Marcus Aurelius came to the throne in 161:  a known man, not untried; one, certalnly, to keep the Golden Age in being,—­if kept in being it might be.  Greatly capable in action, saintly in life and ideals:  what could Rome ask better?  Or what had she to fear?—­The king is the representative man:  it must have been a wonderful Rome, we may note in passing, that was ruled by and went with and loved well those two saintly philosophic Antonines enthroned.—­Nothing, then, could seem more hopeful.  Under the circumstances it was rather a mean trick on the part of Father Tiber (to whom the Romans pray), that before a year was out he must needs be breeding trouble for his votaries:  overflowing, the ingrate, and sweeping away large parts of his city; wasting fields and slaughtering men (to quote Macaulay again); drowning cattle wholesale, and causing shortage of supplies.  And he does but give the hint to the other gods, it seems; who are not slow to follow suit.  Earthquakes are the next thing; then fires; then comes in Beelzebub with a plague of insects.  There is no end to it.  The legions in Britain,—­after all this long peace and good order,—­grow frisky:  mind them of ancient and profitable times when you might catch big fish in troubled waters;—­and try to induce their general to revolt.  Then Parthian Vologaeses sees his chance; declares war, annihilates a Roman army, and overruns Syria.  Verus, co-emperor by a certain too generous unwisdom that remains a kind of admirable fly in the ointment of the character of Aurelius, shows his mettle against the Parthians,—­taking his command as a chance for having a luxurious fling beyond the reach and supervision of his severe colleague;—­and things would go ill indeed in the East but for Avidius Cassius, Verus’ second in command.  This Cassius returns victorious in 165, and brings in his wake disaster worse than any Parthians:—­after battle, murder, and sudden death come plague, pestilence, and famine.  In 166 the first of these latter three broke out, devastated Rome, Italy, the empire in general; famine followed;—­it was thought the end of all things was at hand.  It was the first stroke of the cataclysm that sent Rome down. . . .  Then came Quadi and Marcomans, Hun-impelled, thundering on the doors of Pannonia; and for the next eleven years Aurelius was busy fighting them.  Then Avidius Cassius revolted in Asia;—­but was soon assassinated.  Then the Christians emerged from their obscurity, preachers of what seemed anti-national doctrine; and the wise and noble emperor found himself obliged to deal with them harshly.  He was wise and noble,—­there is no impugning that; and he did deal with them harshly:  we may regret it; as he must have regretted it then.