"I will tell you when you return," replied Aglais; and the landlady retired. TO BE CONTINUED. FOOTNOTES: [22] Suetonius, Aug. 39. The forum, where gladiators had often bled, was becoming less and less used for that purpose. [23] It is well known that Trajan exhibited shows in which ten thousand gladiators fought, but this monstrous development of cruelty came long after our date. [24] A school of gladiators. Suet Jul. 26; Aug. 42; Tacit. Hist. ii. 88. [25] This German expedition took the same direction as that of the Austrian armies which endeavored to dislodge Bonaparte from the siege of Mantua, and came pouring down both sides of Lake Guarda. [26] Cic. Fam. xiii. 59; Dion. iii. 22; Cæsar. Bell. Cir. iii. 20. [27] The malignant innkeepers mentioned by Horace, "Sat. lib. 1, Sat. 5," kept a low class of houses in comparison with this notable hostelry. [28] Pliny, Ep. x. 14, 121. [29] Cic. Qu. Fr. ii. 14; Plautus, Pœn. v. 1, 22, 2, 92; Cist. 2, 1, 27. [30] _Libertus_, freedman of such or such a family; _libertinus_, freedman in general, or son of one. [31] _Zothecula_, a small apartment, one side of which was formed by a curtain. Pliny, Epis. ii. 17; v. 6. Suetonius, Claud. 10. [32] _Flutes_, etc. Juvenal v. 121; xi. 137. [33] Something in this language may seem out of keeping. I would therefore remind the reader that the most learned, accomplished, studious, and highly-cultivated minds among the Romans were very frequently found in the class of slaves and freedmen. A MAY CAROL. How many a lonely hermit maid Hath brightened like a dawn-touched isle When--on her breast in vision laid-- That Babe hath lit her with his smile! How many an agèd saint hath felt, So graced, a second spring renew Her wintry breast; with Anna knelt, And trembled like the matin dew! How oft the unbending monk, no thrall In youth of mortal smiles or tears, Hath felt that Infant's touch through all The armor of his hundred years! But Mary's was no transient bliss; Nor hers a vision's phantom gleam; The hourly need, the voice, the kiss-- That child was hers! 'Twas not a dream! At morning hers, and when the sheen Of moonrise crept the cliffs along; In silence hers, and hers between The pulses of the night-bird's song. And as the Child, the love. Its growth Was, hour by hour, a growth in grace; That Child was God; and love for both Advanced perforce with equal pace. AUBREY DE VERE. SIR JOHN MAUNDEVILLE.