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1839.] use the word merely to mark the time of day. In that most humorous appeal of Persius—"Cur quis non prandeat, hoc est?" "Is this a sufficient reason for losing one's prandium?" He was obliged to say prandium, because no exhibitions ever could cause a man to lose his cœna, since none were displayed at a time of day when any body in Rome would have attended. Just as, in alluding to a Parliamentary speech notoriously delivered at midnight, an English satirist must have said, is this a speech to furnish an argument for leaving one's bed?—not as what stood foremost in his regard, but as the only thing that could be lost at the time of night.

On this principle, also, viz. by going back to the military origin of prandium, we gain the interpretation of all the peculiarities attached to it: viz.—1, its early hour—2, its being taken in a standing posture—3, in the open air—4, the humble quality of its materials—bread and biscuit, (the main articles of military fare.) In all these circumstances of the meal, we read, most legibly written, the exotic and military character of the meal.

Thus we have brought down our Roman friend to noonday, or even one hour later than noon, and to this moment the poor man has had nothing to eat. For, supposing him to be not impransus, and supposing him jentâsse beside; yet it is evident, (we hope,) that neither one nor the other means more than what it was often called, viz. , or, in plain English, a mouthful. How long do we intend to keep him waiting? Reader, he will dine at three, or (supposing dinner put off to the latest) at four. Dinner was never known to be later than the tenth hour in Rome, which in summer would be past five; but for a far greater proportion of days would be near four in Rome, except for one or two of the Emperors, whom the mere business attached to their unhappy station kept sometimes dinnerless till six. And so entirely was a Roman the creature of ceremony, that a national mourning would probably have been celebrated, and the "sad augurs" would have been called in to expiate the prodigy, had the general dinner lingered beyond four.

But, meantime, what has our friend been about since perhaps six or seven in the morning? After paying his little homage to his patronus, in what way has he fought with the great enemy Time since then? Why, reader, this illustrates one of the most interesting features in the Roman character. The Roman was the idlest of men. "Man and boy," he was "an idler in the land." He called himself and his pals "rerum dominos, gentemque togatam;" the gentry that wore the toga. Yes, and a pretty affair that "toga" was. Just figure to yourself, reader, the picture of a hard-working man, with horny hands like our hedgers, ditchers, weavers, porters, &c., setting to work on the high-road in that vast sweeping toga, filling with a strong gale like the main-sail of a frigate. Conceive the roars with which this magnificent figure would be received into the bosom of a poor-house detachment sent out to attack the stones on some new line of road, or a fatigue party of dustmen sent upon secret service. Had there been nothing left as a memorial of the Romans but that one relic—their immeasurable toga, —we should have known that they were born and bred to idleness. In fact, except in war the Roman never did any thing at all but sun himself. Ut se apricaret was the final cause of peace in his opinion; in literal truth, that he might make an apricot of himself. The public rations at all times supported the poorest inhabitant of Rome if he were a citizen. Hence it was that Hadrian was so astonished with the spectacle of Alexandria, "civitas opulenta, fœcunda, in quâ nemo vivat otiosus." Here first he saw the spectacle of a vast city, second only to Rome, where every man had something to do; "podagrosi quod agant habent; habent cœci quod faciant; ne chiragrici" (those with gout in the fingers) apud eos otiosi vivuut."