we are introduced to our host's family, who, for lack of space in the triclinium, have not been able to join us at dinner. We do our best to make ourselves agreeable; but the lady of the house is dull and dignified; her daughter is bashful, and cannot do more in the way of conversation, than to say yes and no in the wrong places; and the two boys are evidently itching to escape from a sphere of uncongenial best behaviour. It is not long before we make our excuses, and go in search of our horses and attendants. Longinus accompanies us; for we are to take a rapid view of Cilurnum before we pass on. We ride up the slope, through a single-arched gateway, and so into the town; but presently we turn into a street which runs north and south. Here we leave our horses for a few minutes, and follow Longinus through the archway which opens into the forum. On our left, as we enter, is an open space, bounded by a line of small court-houses and other offices; but these are already closed for the day, and the northern half of the forum, though less turbulent than the market of Corstopitum, shows more prospect of life and amusement. Round this northern part runs a portico—a colonnade of masonry pillars, which support a pentice roof; and here much business is being transacted. Farmers and farmers' wives from the neighbouring country are tempting the soldiers of the garrison to add homely delicacies to their monotonous rations of corn and meat. In one corner a potter has displayed his stockone or two pieces of Samian ware, too dear for any but a well-to-do officer to buy, earthenware bottles and basins from southern Britain, and so forth, down to the rough fireproof jar, in which a trooper may bruise and stew his ration of wheat. On a low stand by one of the pillars a few slaves are exhibited part of the booty taken when last the Asturians marched north to punish some recalcitrant clan in the valley of the North Tyne: women and boys, most of them, shaggy-haired and unclean, clad in rough tunics of deerskin, and glaring a half-tearful defiance on the idlers who come to stare and laugh, as the nimbletongued salesman explains that, after due washing and instruction, these will make the most capable servants that any master can desire, or any country produce. Beside another pillar sits a trinket-seller—a wandering Greek or Syrian, who is loud in the praises of his coloured glass beads, his trumpery brooches, and his little bronze statuettes-Ceres or Silvanus for the countryman, Mars or Victory for the soldier, and various nondescript deities, which may serve for anything that the superstitious purchaser chances to require. There he sits, chattering with never-failing volubility in a mixture of four languages, as he tries to tempt the fancy of a red-faced market-woman, or open the purse of a great stolid Asturian trooper; nor is he in the least degree put out, though all his takings consist of a stream of abuse from the one, and a grin of good-natured contempt from the other. The open space in the centre of the forum is evidently the favourite playground of the boys of Cilurnum-mischievous imps, who tease the potter as assiduously as they plague the trinket-seller, and chaff the market-woman as mercilessly as they jeer at the captive Otadenes, who quiver with impotent rage on the slave-dealer's stand: a free republic in the midst of the Empire, and as cosmopolitan a company as the world has ever seen. Here a bold Brigantian youngster is rolling the son of an Asturian veteran in the dirt; here the children of a Rhaetian or Pannonian settler are playing knuckle-bones with the boys of a Spanish or Dalmatian merchant; and we are not without a shrewd suspicion that this is the paradise to which the Prefect's sons, for all their birth and breeding, were so eager to escape. We saw them running furtively up the hill, as we were waiting for our horses; and, as we entered the forum, the flash of a white tunic, not so clean as when last we saw it, showed that someone was moved hastily to ensconce himself behind a pillar. Yes, we were right. Every time that Longinus turns his back, two dirty faces and two tangles of disordered hair make their appearance at the sides of the sheltering column. But we have been boys ourselves, and mean to show sympathy with the young gentlemen, whose enjoyment we have thus rudely disturbed. We wink an answer to their comically piteous glances, and soon contrive to lead Longinus elsewhere. Thus we pass on to visit the barracks and stables, which fill the northern half of Cilurnum. A broad street runs round them, close under the wall of the fortress, giving an easy passage between the eastern, northern, and western gates. Each of these entrances is an imposing double-arched structure, with high flanking towers, and stout oak doors: but we are moved to express surprise when we notice that all three open upon the northern or outer side of the Great Wall, which joins the walls of Cilurnum just south of the eastern and western gates. "Oh, for cavalry, of course," Longinus explains, with a touch of superiority: "how do you expect me to get cavalry out by a single gate, if we want them in a hurry?" Feeling properly humiliated we are somewhat shy of asking further questions; and accordingly our view of the rest of Cilurnum is likely to prove a confused passage in our remembrance. True, the big granary, to the south of the forum, seems likely to stick in our memory; but that is because minor details often succeed in anchoring more important matters in our minds. The granary would be as hazy as the rest, were it not for the rat, which leapt from among the corn sacks and gave us such a start: by Cerberus, but it was the most monstrous that ever our eyes beheld! Presently our brief tour brings us to the south gateway, where we are to part with our genial entertainer. A decurion and three troopers of the Second Ala of Asturians are waiting to supply his place and guide us to Borcovicum: Longinus receives our hearty thanks, and gives us a pressing invitation to look in upon him again, if our homeward journey chance to bring us near Cilurnum; we commit ourselves to the charge of the decurion, and, waving a last farewell to our host, we turn our horses' heads to the south, and ride briskly away. R. H. F. [To be continued.] AN ILL WIND. (With apologies to the shade of Catullus.) THE situation of my house, dear Jones, 'Tis not that from due North, South, East and West, A heavy quarter's rent has just come due, And what is worse-I've not the funds to pay. A. S. L. PREHISTORIC PROFESSIONALS. W E had spent the evening in Oyler's rooms, playing Nap. It was nearly the end of the term, and financial depression lay heavy upon us. We accordingly decided to play for low stakes, Oyler remarking that he thought ten points a penny would be sufficient. We agreed unanimously, and the game began. This was about ten. At half-past twelve, Tompkins, who had been plunging heavily, owed three farthings all round. Nobody else knew what was owed by or to him; so we magnanimously excused Tompkins from payment, and decided to stop. We should have slept better if we had gone on. Oyler produced various bottles, a kettle, a lemon, and two eggs; and after mixing up the contents of the bottles with the lemon and one eggthe other he spilled on his trousers-finally produced a steaming and not unsavoury beverage, which he called "Maiden's Blush." He explained that this was an American term. Duly provided with an allowance of this stimulating decoction, we sat round the fire, and talked shop. Oyler is a confirmed pessimist. We were discussing modern sport and professionalism; and he declared that the constitution of sport at the present day was "rotten to the core." (Oyler speaks at the Union.) He is also a pessimist and a Laudator Temporis Acti. I myself am a L. T. A., in a small way, but on this particular occasion, for the sake of argument, I maintained in opposition to Oyler that Sport to-day is no worse than |