so charmingly portrayed in Marius the Epicurean, and on the other hand it shows us that the practice of setting up ex-votos, of which one sees so many at shrines and in churches across the water to-day, has been borrowed from the pagans.  A pretty bit of sentiment is suggested by an inscription[65] found near the ancient village of Ucetia in Southern France:  “This shrine to the Nymphs have I built, because many times and oft have I used this spring when an old man as well as a youth.”

All of the verses which we have been considering up to this point have come down to us more or less carefully engraved upon stone, in honor of some god, to record some achievement of importance, or in memory of a departed friend.  But besides these formal records of the past, we find a great many hastily scratched or painted sentiments or notices, which have a peculiar interest for us because they are the careless effusions or unstudied productions of the moment, and give us the atmosphere of antiquity as nothing else can do.  The stuccoed walls of the houses, and the sharp-pointed stylus which was used in writing on wax tablets offered too strong a temptation for the lounger or passer-by to resist.  To people of this class, and to merchants advertising their wares, we owe the three thousand or more graffiti found at Pompeii.  The ephemeral inscriptions which were intended for practical purposes, such as the election notices, the announcements of gladiatorial contests, of houses to rent, of articles lost and for sale, are in prose, but the lovelorn lounger inscribed his sentiments frequently in verse, and these verses deserve a passing notice here.  One man of this class in his erotic ecstasy writes on the wall of a Pompeian basilica:[66] “May I perish if I’d wish to be a god without thee.”  That hope sprang eternal in the breast of the Pompeian lover is illustrated by the last two lines of this tragic declaration:[67]

    “If you can and won’t,
    Give me hope no more. 
    Hope you foster and you ever
    Bid me come again to-morrow. 
    Force me then to die
    Whom you force to live
    A life apart from you. 
    Death will be a boon,
    Not to be tormented. 
    Yet what hope has snatched away
    To the lover hope gives back.”

This effusion has led another passer-by to write beneath it the Delphic sentiment:  “May the man who shall read this never read anything else.”  The symptoms of the ailment in its most acute form are described by some Roman lover in the verses which he has left us on the wall of Caligula’s palace, on the Palatine:[68]

    “No courage in my heart,
    No sleep to close my eyes,
    A tide of surging love
    Throughout the day and night.”

This seems to come from one who looks upon the lover with a sympathetic eye, but who is himself fancy free: 

    “Whoever loves, good health to him,
    And perish he who knows not how,
    But doubly ruined may he be
    Who will not yield to love’s appeal."[69]