Arria Marcella.
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��sometimes says something important,' " said Max, laughing : " that would be unkind ; but your idea is good. It would be far more pleasant, however, to dine here in the triclinium, among these antiquities, served by slaves, like LucuUus or Trimalcion. It is true that I do not see many oysters ; that the tur- bots and roaches are absent ; the wild boar of 'Apulia is missing in the mar- ket ; the bread and cakes are seen in the museum at Naples, as hard as the stones ; but maccaroni, though detest- able, is better than nothing. Don't you think so, Octavio ? "
Octavio, who was regretting that he had not been at Pompeii on the day of the eruption, in order to save the beau- tiful young girl, and thus win her love, had not heard a word of this conversa- tion. But Max's last words called him back to himself, and he made a sign of assent ; and they all started towards the hotel.
The table was spread under an open porch, which served as a vestibule for the hotel. The walls were decorated by some indifferent pictures by the host, and which he described with fluent tongue.
"Venerable host," said Fabio, "do not waste your eloquence. We are not English, and we prefer young girls to old men. Send us the hst of your wines by that pretty brunette, with the velvet eyes, whom I saw at the top of the stairs."
Then he ceased to vaunt his paint- ings, and began to praise his wines. He had all of the best vintages, — Cha- teaux-Margaux, Grand- Lafitte, Sillery de Moet, Hochmeyer, Scarlat-wine, porter, ale and ginger-beer, Capri and Falema.
" What ! you have Falerna wine, ani- mal, and put it at the end of your list : you are insupportable," cried Max, with
��a comical expression of fury : " you are unworthy to live in this ancient neighborhood. Is your Falerna good? ^\'as it put in casks during the reign of the consul Plancus ? "
" I do not know the consul Plancus, and my wine is not in casks ; but it is old, and cost me ten carlins per bottle," replied the host.
The sun had set, and night had fallen, clear and beautiful, clearer than mid- day in London : every thing had taken a rich blue hue, while the heavens were of clear silver. It was so still that a candle-flame would scarcely flicker.
A young boy with a flute came up to the table, and blew upon his instrument a few soft, melodious notes.
Perhaps this boy was descended in direct line from the flute-player who preceded Duilius.
"Our supper has all the surroundings of antiquity, except the dancing-girls and the crowns of ivy," said Fabio, drinking a large glass of Falerna wine.
" I feel like making some Latin quo- tations," added Max.
" Spare us," cried Octavio and Fabio, justly alarmed : " nothing is so indi- gestible as Latin."
The conversation of these young men, who sat with cigars in their mouths, and several empty bottles before them, soon turned upon women. Each re- lated his experience, of which the follow- ing is a resume.
Octavio declared that reality never had any charm for him ; not that he was, like a student, filled with rose-colored dreams, but every beautiful woman was surrounded by too many prosaic and repulsive friends, too many stupid fa- thers, too many coquettish mothers, too many anxious cousins ready to propose, too many ridiculous aunts with little poodles. A water-tint engraving after
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