rned once more to the tepidarium, where he found
Glaucus, who had not encountered the sudatorium; and now, the main
delight and extravagance of the bath commenced. Their slaves anointed
the bathers from vials of gold, of alabaster, or of crystal, studded
with profusest gems, and containing the rarest unguents gathered from
all quarters of the world. The number of these smegmata used by the
wealthy would fill a modern volume--especially if the volume were
printed by a fashionable publisher; Amaracinum, Megalium, Nardum--omne
quod exit in um--while soft music played in an adjacent chamber, and
such as used the bath in moderation, refreshed and restored by the
grateful ceremony, conversed with all the zest and freshness of
rejuvenated life.

'Blessed be he who invented baths!' said Glaucus, stretching himself
along one of those bronze seats (then covered with soft cushions) which
the visitor to Pompeii sees at this day in that same tepidarium.
'Whether he were Hercules or Bacchus, he deserved deification.'

'But tell me,' said a corpulent citizen, who was groaning and wheezing
under the operation of being rubbed down, 'tell me, O Glaucus!--evil
chance to thy hands, O slave! why so rough?--tell me--ugh--ugh!--are the
baths at Rome really so magnificent?' Glaucus turned, and recognized
Diomed, though not without some difficulty, so red and so inflamed were
the good man's cheeks by the sudatory and the scraping he had so lately
undergone. 'I fancy they must be a great deal finer than these. Eh?'
Suppressing a smile, Glaucus replied:

'Imagine all Pompeii converted into baths, and you will then form a
notion of the size of the imperial thermae of Rome. But a notion of the
size only. Imagine every entertainment for mind and body--enumerate all
the gymnastic games our fathers invented--repeat all the books Italy and
Greece have produced--suppose places for all these games, admirers for
all these works--add to this, baths of the vastest size, the most
complicated construction--intersperse the whole with gardens, with
theatres, with porticoes, with schools--suppose, in one word, a city of
the gods, composed but of palaces and public edifices, and you may form
some faint idea of the glories of the great baths of Rome.'

'By Hercules!' said Diomed, opening his eyes, 'why, it would take a
man's whole life to bathe!'

'At Rome, it often does so,' replied Glaucus, gravely. 'There are many
who live only at the baths. They re