Fronto writes that the mother of Marcus Aurelius laughingly declares herself jealous of him. He asks tenderly after the ailing _domnula_, who is the idol of her father’s heart. Of his own daughter Gratia he has much to tell, playing gracefully with her name. He chats pleasantly of sleep, of health, of dreams, of the art of speech, in which he was himself a master. But this is varied with words of affection, with tender references to the children, their pretty voices and their winning ways. He had given the little prince a silver trumpet on his birthday, and draws a charming picture of the group about their mother, the beautiful Faustina. But he loses his own admirable and much-loved wife; then his grandson dies; and his heart is torn with grief, as with sympathy for the sorrow of the gentle Gratia. Joy falls away from the spent life of the white-haired philosopher. He finds nothing to bind him longer to a sad world. His silvery periods have lost their charm. He lays down his pen, and his last words are full of pathos. He writes to an emperor who, like himself, has lived on the heights of a calm reason. The blows of fate have struck them both, and they weep, like others. I have quoted more or less from the letters of four thoughtful and clear-sighted men, because their personal details and general tone go farther than any assertion to prove the pure and intelligent character of a large section of Roman womanhood and its refining influence in the family. They are a flattering tribute, not only to the women of the new age, but to the fine qualities of a corresponding circle of men. The life revealed by these distinguished observers who have talked so familiarly of its every-day side is certainly remote from that which has been dwelt upon by satirists and historians, but we cannot doubt that it represents the domestic relations of an important class. It is fair to presume that the women of culture and virtue who came within their horizon were not exceptions. IV