displeasing to the gods.
But then, I would ask, when was it ever otherwise? In the earlier ages
of the republic, I grant, there was a virtue in the people which we see
not now. But that grew not out of the purer administration of religion,
but was the product of the times in part--times, in comparison with
these, of a primeval simplicity. To live well, was easier then. Where no
temptation is, virtue is easy, is necessary. But then it ceases to be
virtue. It is a quality, not an acquisition--a gift of the gods, an
accident, rather than man's meritorious work.'

'That is very true--well.'

'There may be as much real virtue now, as then. May it not be so?'

'Perhaps--it may. What then?'

'Our complaints of the present, should be softened. But, what chiefly I
would urge is this, that since those ages of early virtue--after all,
perhaps, like all else at the same period, partly fabulous--Rome has
been but what it is, adorned by virtues that have claimed the admiration
of the world, and polluted by vices that have drawn upon her the
reprobation of the good, yet, which are but such as the world shows its
surface over, from the farthest India, to the bleak wastes of Britain.
It is, Aurelian, a thing neither strange nor new that vices thrive in
Rome. And, long since, have there been those, like Nerva and the good
Severus, and the late censor Valerian, who have aimed at their
correction. These, and others who, before and since, have wrought in the
same work, have done well for the empire. Their aim has been a high one,
and the favor of the gods has been theirs. Aurelian may do more and
better in the same work, seeing his power is greater and his piety more
zealous.'

'These are admitted truths, Fronto, save the last; but whither do they
tend?'

'To this. Because, Aurelian, vice has been in Rome; because even the
priesthood has been corrupt, and the temples themselves the sties you
say they now are--for this, have the gods ever withdrawn their
protection? Has Rome ever been the less prosperous? What is more, can we
conceive that they who made us of their own fiery mould, so prone to
violate the bounds of moderation, would, for yielding to such instincts,
interpose in wrath, as if that had happened which was not foreseen, and
against which, they had made sure provision? Are the heavens to blaze
with the fires of the last day, thunders to roll as if earth were shaken
to her centre, the entrails of dumb beasts to utter forth