The Old Weevils 
a Bear’s paw, a Falcon’s wing or a Puma’s 
tooth stuck in his hair? We may safely 
doubt it. 
How preferable to these heraldic horrors 
is the reverse of our own silver coinage 
recently brought into circulation! It repre- 
sents a sower who, with a nimble hand, at 
sunrise, fills the furrows with the good seed 
of thought. It is very simple and it is great; 
it makes us reflect. 
The Marseilles drachma has for its sole 
merit its magnificent relief. The artist who 
made the dies was a master of the graver’s 
tool; but he lacked the breath of inspiration. 
His chub-faced Diana is no better than a 
trollop. 
Here is the NAMASAT of the Volscz, 
which became the colony of Nimes. Side by 
side, profiles of Augustus and of his minister 
Agrippa. The former, with his dour fore- 
head, his flat skull, his acquisitive broken 
nose, inspires me with but little confidence, 
notwithstanding what gentle Virgil said of 
him: Deus nobis hac otia fecit.1 It is success 
that makes gods. Had he not succeeded in 
1“The god made these hours of leisure for us.”— 
Translator’s Note. 
5 
