right,' he added, turning to look for Horace. But Horace had disappeared
in the crowd that had collected to see the quarrel, and his gods had
saved him after all.

[Illustration: TEMPLE OF CASTOR AND POLLUX]

A part of the life of the times is in the little story, and anyone may
stroll today along the Sacred Street, past the Basilica and the sharp
turn that leads to the block of old houses where the Court House stood,
between St. Adrian's and San Lorenzo in Miranda. Anyone may see just how
it happened, and many know exactly how Horace felt from the moment when
the Bore buttonholed him at the corner of the Julian Basilica till his
final deliverance near the corner of the Triumphal Road, which is now
the Via di San Gregorio.

[Illustration: ATRIUM OF VESTA]

There was much more resemblance to our modern life than one might think
at first sight. Perhaps, after his timely escape, Horace turned back
along the Sacred Street, followed by his single slave, and retraced his
steps, past the temple of Vesta, the temple of Julius Caesar, skirting
the Roman Forum to the Golden Milestone at the foot of the ascent to the
Capitol, from which landmark all the distances in the Roman Empire were
reckoned, the very centre of the known world. Thence, perhaps, he turned
up towards the Argiletum, with something of that instinct which takes a
modern man of letters to his publisher's when he is in the
neighbourhood. There the 'Brothers Sosii' had their publishing
establishment, among many others of the same nature, and employed a
great staff of copyists in preparing volumes for sale. All the year