police or for protection against fire, and the slaves whom every town owned probably took care of the public buildings and kept the streets clean.  The failure of the ancient city government to provide for educational and charitable institutions, means, as we shall see later, that in some cases these matters were neglected, that in others they were left to private enterprise.  It appears strange that the admirable police and fire system which Augustus introduced into Rome was not adopted throughout the Empire, but that does not seem to have been the case, and life and property must have been exposed to great risks, especially on festival days and in the unlighted streets at night.  The rich man could be protected by his bodyguard of clients, and have his way lighted at night by the torches which his slaves carried, but the little shopkeeper must have avoided the dark alleys or attached himself to the retinue of some powerful man.  Some of us will recall in this connection the famous wall painting at Pompeii which depicts the riotous contest between the Pompeians and the people of the neighboring town of Nuceria, at the Pompeian gladiatorial games in 50 B.C., when stones were thrown and weapons freely used.  What scenes of violence and disorder there must have been on such occasions as these, without systematic police surveillance, can be readily imagined.

The sums of money which an ancient or a modern city spends fall in two categories—­the amounts which are paid out for permanent improvements, and the running expenses of the municipality.  We have just been looking at the second class of expenditures, and our brief examination of it shows clearly enough that the ancient city took upon its shoulders only a small part of the burden which a modern municipality assumes.  It will be interesting now to see how far the municipal outlay for running expenses was supplemented by private generosity, and to find out the extent to which the cities were indebted to the same source for their permanent improvements.  A great deal of light is thrown on these two questions by the hundreds of stone and bronze tablets which were set up by donors themselves or by grateful cities to commemorate the gifts made to them.  The responsibility which the rich Roman felt to spend his money for the public good was unequivocally stated by the poet Martial in one of his epigrams toward the close of the first century of our era.  The speaker in the poem tells his friend Pastor why he is striving to be rich—­not that he may have broad estates, rich appointments, fine wines, or troops of slaves, but “that he may give and build for the public good” ("ut donem, Pastor, et aedificem"), and this feeling of stewardship found expression in a steady outpouring of gifts in the interests of the people.