436 

 A LOST ART, OR THE POTTER OF POMPEIA. 



WHENEVER the Centurion was tired of abusing Nero, which he did 

 rather because he received the imperial pay, than because he eschewed 

 the imperial vices, this being the fashion in which some men indemnify 

 themselves for the degradation of taking hire, just to shew that they 

 are not to be bribed ; marry, Fabricius " knew a trick worth two of 

 that !" But our Centurion, I say, if he happened to exhaust his patience 

 on this inexhaustible theme, would refresh himself, if not his hearers, 

 with a little egotism \ the next best pleasure to censuring the faults of 

 others being that of praising the virtues all our own, at least in our 

 own opinion. 



" Ye know," would he say, and yet go on to tell them again, " that I 

 am a son of e that famous Campaniun town, Pompeia/ and nephew to 

 the chief wine- vender, in the chief street thereof; that is, he lived there, 

 while he lived. Nevertheless, though I had thus a right to as much 

 pride as any Roman of ye all, I thought it might be worth while to look 

 upon your vaunted city. Therefore, being exceeding brave, I joined 

 the Legions ; but, peradventure, it is not of mine own acts that it be- 

 hoveth me to speak before their witnesses. Enough that one of them 

 was my rescuing an aged man from fearful odds with some of our sol- 

 diery, who, having no better exercise for their valour were beating him, 

 in pure love of the wine-skins wherewith he was heavily laden ; and, lo ! 

 he proved the brother of my dead sire, and had journeyed hither to sell 

 his merchandize. Now it so chanced that I, being somewhat wounded 

 in this encounter, and high in favour with him whose horse and fiddle 

 all terrible deities take pains to hamstring, got leave to wend homeward 

 with my kinsman ; he, all the way, urging me to name some guerdon ; 

 I, all the way, refusing, which furnished us with discourses of singular 

 newness and variety. But when we had won the threshold of his door, 

 there came forth to welcome him a damsel clad in white and flowing 

 raiment, marvellously unlike the handmaiden of a vintner. She was 

 tall, and of comely presence, with a high white forehead, darkly golden 

 hair, and very noble features. The almond-blossom is, not more tender 

 than the bloom of her cheek ; the buds of a pomegranate not so rich as 

 the crimson of her lips, that smiled not, even when she spoke ; and in 

 her deep set eye was a mysterious radiance, so chaste and still, that it 

 fitly mated the almost stern music of her low voice. She blushed not 

 'neath my gaze, neither looked she in any way astounded at my goodly 

 armour. Ye will wonder how I, who have cast awe o'er the spirits of 

 so many lovely ladies, should bend my regards on her j yet her image 

 was so strange to me, that I did. Then mine uncle said unto her, 

 ' Junia, this is thy cousin, who hath saved my life.' So knew I who it 

 was, for I had not seen her since she was a babe, but forgot even that. 

 And she kissed me like a sister ; whereupon, with no great care as to 

 the issue, I spake, ' Thou who so hungerest to reward, give me this 

 virgin to wife !' And he made answer, ' She is too young, and mine 

 only one ; thou art a soldier, and dwellest afar off. I pray thee, ask of 

 me some other thing/ But now that he denied my request, I was re- 

 solved ; so, to make it appear for his own interest that he should grant 

 it, I said, * When thou art too aged for toil, will any other friend of 

 Nero's save thy life, and then come hither to cherish her ? I hold thee 



