e
dignity of the consuls and pr[ae]tors, as in later times were the retainers
of a medi[ae]val baron. The system of slavery had made all honest labour
opprobrious, and these idle, corrupt, and dangerous parasites had to be
kept in good humour by lavish doles and constant amusements. "Bread and
the Circus," was their imperious demand, and having these, they cared
for nothing else.

On the morning in question there was considerable excitement among this
turbulent throng, for the rumour was current that there was to be an
examination of certain prisoners accused of the vile crime of
Christianity; and there were hopes that the criminals would supply fresh
victims for the games of the amphitheatre, which for some time had
languished for lack of suitable material. The temper of the mob we may
learn by the remarks that reach our ears as we elbow our way through.

"Ho, Davus! what's the news to-day?" asked a cobbler with his leathern
apron tucked up about his waist, of a greasy-looking individual who
strutted about with much affectation of dignity; "you have the run of
his Excellency's kitchen, and ought to know."

"Are _you_ there, Samos?" (a nick-name meaning Flat Nose). "Back to your
den, you slave, and don't meddle with gentlemen. _'Ne sutor,'_ you know
the rest."

"Can't you see that the cook drove him out with the basting ladle?" said
Muscus, the stout-armed blacksmith, himself a slave, and resenting the
insult to his class; and so the laugh was turned against the hungry
parasite.

"Here, good Max, you are on the guard, you can tell us," went on the
burly smith.

"News enough, as you'll soon find. There's to be more hunting of the
Christians for those who like it. For my part, I don't."

"Why not," asked Burdo, the butcher, a truculent looking fellow with a
great knife in a sheath at his girdle. "I'd like no better fun. I'd as
lief kill a Christian as kill a calf."

"It might suit your business," answered stout Max, with a sneer, "but
hunting women and children is not a soldier's trade."

"O ho! that's the game that's a-foot!" chuckled a withered little wretch
with a hungry face and cruel eyes, like a weasel. "Here's a chance for
an honest man who worships the old gods to turn an honest penny."

"Honest man!" growled Max. "Diogenes would want a good lantern to find
one in Rome to-day. He'd certainly never take thee for one. Thy very
face would convict thee of violating all the laws in the Twelve Tables."

"H