darling of her father, whom she knew well how to amuse.
Drusus, the younger son of Livia and Claudius Nero, was a bold
handsome boy of winning manners and fine promise, generally
noticed and loved. To these two you may say Augustus stood in
only human relations: the loving, careful, and _jolly_ father,
sharing in all their games and merriment. He always liked
playing with children: as emperor, would often stop in his walks
through the streets to join in a game with the street-boys. But
with Livia's elder son, Tiberius, he was different. Tiberius had
no charm of manner: Drusus his brother quite put him in the
shade. He carried with him the scars of his babyhood's perilous
adventures, and the terror of that unremembered night of fire.
He was desperately shy and sensitive; awkward in company;
reserved, timid, retiring, silent. Within the nature so pent up
were tense feelings; you would say ungovernable, only that he
always did govern them. He went unnoticed; Drusus was the pet
of all; under such conditions how much harmony as a rule exists
between two brothers? But Tiberius loved Drusus with his whole
heart; his thoughts knew no color of jealousy; unusual harmony
was between them until Drusus died.--The world said Augustus
disliked the boy: we shall see on what appearances that opinion
was based. But Tiberius, then and ever afterwards, held for
Augustus a feeling deeper and stronger than human or filial
affection: it was that, with the added reverence of a disciple
for his Teacher.--You shall find these intense feelings sometimes
in children of his stamp; though truly children of the stamp of
Tiberius are rare enough; for with all his tenderness, his
over-sensitiveness and timidity, put him to some task, whisper
to him _Duty!_--and the little Tiberius is another child altogether:
unflinching, silent, determined, pertinacious, ready to die
rather than give in before the thing is most whole-souledly done.

Augustus, merriest and most genial of men, never treated him as
he did Julia and Drusus: there were no games and rompings with
Tiberius. Let this grave child come into the room, and all
ended; as if the Princeps were a school-boy caught at it by some
stern prowling schoolmaster. Indeed, it was common talk that
Augustus, until the last years of his life, never smiled in
Tiberius' presence; that his smile died always on his stepson's
entry; the joke begun went unfinished; he became suddenly grave
and restra