xander rejoiced at this, and only expressed his regret that most of
the epigrams he had collected turned on the death of Caesar's brother
Geta. He knew now that it was rash to condemn a deed which--

Here Caesar interrupted him, for he could not long remain quiet, saying
sternly:

"The deed was needful, not for me, but for the empire, which is dearer
to me than father, mother, or a hundred brothers, and a thousand times
dearer than men's opinions. Let me hear in what form the witty natives
of this city express their disapproval."

This sounded so dignified and gracious that Alexander ventured to repeat
a distich which he had heard at the public baths, whither he had first
directed his steps. It did not, however, refer to the murder of Geta,
but to the mantle-like garment to which Caesar owed the nickname of
Caracalla. It ran thus:

"Why should my lord Caracalla affect a garment so ample?
'Tis that the deeds are many of evil he needs to conceal."

At this Caesar laughed, saying: "Who is there that has nothing to
conceal? The lines are not amiss. Hand me your tablets; if the others
are no worse--"

"But they are," Alexander exclaimed, anxiously, "and I only regret that
I should be the instrument of your tormenting yourself--"

"Tormenting?" echoed Caesar, disdainfully. "The verses amuse me, and I
find them most edifying. That is all. Hand me the tablets."

The command was so positive, that Alexander drew out the little diptych,
with the remark that painters wrote badly, and that what he had noted
down was only intended to aid his memory. The idea that Caesar should
hear a few home-truths through him had struck him as pleasant, but now
the greatness of the risk was clear to him. He glanced at the scrawled
characters, and it occurred to him that he had intended to change
the word dwarf in one line to Caesar, and to keep the third and most
trenchant epigram from the emperor. The fourth and last was very
innocent, and he had meant to read it last, to mollify him. So he did
not wish to show the tablets. But, as he was about to take them back,
Caracalla snatched them from his hand and read with some difficulty:

"Fraternal love was once esteemed
A virtue even in the great,

And Philadelphos then was deemed
A name to grace a potentate.
But now the dwarf upon the throne,
By murder of his mother's son,
As Misadelphos must be known."

"In