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Updated: June 26, 2025
Is trouble a new thing to Rome?” he asked, stretching out his arm, as if he were making a speech after dinner, and giving a toast. “The Goths give trouble, and take a bribe,” retorted Aristo; “this is what trouble means in their case: it’s a troublesome fellow who hammers at our door till we pay his reckoning. It is troublesome to raise the means to buy them off.
You remember what the tragedian says: stay! no!—it’s the comedian,—it’s Menander”—— “To Orcus and Erebus with all the tragedy and comedy that ever was spouted!” exclaimed Aristo. “Can you do nothing for me? Can’t you give me a crumb of consolation or sympathy, encouragement or suggestion?
“It is hopeless,” said Polemo to Aristo, in much disgust, and with some hauteur of manner: “she is too far gone. You should not have brought me to this place.” Aristo groaned. “Shall I,” she continued, “worship any but Him? Shall I say that He whom I see not, whom I seek, is our Jupiter, or Cæsar, or the goddess Rome? They are none of them images of this inward guide of mine.
I say, Callista, what can he be coming for?” “Why, if your news be true, that the Christians are coming into trouble, of course he means to purchase, as a blessing on him, some of these bits of gods.” “You are sharp enough, my little sister,” answered Aristo, “to know perfectly well who is the goddess he is desirous of purchasing.” Callista laughed carelessly, but made no reply.
But, since I just now spoke of consistency, I do not think the inquiry in this place is, if the opinion of Zeno and his pupil Aristo be true that nothing is good but what is honorable; but, admitting that, then, whether the whole of a happy life can be rested on virtue alone.
Brett, "I wonder if there's another girl like you in the world?" "According to my Mother, there isn't another so vexing," I replied. We both laughed; and then he suddenly said, "Here is Aristo." I stared about wildly. "Where, where?" I asked. He laughed a great deal more. "Why, you're looking right at the postoffice and the grocery and drygoods store."
“He means the prætorians,” said Cornelius to Aristo, condescendingly; “I grant you that there have been several untoward affairs; we have had our problem, but it’s a thing of the past, it never can come again. I venture to say that the power of the prætorians is at an end.
"The citizen concierge was not satisfied with the way I had done his boots," muttered the man, with an evil leer as he spat contemptuously on the floor; "an aristo, quoi? A hell of a place this... twenty cells to sweep out every day... and boots to clean for every aristo of a concierge or warder who demands it.... Is that work for a free born patriot, I ask?"
Then, without interrupting her work, she said calmly, “Time was, it gratified my conceit and my feelings to have hangers on. Indeed, without them, how should we have had means to come here? But there’s a weariness in all things.” “A weariness! Where is this bad humour to end?” cried Aristo; “it has been a long fit; shake it off while you can, or it will be too much for you.
But there is no great chance of our forgetting this; Decius won’t; that’s a fact. You will see. Time will show; perhaps to-morrow, perhaps next day,” he added, mysteriously. “Why in the world should you have this frantic dread of these poor scarecrows of Christians,” said Aristo, “all because they hold an opinion? Why are you not afraid of the bats and the moles?
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