'HO, Diomed, well met! Do you sup with Glaucus to-night?' said a young man of sm
all stature, who wore his tunic in those loose and effeminate folds which proved
him to be a gentleman and a coxcomb. 'Alas, no! dear Clodius; he has not invite
d me, ' replied Diomed, a man of portly frame and of middle age. 'By Pollux, a s
curvy trick! for they say his suppers are the best in Pompeii'. 'Pretty well-tho
ugh there is never enough of wine for me. It is not the old Greek blood that flo
ws in his veins, for he pretends that wine makes him dull the next morning.' 'Th
ere may be another reason for that thrift, ' said Diomed, raising his brows. 'Wi
th all his conceit and extravagance he is not so rich, I fancy, as he affects to
be, and perhaps loves to save his amphorae better than his wit.' 'An additional
reason for supping with him while the sesterces last. Next year, Diomed, we mus
t find another Glaucus.' 'He is fond of the dice, too, I hear.' 'He is fond of e
very pleasure; and while he likes the pleasure of giving suppers, we are all fon
d of him.' 'Ha, ha, Clodius, that is well said! Have you ever seen my wine-cella
rs, by-the-by?' 'I think not, my good Diomed.' 'Well, you must sup with me some
evening; I have tolerable muraenae in my reservoir, and I ask Pansa the aedile t
o meet you.' 'O, no state with me!-Persicos odi apparatus, I am easily contented
. Well, the day wanes; I am for the baths-and you...' 'To the quaestor-business
of state-afterwards to the temple of Isis. Vale!' 'An ostentatious, bustling, il
l-bred fellow, ' muttered Clodius to himself, as he sauntered slowly away. 'He t
hinks with his feasts and his wine-cellars to make us forget that he is the son
of a freedman-and so we will, when we do him the honour of winning his money; th
ese rich plebeians are a harvest for us spendthrift nobles.' Thus soliloquising,
Clodius arrived in the Via Domitiana, which was crowded with passengers and cha
riots, and exhibited all that gay and animated exuberance of life and motion whi
ch we find at this day in the streets of Naples. The bells of the cars as they r
apidly glided by each other jingled merrily on the ear, and Clodius with smiles
or nods claimed familiar acquaintance with whatever equipage was most elegant or
fantastic: in fact, no idler was better known in Pompeii. 'What, Clodius! and h
ow have you slept on your good fortune?' cried, in a pleasant and musical voice,
a young man, in a chariot of the most fastidious and graceful fashion. Upon its
surface of bronze were elaborately wrought, in the still exquisite workmanship
of Greece, reliefs of the Olympian games; the two horses that drew the car were
of the rarest breed of Parthia; their slender limbs seemed to disdain the ground
and court the air, and yet at the slightest touch of the charioteer, who stood
behind the young owner of the equipage, they paused motionless, as if suddenly t
ransformed into stone-lifeless, but lifelike, as one of the breathing wonders of
Praxiteles. The owner himself was of that slender and beautiful symmetry from w
hich the sculptors of Athens drew their models; his Grecian origin betrayed itse
lf in his light but clustering locks, and the perfect harmony of his features. H
e wore no toga, which in the time of the emperors had indeed ceased to be the ge
neral distinction of the Romans, and was especially ridiculed by the pretenders
to fashion; but his tunic glowed in the richest hues of the Tyrian dye, and the
fibulae, or buckles, by which it was fastened, sparkled with emeralds: around hi
s neck was a chain of gold, which in the middle of his breast twisted itself int
o the form of a serpent's head, from the mouth of which hung pendent a large sig
net ring of elaborate and most exquisite workmanship; the sleeves of the tunic w
ere loose, and fringed at the hand with gold: and across the waist a girdle wrou
ght in arabesque designs
