Who has not heard of the Emperor Trajan, of his moderation, his clemency, his gashing sympathies, his forgiveness of injuries and forgetfulness of self, his tearing in pieces his own robe, to furnish bandages for the wounded—­called by the whole world in his day, “the best emperor of Rome;” and so affectionately regarded by his subjects, that, ever afterwards, in blessing his successors upon their accession to power, they always said, “May you have the virtue and goodness of Trajan!” yet the deadly conflicts of gladiators who were trained to kill each other, to make sport for the spectators, furnished his chief pastime.  At one time he kept up those spectacles for 123 days in succession.  In the tortures which he inflicted on Christians, fire and poison, daggers and dungeons, wild beasts and serpents, and the rack, did their worst.  He threw into the sea, Clemens, the venerable bishop of Rome, with an anchor about his neck; and tossed to the famished lions in the amphitheatre the aged Ignatius.

Pliny the younger, who was proconsul under Trajan, may well be mentioned in connection with the emperor, as a striking illustration of the truth, that goodness and amiableness towards one class of men is often turned into cruelty towards another.  History can hardly show a more gentle and lovely character than Pliny.  While pleading at the bar, he always sought out the grievances of the poorest and most despised persons, entered into their wrongs with his whole soul, and never took a fee.  Who can read his admirable letters without being touched by their tenderness and warmed by their benignity and philanthropy:  and yet, this tender-hearted Pliny coolly plied with excruciating torture two spotless females, who had served as deaconesses in the Christian church, hoping to extort from them matter of accusation against the Christians.  He commanded Christians to abjure their faith, invoke the gods, pour out libations to the statues of the emperor, burn incense to idols, and curse Christ.  If they refused, he ordered them to execution.

Who has not heard of the Emperor Titus—­so beloved for his mild virtues and compassionate regard for the suffering, that he was named “The Delight of Mankind;” so tender of the lives of his subjects that he took the office of high priest, that his hands might never be defiled with blood; and was heard to declare, with tears, that he had rather die than put another to death.  So intent upon making others happy, that when once about to retire to sleep, and not being able to recall any particular act of beneficence performed during the day, he cried out in anguish, “Alas!  I have lost a day!” And, finally, whom the learned Kennet, in his Roman Antiquities, characterizes as “the only prince in the world that has the character of never doing an ill action.”  Yet, witnessing the mortal combats of the captives taken to war, killing each other in the amphitheatre, amidst the acclamations of the populace, was a favorite