of the old relations of superior and inferior, as well as the fine attainments of many women and the honor in which they were held, they also pay the highest tribute to virtues that still shone brightly in an age when it had become a fashion to speak of them as things of the past. “Morals are gone,” said Seneca. “Evil triumphs. All virtue, all justice, is disappearing. That is what was exclaimed in our fathers’ days, what they are repeating to-day, and what will be the cry of our children.” If we may credit the history of that age, there was reason enough for the cry, but there was another side to the dark picture. This critical philosopher did not spare the vices and follies of the great ladies of his time, and any tribute of his to the talents and virtues of women is of value, as it is not likely to incline to the side of flattery. In his letters of consolation to his mother, Helvia, he mentions the fact that she is “learned in the principles of all the sciences,” in spite of the old-fashioned notions of his father, who “feared letters as a means of corruption for women.” More liberal himself, he exhorts her to return to them as “a source of safety, consolation, and joy.” To Marcia he writes in a tone that is appreciative, though a trifle patronizing: “Who dares say that nature in creating woman has gifted her less generously, or restricted for her the sphere of the virtues? Her moral strength, do not doubt it, equals ours.... Habit will render her, like us, capable of great efforts, as of great griefs.” An incident of his own family life is worth repeating, as it shows a pleasant and not uncommon side of domestic relations at a period when Roman morals were at the worst. His wife was solicitous for his health. “As my life depends upon hers,” he says, “I shall follow her advice, because in doing so I am caring for her. Can anything be more agreeable than to feel that in loving your wife you are loving yourself?” The devotion on her side was more heroic, if less reasonable. When he was politely advised to take himself to some other world where he would be less in the way of his civil superiors, she insisted upon dying with him. He tried in vain to dissuade her, but, finding her persistent, he gave his consent, saying: “Let the fortitude of so courageous an end be alike in both of us, but let there be more in your death to win fame.” Her veins were opened with his; but Nero did not need to get rid of her just then, so the attendants quickly bound her wounds and saved her. This devoted Paulina had only the satisfaction of sacrificing her color, as she was noted for her extreme pallor to the end of her life.