This is a short story book. Makcus, abiding in Jerusaleiri, Greeting to Caius, his best friend, in Kome! Salve! these presents will be borne to you By Lucius, who is wearied with this place, Sated with travel, looks upon the East As simply hateful 'blazing, barren, bleak, And longs again to find himself in Rome. After the tumult of its streets, its trains Of slaves and clients, and its villas cool With marble porticoes beside the sea, And friends and banquets, ' more than all, its games, This life seems blank and flat. lie pants to stand In its vast circus all alive with heads And quivering arms and floating robes, 'the air Thrilled by the xoiwm fremitus of men, ' The sunlit awning heaving overhead.