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The Roman elections were conducted with an order and dignity that might make us look to a higher original than Italian barbarism. The Consuls, as the first officers of the state, were chosen with peculiar solemnity. The freemen of Rome were assembled in the Comitia Centuriata, in the Campus Martius, by notice given seventeen days before; and the names of the candidates were declared before the notice. The ceremony was consecrated by religious observances; the auspices were taken; and prayers said by the Consul, followed by the augur; the business then opened in an address from the Curule chair, and the classes proceeded to vote by ballot.

It was the peculiar and honourable distinction of Cicero's election, that, when the people came up with their ballots in their hands, they yet chose him by acclamation. The form of those elections assists the suppostion of a Northern origin of Rome. The magistrate was chosen like the king of a German or Scythian tribe. The people marched to the ground in military array, under military banners; and the Consul, their general in the field, was their president in the Campus Martius. The warlike spirit of this array is clear; for the reason of holding the Comitia without the walls, was the law prohibiting the assemblage of an army within the city.

The stately decorum of those proceedings puts to shame the extravagance of our modern hustings. But human nature has, probably, been always the same; and the popular suffrage was solicited in every mode that inflames the passions, or seduces the cupidity of the multitude. Our election reserves its effervescence for the hustings; the Roman election was in full, and often guilty, activity, for ten years before, the usual period from the quæstorship to the consulate. Personal influence, individual bribery, and popular largesses, of a prodigality at which modern corruption and modern fortunes shrink, were restlessly employed, and undoubtedly with fatal results to the national freedom, strength, and honour. The gladiatorial shows, the feasts of the whole population, the prodigious donatives of wine and corn, broke down the estates of the ancient nobility, who repaid themselves by extortion in their provincial governments, or bloody struggles for supremacy at home. Cæsar covered the floor of the chief theatre of Rome with silver, and reimbursed himself by destroying the republic.

One great evil of the Roman constitution seems to have been this privilege of popular election to all the eminent offices. From the quæstorship, every object of ambition depended on the suffrage of a vast and uncontrolled body, of whom the majority must be purchasable and purchased. Ambitious opulence was thus urged to the ruin of its hereditary wealth, and ambitious poverty to the still more formidable object of stirring up popular insubordination. Yet the usual expedients for repressing corruption were adopted,—office was vacated by the proof of direct bribery,—and of the four quæstiones perpetuæ, for which peculiar judges were appointed, one was De Ambitu. The prodigality of Cæsar surpased that of all his contemporaries,—and he had to contend with mighty donors: Scaurus, when Ædile, had built a theatre for 80,000 persons. Pompey had built another great theatre of stone. Curio had built two, in which he exhibited alternate shows of gladiators and dramas. But Cæsar, who, from early life, must have looked to the sovereignty, was the unequalled purchaser of the people. His Gallic plunder was flung out in every direction that could allure the avarice or the luxury of Rome, and all its offices were thus laid at his feet. In his competition for the high-priesthood, for even this was within popular suffrage, and within the universal ambition of the great soldier, Cæsar swept away the interest of two consulars of the first family and highest personal distinction. Suetonius says:—“Ita potentissimos duos competitores, multumque et ætate et dignitate antecedentes, superavit; ut plura ipse in eorum tribubus suffragia, quàm uterque in omnibus tulerit.” A power in the government to dispose of at least a portion of those offices would have been so far a bulwark against the most dangerous of all corruption—that of the people.

Teucer was driven from his father Telamon's kingdom of Salamis, for leaving the death of his brother Ajax unavenged. He submitted, and sailed to Cyprus, where he solaced his exile by forming a colony. Horace alludes to his cheerfulness under misfortune, in the fine ode, “Laudabunt alii.”

Shakspeare has made the revolt and vengeance of Coriolanus better known.

The wines of Greece, and peculiarly of the islands, were in the highest reputation at Rome. The Cyprus and Chian dubiously contested the supremacy; and some kinds of those wines were so costly, that but a single glass was handed round after dinner, even at the highest tables. The great Roman chieftains, however, took advantage of this costliness, for the full glory of their profusion. Lucullus, on his return from Greece, let loose, in the popular feast at his triumph, upwards of a hundred thousand urns of Greek wine; and Cæsar, always first in splendid prodigality as in arms, concluded his memorable celebration of four triumphs in one month by a feast of twenty-two thousand tables, at which the only wines drunk were Falernian and Chian. The luxury of wine grew slowly upon the Romans. In the early ages of the republic it was prohibited to men under thirty; and at a more remote time, Numa's interdict of using wine in libations to the dead, seems to Pliny (Nat. hist.) to have proceeded from the rareness of vineyards in Italy. But the vine, a plant of rapid growth and easy cultivation, soon spread through the south; and it might surprise a Gaul of our day to know that the grape was among the wonders that led his ancestors over the Alps. The district round Capua was allowed to produce the richest and most various wines; and the ruin of Hannibal's army may, with more probability, be attributed to the immediate effect of the grape on the constitutions of his troops, than to the vulgar riot or languid indolence of a provincial town. In early history the masters of the field attributed, with no unnatural vanity, the triumph to their own achievement. But the sudden retreat of the Gauls under Brennus, when they had reduced the Roman dominion to the city walls, is scarcely to be accounted for by the prowess of a hasty levy of peasantry. The grape probably saved the destinies of the empire. Even in our day a great invasion was defeated by the indulgence of the troops in the French vineyards; and a few months earlier or later in the year might have seen the Duke of Brunswick tread down the tumultuary armies of the Republic, in his way to Paris.

For some centuries wine was altogether prohibited, by Roman abstemiousness, to women; and the custom of saluting has been supposed to have arisen from the right of male relatives to ascertain whether trespass had been committed. The prohibition gradually died away, but the custom had found favour, and was retained. At length, however, excess in wine became fashionable, and the women followed the fashion. Seneca (Epistoæ) forgets the moderation of a philosopher in his resentment at this frailty. “Their manners have altogether changed, though their faces are as captivating as ever,” says the tender sage. “They make a boast of their exploits in drinking; they will sit through the night, with the glass in their hands, challenging the men, and often outdoing them.” Some of the dissertations on the Roman vineyard,—for on this subject the industry of scholarship seems to have exerted itself with peculiar and suspicious delight,—argue that the golden age of Italian wine was not much above a century, and that it had reached its middle term about the period of Catiline. Excessive demand had, as usual, produced overgrowth of the commodity, and carelessness in the growers. The Falernian lost its reputation, while some of the finest corn grounds of Italy were covered with vineyards. It is curious to see a lover of all excess, like Domitian, issuing an order to cut down half the vines throughout the empire, and prohibiting all new plantations in Italy. He might, however, have felt for the honour of the wine. It is scarcely less curious to see Julius Cæsar, the most lavish of all entertainers, hazarding his idol popularity to revive the old Licinian and Orchian laws against luxury in banquets; visiting the markets, to prevent the sale of expensive provisions; and even sending lictors into private houses to carry off the dishes which had alarmed the frugality of the past generations.

The Romans were fond of keeping their fuller bodied wines for many years. The author of those singular and amusing books, the “Cook's Oracle”, and the “Art of Invigorating Life”, boldly disputes the taste of the world, ancient and modern, on this point, and limits the perfection of years to about a dozen; but the Roman epicure loved to have his wine aged, and to be accurate in its age. By a custom which might add to the ostentation or the indulgence of a modern table, the silver, ivory, or parchment label on the bottle, gave its exact date, and even its quality. “Falernum, Opimianum, annorum centum!” has been found among those inscriptions.

The Romans owed their eagles to Marius; their chief original standard was a boar. They had next adopted Etruscan idols, and the rude emblems of a warrior and hunter people; a hand, a sword, a serpent—or a wolf, from the story of their ancestry. But the success of Marius under the eagle made it popular in a superstitious time; and its natural adaptation, as an emblem, to the vivid and invincible ambition of Rome, retained it through every succeeding age. Like the Turkish and Asiatic armies of our day, the Roman line abounded in banners, whose advance guided and stimulated the advance of the troops. Each company had one: but the eagle was the supreme standard of the legion. Marius was considered as the first great tactician of the Republic: educated in the field, his natural sagacity detected the errors of the old three-line formation, and introduced a variety of changes, of which, however, we are without the details. His military habits were, of course, likely to make the more permanent impression on the legions; and of those, his homage for the eagle was among the most memorable. In private he worshipped it, and in public its place was in the centre of the first line, and under the care of a chosen cohort. Cicero, in the first Catilinarian, makes a direct allusion to this formidable idol:—“Sciam pactam et constitutam esse cum Manlio diem? A quo etiam aquilam illam argenteam, quam tibi, ac tuis omnibus perniciosam esse confido et funestam futuram, cui domi tuæ sacrarium scelerum tuorum constitutum fuit, sciam esse præmissam, &c.—Quam venerari, ad cædem proficiscens solebas?—A cujus altaribus sæpe istam dextram impiam ad necem civium transtulisti?” &c.

Silius Italicus derives Cicero from a royal line,—“Regia progenies, et Tullo sanguis ab alto.” But Cicero speaks of his family as merely of great antiquity, “Orti stirpe antiquissima,” possessing the “majorum multa vestigia,” and having been of the equestrian order from a remote period. His family seat was near Arpinum, a Samnite town, of which Pompey said, that in giving birth to Marius and Cicero, it had twice saved the state. Cicero, in a letter to Atticus, describes this villa, its island in the Fibrenus, its romantic rocks, and secluded shades, with the fondness of early delight. It was one of his favourite retreats till the close of his tempestuous and magnificent career.