of exquisite workmanship worthy of Greece; in fine, all that luxury and art, sustaining each other, could invent that was most wonderful.  The Pompeian ladies, in their character of provincials, must have carried this love of baubles that cost them so dearly, to extremes:  thus, they wore them in their hair, in their ears, on their necks, on their shoulders, their arms, their wrists, their legs, even on their ankles and their feet, but especially on their hands, every finger of which, excepting the middle one, was covered with rings up to the third joint, where their lovers slipped on those that they desired to exchange with them.

[Illustration:  Necklace, Ring, Bracelets, and Ear-rings found at Pompeii.]

Her toilet completed, Sabina descended from her room in the upper story.  The ordinary guests, the friend of the house, the clients and the shadows (such was the name applied to the supernumeraries, the humble doubles whom the invited guests brought with them), awaited her in the peristyle.  Nine guests in all—­the number of the Muses.  It was forbidden to exceed that total at the suppers of the triclinium.  There were never more than nine, nor less than three, the number of the Graces.  When a great lord invited six thousand Romans to his table, the couches were laid in the atrium.  But there is not an atrium in Pompeii that could contain the hundredth part of that number.

The ninth hour of the day, i.e., the third or fourth in the afternoon, has sounded, and it is now that the supper begins in all respectable houses.  Some light collations, in the morning and at noon, have only sharpened the appetites of the guests.  All are now assembled; they wash their hands and their feet, leave their sandals at the door, and are shown into the triclinium.

The three bronze bedsteads are covered with cushions and drapery; the one at the end (the medius) in one corner represents the place of honor reserved for the important guest, the consular personage.  On the couch to the right recline the host, the hostess, and the friend of the house.  The other guests take the remaining places.  Then, in come the slaves bearing trays, which they put, one by one, upon the small bronze table with the marble top which is stationed between the three couches like a tripod.  Ah! what glowing descriptions I should have to make were I at the house of Trimalcion or Lucullus!  I should depict to you the winged hares, the pullets and fish carved in pieces, with pork meat; the wild boar served up whole upon an enormous platter and stuffed with living thrushes, which fly out in every direction when the boar’s stomach is cut open; the side dishes of birds’ tongues; of enormous murenae or eels; barbel caught in the Western Ocean and stifled in salt pickle; surprises of all kinds for the guests, such as sets of dishes descending from the ceiling, fantastic apparitions, dancing girls, mountebanks, gladiators, trained female athletes,—­all the orgies, in fine, of those strange old times.  But let us not forget where we really are.  Paratus is not an emperor, and has to confine himself to a simple citizen repast, quiet and unassuming throughout.  The bill of fare of one of these suppers has been preserved, and here we give it: