made little scruple in banishing or strangling a prosperous Delator, and seizing, for his own use, his goods, chattels, and investments. When a Cæsar like Vespasian or Trajan wore the purple robe, it was an evil day for informers; for then, if not handed over to the executioner, they were sent to some island prison, and it sometimes happened that the ship which carried them never reached any port.
Many more pages than we can afford might be occupied by an account of the rise and fall of these pernicious allies of despotism. We can only narrate a few of their exploits. It was accounted a crime against majesty—that is the concrete State—to perform before an emperor's effigy, even on a coin or ring, any act which would be deemed indecent in the presence of the emperor himself, such as to strip a slave for chastisement, or even to strip one's self for the bath. No public charge against an officer of the State or an illustrious citizen came to be thought complete, unless one of disrespect towards the Cæsar was annexed to it as a codicil. Silanus, proconsul of Asia, a friend of the deceased Germanicus, a partisan of the widowed Agrippina, was accused of extortion in his province. But no sooner was the impeachment published than a consular, an ædile, and a prætor brought other irrelevant charges against him,—among others, that he had profaned the divinity of Augustus and disparaged the majesty of Tiberius. Two profligate women of high birth, Apuleia and Lepida, were impeached for adultery and generally scandalous lives. But the accuser thought to strengthen his case by imputing to the former of them expressions of disrespect towards Augustus and Tiberius, and even the empress-mother
